Page 155 of Call Me Mrs. Taylor

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” I mutter.

“I know you,” she says. “You need some fucking therapy for your mommy issues.

“What the fuck? Yo—“

“Aye, tell her to wrap this shit up,” Bron’s voice cuts across the green. “We got a tee time to keep.”

“Go play your little game,” she says bitterly. “I love you. I’ll always love you. But this is a mistake.” Her voice softens. “Just know that I’ll still be here when she fucks up your life.”

She hangs up before I can respond.

I tuck my phone away and step up to the tee box. I drive my ball harder than I need to, using too much shoulder and not enough control. It veers right, landing rough.

“Damn.” Dayton whistles. “Who pissed you off?”

“Nobody,” I mumble, already walking to my ball.

The course out here at Mountain Falls is beautiful and pristine, but it all feels wasted on me right now. I can’t shake my sister’s voice, and her calling me pathetic with a hard R.

Bron lights a cigar, handing one to me. I take it, rolling it between my fingers instead of lighting up.

We make our way down the fairway. I try to lose myself in the game while Jovan and Dayton talk wedding logistics and Titus talks shit about Bron’s swing. It’s all familiar and easy, but I can’t relax.

“When’s the White House, again?”

I pull my lighter out, flip the heavy brass top, and hold the flame to the tip, rotating the cigar until the end glows red and sends curls of sweet smoke drifting toward the blue sky.

I take a slow draw, letting the thick smoke fill my mouth before I exhale. The heat and the sweet finish settle something in me. I feel present again.

“It’s next month,” I answer Jovan. “I’m taking Raya.”

They all freeze like I just announced I’m taking a hoe fresh off the stroll.

“For real?” Bron says.

“Yep.”

Dayton shakes his head, dragging hard on his cigar. “Some niggas love to learn the hard way.”

“Yall back together?” Jovan says. “Well, obviously, if you takin’ her ass to the White House.”

“Man, I know you ain’t thinkin’ about locking that down.”

The words leave my mouth before I even think them through. “You know what?” I answer Bron. “I am.”

Titus lines up his putt, the only one who hasn’t said a word.

“Think what y’all want,” I say. “It’smymotherfucking life.”

Titus finally speaks, calm and steady. “If you’re happy, that’s all that matters.”

He sinks his putt without looking up. “You the only one that’s gotta sleep next to her. If you’re good, I’m good.”

“I appreciate that,” I say pointedly.

“Anytime.”

The next few holes are quiet. No shit talking. I puff on my cigar, letting the burn settle in my chest.

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