Page 83 of Curvy Girl Summer

“Aaliyah knows,” he stated.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you are antagonizing her, and it needs to stop,” Dad said firmly. “It’s not happening again. Not in my house.”

I heard a low-toned argument between my dad and uncle while I threw my trash away in the kitchen. With my keys in hand, I returned to the dining room to officially say goodbye.

“I’m sorry, Aaliyah,” my uncle apologized as I got to him.

“I accept your apology, but you have to stop, Uncle Al. I mean it. You’re doing too much.”

“You know I don’t mean no harm.” He looked like he wanted to say something else, but he looked over my shoulder at my father.

“Okay.” My response was dry because I knew he didn’t get it. Whether he didn’t mean any harm or not, he didn’t get it.

He grabbed my arms and squeezed them. “And you know I love you.”

“I know. I love you, too.”

“And I look forward to meeting your boyfriend at your party,” he continued.

I pursed my lips. “Mm-hmm.”

Turning on my heel, I marched out of the house more determined than ever. After I prepared for work in the morning, I spent the rest of Sunday swiping and researching local events. I needed to put myself out there to find what I was looking for by my birthday. I didn’t just want anyone. I wanted the one for me. And while my uncle got under my skin and my family’s meddling got on my nerves, I wanted a boyfriend for my birthday for me—not for them.

I mean, yeah, I wanted to shut them up, and I wanted the yacht. My uncle’s problematic takes needed to be proved wrong. My parents’ unsolicited matchmaking needed to be stopped. But it was more than that. I wanted to show them that I was fully capable of living a happy, fulfilling life—with or without a man, with or without marriage, with or without a child.

Because I wanted a man, they would argue that we want the same thing for me. But that’s not true. I wasn’t just looking for someone to fulfill a role. I was looking for the man for me. And in order to get that, I needed to be open to meeting him. I needed to be open to opportunities to meet him. And just maybe I needed to be open to receiving help meeting him.

And for that reason, I walked over to Onyx on Monday after work.

Still wearing my yellow dress with the black zigzag print at the bottom, I opened the door and cast my eyes around the room. There were two people I didn’t recognize behind the bar and about fifteen people spread about the place. Over toward the back hallway that led to the bathrooms, I saw a broad-shouldered man ina red shirt standing near a booth. I knew it was Ahmad from his muscular physique. But it was his sponge-curl fade that confirmed it for me. His hand was pressed to his ear as he turned to the side. I eyed his profile as he stared down the hall.

I walked over and overheard his voice.

“I’ll be here for about thirty minutes, and then I’ll be home,” he said into the phone. “I love you, too.”

I stopped in my tracks.

His wife.

I never heard him talk about his wife, let alone talk to her. I suddenly felt uneasy about meeting him one-on-one. We were just friends, but he was a married man.

A married man who said he had something for me.

A married man who never talked to me about his wife.

I took a step back just as he turned around.

“She just got here, so I gotta go,” he concluded, ending the call.

He told her about me?

It made me feel better about the meetup.

He slipped his phone into his pocket. “Charlie Brown, you made it.”

Rolling my eyes, I held in a laugh. “You’re not funny.”

“Good grief!”

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