Page 74 of Save Room for Us

“Please, daddy—baby. She doesn’t love you. I do. She is using you.”

“Using me for what?”

“For you! Who you are, what you have, how you look!”

I nodded, slipping my hands down into my pockets as I glanced off for a moment.

“Why you love me, Milan?”

“Because I do! I’ve never felt this way about any man. I can’t live without you, Sif.” She broke down some more.

“You love me, but you vie for attention from other niggas? You love me, but you go to my family functions and start shit with my sisters-in-law? I could go on all fucking day, Milan. You don’t love me. You love how it sounds coming out of ya mouth when you tell bitches you fuck with me. You like all the eyes and parted mouths staring in yo’ direction when you in a nigga’s lap.

“I’m sorry you fell in love, I am, but I kept shit real with you, and I won’t feel bad for doing exactly what I told you I was gon’ do.”

She hugged her shoulders, despite it being quite warm out as she looked down the street, makeup looking crazy as fuck by this point.

Turning her eyes onto me, she stepped closer and said lowly, “I won’t tell, Sif. You are too fine, too popping, and too rich to not have what you want. If you want us both, I’m with that.” She touched my chest. “Stazi will never know I’m still around. I know how to play my role and won’t slip.

“You deserve this. You work too hard to have to stick with one girl. That’s why I’ve always let you do you.” She hugged my body as I stared down into her face. “I won’t take anything away from you either. You can still have me in any position you want me in,” she whispered even lower, licking her lips. With the makeup running down her face, she looked off-kilter as a muthafucka.

Lowering my face to hers, I said, “No. Now go home so you won’t be crying in public.”

“Sif.”

“Let’s go.” I nodded toward her car, that I’d peeped parked along the curb, and started escorting her.

She began crying again but walked until we made it to her car, where I opened her driver’s side door for her. She slid in after some hesitation.

“I love you, baby. Please don’t do this.”

“Drive safe. Text me when you at yo’ destination so I can be sure.” I hated to tell her ass that, giving her hope, but I didn’t want her stupid ass crashing and killing herself over me.

“Okay.” She nodded.

I wasted no time walking back up onto the curb, ignoring the niggas who called my name out in the streets. Reentering Jamaican place, I saw Free’s and Low’s nosy asses looking like two dogs about to get some steaks.

“What happened?” Free asked, eyes bulged.

“Nothing, you gossiping ass niggas.”

As them niggas complained, mainly Free, I hoped that was the last time I saw Milan’s ass.

“South Memphis Rugrat” played in the big ass backyard of my parents’ place as the party had wound down.

Earlier was the seafood boil, but now niggas were stuffed, some were high, and others tipsy. I was all three, for sure, as I put a forkful of cherry pie Presley made into my mouth.

She could cook her ass off. Once, she made us all chicken tenders from scratch, and you would’ve thought the shit was gourmet by how all my high ass brothers and I were acting over them muthafuckas. I still thought about them things to this fucking day.

“Damn, Shakur’s wife got a sister?” Free quizzed.

“Nope. I already asked,” Low joked.

“What about a clone?” he continued, causing laughter.

“Hey, Free.” Banks walked by, coming in from dance rehearsal with her homegirl. “Hey, Low-Low.”

Free nodded to say what’s up.

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