Page 43 of Ms. V's Hot Girl Summer

“Are you about to tell me…that that man who cares for his entire family is not ready for something serious?”

My stomach flipped again, and I broke eye contact with Miranda.

“Because everything you’ve told me of what he’s shared in this trip tells me he is right up your alley in the commitment and responsibility area, and it seems that he also fulfills your heathen needs too; when was the last time you squirted, miss?”

“This is not what I called for,” I complained.

“Sure was. ’Cause you knew I would give it to you straight and without any fluff. I’m not saying you need to end things with Milton. I’m also not saying Orlando is your Prince Charming. I’m saying you need to stop looking for one-size-fits-all solutions and decide what your priorities and true needs are. When you discover that, then you’ll be able to figure all of this out. In the meantime, girl, keep squirting!”

She was wrong for that last statement, but right at the same time. I had called for a reality check.

“I have some processing to do,” I confessed, and she nodded along.

“No shit…listen, I’m going back to bed.”

“Hold up, before you do, can you wake up the twins, please? In the most loud manner possible? I have some chores for them today. They best not get comfortable thinking they did this prank and everything is alright.”

“Girl, I doubt they think that; they’ve both been on their best behavior and very solicitous while staying here. But I’ll wake them up, as long as they don’t wake me up after I go back to bed.”

“Deal. Thanks, girly. I miss you; you should be here with me.”

“Next year, we’ll plan it accordingly. Love you, boo.” She blew me a kiss, and the screen went dark.

Before anything else I shot a text to the boys letting them know I wanted them to clean Miranda’s kitchen, living room, and the bathroom they were using top to bottom. Just as Miranda said, their response was quick and solicitous, which meant they understood that the consequences of their actions were still ongoing.

My chest ached; I hated being at odds with my sons, but they needed to learn. Somewhere along the way, they’d gotten too comfortable with the empowerment I fostered, and I sat for a while with it. My solution to it all—Milton, marriage, a strong male presence at home and outside the home—I turned it all around in my head until I built up an appetite and a slight headache.

Needing time for myself, I checked work emails and had a few video meetings. Even though it was Saturday, it was still a workday for me, and with the fictitious tournament canceled, I had to prioritize some tasks I’d put on the back burner. By the time I stopped, it was late afternoon, and my stomach and head united in protest until I replenished.

After a lengthy shower and my skincare routine, I made my way downstairs to see what Orlando and his friends were up to. The laughter and voices floated up the steps even before I turned the corner from my bedroom, and I froze, riveted by the conversation at hand.

“Nah, son, this man got bread. We ended up all sharing one hotel room; he got a whole house for himself,” Trevor complained.

“Listen, I don’t blame him; look at his guest. We would have been in the way my man. I can’t fault the game. That’s why that job you got at the animation spot is sweet as fuck,” Desmond said with a chuckle.

“Y’all stay counting each other’s coins. It’s weird,” Grace said, and I smiled at her timely comment. I wasn’t convinced about Trevor and Desmond, but they were not my friends so I had no say. But it seemed they didn’t understand Orlando well.

“I told y’all I wanted to do some sightseeing first, and you fools couldn’t take additional days off from work ’cause you both stay missing work. So yeah. And I needed some space to think,” Orlando explained. I sucked my teeth; he didn’t owe them, not one lick of explanation.

“Man, you ain’t thinking about nothing; you just were trying to curve us. I see how it is,” Trevor complained.

“This is your problem. You think the world revolves around you. I did need some time to think. I’m pretty sure I got into law school.” Orlando’s rough tone told me he’d crossed over to that space where his frustration couldn’t be contained by his people-pleasing tendencies. My chest ached again. Twice this morning for the men I cherished while they navigated difficult experiences.

My stomach growled, and my heartbeat tripled. The men I cherished? How had Orlando joined those ranks?

“You’re gonna be a suit? Get the fuck out of here. Why you going that route? Man, you love your job!” Desmond interjected, and for once, I sensed genuine care in his answer.

“Orlando, for real? Why didn’t you?… Let me guess, you were trying to work it out yourself?” Grace said, hurt, coating every word.

At this point, it was too much for my Dominican temper to sit on the sidelines. Stomping down the stairs, I made my presence known well before getting to the last step.

“So y’all feel you’re so supportive that you can berate Orlando for his choices now?” I asked, forgetting myself for a minute. A red haze clouded the room, and the surprised faces of everyone but Orlando gaped at me.

Orlando, though? His frustration and helplessness oozed out of him, which, in turn, increased the volume of my anger.

“Do you have any big-time responsibilities, Trevor? Like do you take care of a child or a baby momma, or your family?” Crossing my arms over my chest, I awaited his answer with a saccharine smile.

“Uh, nah, I still live with my parents, but I contribute!” Clearly, this was a sore subject ’cause that “I contribute” spoke volumes.

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