Page 9 of The Millionaire Mortician
“Talk to me.”
“I’m at capacity. Can I send over two? But I need one of them done as soon as possible.”
I held the bridge of my nose. “Aight, send them. I’m here,” I gave in.
“Good lookin’ man. I owe you.”
As soon as I hung up, I shot Daija a text.
Me: Sorry, baby. I’ll be late. Don’t wait up. Love you.
This shit is never-ending.
As I’m stirring the oatmeal, my head is buried in my phone. My girls and I had our group chat lit first thing in the morning. I wasn’t saying much but laughing at their text. All three of them did something the night before with their man or situation. I was the only one home alone, missing Milan as usual.
It was becoming increasingly difficult for me to be in a relationship with Milan. When we met, he did tell me he was a very busy person and that his career was demanding. I understood him, but I also believed we would’ve made things work if we both wanted to.
Originally from Atlanta, Georgia, I agreed to move to Brooklyn to be with him. I had no kids, no real obligations, or anything of that nature that would’ve kept me in Atlanta. I wasin love almost instantly with Milan’s dark, laid-back sense of humor, so I was ready to do whatever for him.
Things were good in the beginning. We spent time together when we both weren’t busy — him with his funeral home and me cutting hair. I was a celebrity barber and frequently traveled, but when we got serious, I scaled back my gigs to ensure I was available to him when he was free. Our schedules started to clash, and I saw staying home was the best thing to do. Milan agreed.
My goal was marriage and building a family, so my mindset was to do whatever it took to achieve that. Although I missed cutting hair, all my needs and wants were taken care of by Milan. I also made sure to tuck away for rainy days. My mother always told me to put something aside because you never know what will happen.
Another text came through.
Talina: Daija, you’re quiet as hell. Let me guess, Milan’s ass was working late last night again?
I bit my lip and rolled my eyes at the text. Not because she clocked my tea, but because all I wanted was my man.
Me: The usual. I’m good, though.
I texted back and lied.
Talina: I’m free until two. I’m coming over.
Tremeka: Me too.
Jada: Fuck it. It’s a party then.
My girls definitely picked up on my energy, and that’s why I loved them. We all paid attention to each other and wereattentive. If I didn’t have them, I probably would’ve gone mad already.
I heard footsteps coming my way as I made Milan’s plate. Seconds later, he appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, just standing there staring at me.
“Good morning, baby,” I greeted him.
He silently walked up, grabbed me by the back of my neck gently, and kissed my forehead. “Good morning, baby girl.”
That man was the sweetest I’ve ever met when he wanted to be. Other times, he was standoffish, cold, and I didn’t know what was running through his mind. I learned just to give him his space when he got in a certain mood. One thing, though. He never abused me mentally or physically, so I knew whatever had him in his quiet mode was ahimthing.
“Here’s your breakfast.” I slid it in front of him as he took a seat at the island. He didn’t waste any time digging in and stuffing his mouth.
About ten minutes later, after I finished washing the dishes and cleaning up, Milan was getting ready to head out. I walked him to the door, kissed him goodbye, and told him I loved him.
As I watched him get into his vehicle, I saw a black Tahoe pull out right after him. It was either Don or Qua inside. They were his bodyguards but never stayed stuck under him. The way they worked was cool. They kept their distance to give him space but stayed close enough to get to him if something was supposed to pop off.
As I closed the door, I said a silent prayer for God to watch over Milan while he was out in the world, and to bring him back home safely. Making my way upstairs, I went to get myself together for when the girls arrived.
I hadthe mimosa pitcher sitting dead center on my glass table, with a fruit platter on one side and shrimp and grits on the other. My girls knew that when I said ‘brunch at my spot’ I meant it.
