Page 5 of Same Girl
“What’s going on?” Ciara asked, looking between us.
“This is my wife, baby,” Aaron explained to Ciara. Understanding dawned in her eyes, and she shook her head, glaring at me as if I were the one who had wronged her.
“Her?” she asked derisively.
“Mya, can we talk in private?” Aaron took a couple of steps toward me, and I immediately threw a couple of aerosol cans, my water bottle, and the damn jar of perm at him.
“Get out! Get out!” I screamed repeatedly as shock rose in my stylists and our clients throughout the shop.
“Come on, Mya. Please. I was coming to tell you.”
I was still throwing things at him as Diamond and Sonya ran to my side along with three other stylists: Natasha, Tanisha, and Daria.
“A year and a half too damn late!” I screamed.
“Well, what did you expect? Look at me and look at you. Even at six months, I’m a ten, and you’re . . . you,” Ciara stated, pointing at herself and then me.
“Get the hell out of here before I catch a case for beating your pregnant ass,” I demanded through clenched teeth.
Diamond and Natasha held my arms while the other stylists rushed Aaron and Ciara out. Tears streamed down my face as I balled my fists and clenched my teeth so hard, I knew they would hurt tomorrow, or I would have a headache.
“Mya, baby, breathe,” Natasha stated, rubbing my back. Diamond and Tanisha cleaned the mess I had made.
“I’m getting you some more water,” Daria announced.
“Baby.” I looked up to see that Aaron had returned. He rushed to me.
“Get the hell out of here!” I screamed.
“Please, y’all give me a second with her,” he pleaded.
My body trembled, my face scrunched up, and my fists balled at my sides. My team backed away, and I wanted to punch his ass in the face. I clutched the chair to keep myself upright. I had zero fucks to give, and I wasn’t worried about the consequences of my actions.
“Why, Aaron?” My voice trembled.
“I tried telling you to get yourself together in every way I knew how. I bought you a gym membership, paid for a personal trainer, and bought you a new wardrobe. You didn’t care. I needed a woman who was more fitting with my image when I attend fundraisers and galas. I don’t have to tell you that you don’t fit that image. You’re putting on weight again. You see it in the way people stare at you when you’re with me. You don’t take care of yourself. You’ve let yourself go. Your clothes, your shoes, and even your hairstyles, and you’re a damn stylist. You don’t even take heed to the fact that I’m not turned on by you anymore. I loved you, but I want a divorce, Mya.”
He shoved papers at me, and my heart stopped. I knew what they were before I even read them. There would be no counseling, weight-loss programs, negotiations, or talking things out. There could be no forgiveness. It was final. My husband of four years had filed for divorce. He didn’t want me.
Yes, I had gained weight again, but I was a long way from where I had come from. I didn’t think it was that big of a deal. If he wanted someone model-thin like Ciara, minus the baby bump, maybe it was best that he ended things with me. I would never be that, even in my best shape; these curves weren’t going anywhere.
“You selfish bastard! Love doesn’t have you getting another woman pregnant while you’re married. Love doesn’t look at the scale and judge dress sizes. And love damn sure doesn’t hurt!” I shouted as I punched him in the face.
“Damn! She knocked his ass straight the hell out!” Sonya shouted.
TWO YEARS LATER
“Are you ready?”
“Yes. It’s been so hard staying away from upstairs, but I know that you’ve done a phenomenal job with it, the way you did with the apartment downstairs.”
“Keep your eyes closed but watch your step,” I warned my client, Mya, as I guided her up the steps to the attic. Her space upstairs was nothing more than a large attic that covered the width of her house when I first started. She wanted to convert it into an apartment, the way she had done the downstairs portion of her home.
The main floor of her home had three bedrooms and three and a half bathrooms with a living room, dining room, office, kitchen, and laundry room. Downstairs was a large unfinished basement when my crew and I started. I had brought a team of five men with me, and sometimes we would bring in a sixth man. The project consisted of us converting that space into a one-bedroom, one-bathroom apartment with a living room and kitchen. It was completed in two weeks.
Mya had hired my company again, a few months later, to do the same thing with the attic. Now that we were finished, I knew she was excited to see the space that had been dark, musty, and dusty when we had begun.
“Open your eyes.”
