Page 29 of Body Language
“That’s what niggas always say before somebody get to fighting over them.”
I laughed. “Ain’t nothing coming in between this connection I’m tryna build, Pretty.”
She didn’t say anything at first, so I decided to just keep it all the way real.
“Truthfully, we kicked it heavy back in the day,” I said. “Then my brother got locked. I didn’t realize how much I leaned on him until he wasn’t there. And around that same time, she was just always there. Checking in. Bringing me food. Keeping me company. She has a brother in the system too, so we trauma bonded off that. That was my first fuck-up. The red flag I ignored is that she don’t talk to her folks. At all. Her mama, her sisters—they all see each other in the store and act like strangers. My mama ain’t never even met her, and that’s for a reason.”
“She ever wanted to meet your mom?”
“She did. But I knew better. My mama is the type that if you tell her you’re beefing with the woman who birthed you, for no real reason outside of jealousy, she immediately doesn't trust you. She feel like if you don’t respect the one who brought you in this world, you don’t give a fuck about nobody.”
“Whew. Your mama sounds like she doesn't play.”
“Nah, she just real. But, I shoulda let Arlette go a long time ago. But she made shit easy. Comfortable. I could disappear for a week, and when I came back around, she’d be right there like nothing happened.”
She let out a breath. “That’s not a woman, that’s a DoorDash order.”
“Exactly.”
She laughed again. “She doing all this extra shit like she still hurt over everything.”
“I told her the truth. Invited her over, made dinner, and she thought I was about to propose or some shit. Nah. I told her I was done. She went nuts. Screaming, crying, throwing shit. Then she throws a box at me… and it’s a pregnancy test and an ultrasound.”
“Wait—”
“Yeah. She said she was tryna surprise me.”
“Oh my God.”
“I ain’t know what to say. I froze. She left, flying down the street like Fast & Furious. Wrecked her car. Broke her arm and leg… and lost the baby.”
“Damn.”
“I felt like shit and guilty. Like even though we wasn’t together, I owed her. That was my kid. I couldn’t just act like she didn’t exist after that, so I stuck around. But when she got better? That’s when the real Arlette showed up. All over my homeboy, tryna make me jealous.”
“And you didn’t beat his ass?”
“Hell nah. He called me and told me what was up. I said, ‘Go ahead and smash. Treat her like a Lyft ride. Get in, get out, don’t speak on it. She thought she was being slick. Tryna make me jealous. He smashed. Then she went and fucked my other homeboy.”
She hollered.
“I swear. So nah. I don’t give a fuck about Arlette. She for the streets, the alleys, the potholes… all that.”
She wheezed laughing.
“I’m serious. She thought she was playing chess. Didn’t know the whole crew was in a group chat clowning her.”
“Okay,” she said, catching her breath. “I get it now. Y’all history is toxic-tales level tragic. But why you tell me all this?”
“Because I ain’t tryna lie to you,” I said. “And I’d rather you know the mess than hear it from somebody else.”
She got quiet again.
“Well. I still don’t know about this between us. But… you’re interesting. And I like how you tell stories.”
“That’s just my voice, Pretty. Wait till I really start telling you shit.”
“Oh Lord.”
