Page 34 of Broken Clocks
My throat burned. Neighbors' lights flicked on. I didn't care.
I slammed the door so hard the frame shook.
Then slowly my knees gave out. I slid down the door.
It was over.
On my granny, it was over. I'd slit my own wrist before I made one more mistake or wasted one more minute of my life with Donte.
Epilogue– Donte
I’d been thinking about how we met—me and Sinica—and how different life could’ve been if I’d walked away. And how to explain to Eshe why I needed Sinica at this juncture in my life.
I was in Atlanta on a business trip. Me and Eshe were off again. That night at the bar, Sinica slid into the seat beside me, her perfume expensive, looking pretty, body tight.
"You’re Donte, right?"
I knew who she was. I’d seen her in pictures on Eshe’s phone. She was her best friend. The one Eshe wasn’t sure was a real friend.
I should’ve walked away.
But the whiskey was warm in my blood, and Sinica’s fingers brushed my wrist as she reached for her drink. “Let me have a sip.” That shit was sexy.
That was the thing about Sinica—she always knew what to say, what to do, how to make a man feel like a god.
Even if it was fake.
Eshe never made me feel like a god.
She made me feel like a human.
And humans didn’t build kingdoms. They bled for them.
My momma like Sinica.
My colleague though I was lucky to have Sinica.
The sound of a steak knife scraping across bone China brought me out of my thoughts. Sinica sat across from me, carving into her filet with surgical precision. Candlelight flickered in her diamond studs—the ones I’d bought after the miscarriage. I bought Eshe an identical pair. She threw them at me.
“Pass the Malbec?” she asked, holding out her glass.
I poured. Watched the wine swirl in the glass. I still smelled like Eshe—vanilla and salt, warm skin. I wondered if Sinica recognized the scent. She probably did. She acted like she didn’t know I still dealt with Eshe, but she did. She just wasn’t risking talking about it, not after I’d given her what she wanted. The baby. My last name.
Eshe would call by morning. She always did. And everything would go back to normal.
Sinica tapped my leg with her heel. “You’re zoning. Big case?”
“Something like that.” I stabbed at the risotto, heavy with imported truffles. It didn’t taste like anything. Eshe would’ve laughed, told me I got played. “Publix got truffle oil for $6.99, negro,” she’d say, scrunching her nose and sucking her teeth.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
Not Eshe.
Just my associate. Motion denied.
Sinica sipped her wine, her nail tapping against the glass. “We should host the partners next month. Show off the renovation. Let them see how we’re living.”
“Mm. Whatever you want, babe.”
