Jayla
This might be the best idea she’s ever had.
It wasn’t even noon yet, but I was already good and buzzed thanks to the brunch spread Jamila had whipped up for us. A brunch spread that included all the fatty breakfast foods we had learned about later in life because my mother never used to let us eat them and unintentionally bottomless mimosas because… why not?
Sure, it was Monday and I probably should’ve been at work. But after finding out about the blow-up she had with Shaq and getting her up to speed on the blow-up I had with his cousin over the weekend, it only made sense for us to both take the day off and bask in what Jamila coined the, “Niggas ain’t shit afterglow”.
Except, there was nothing all that glowing about it.
In fact, we had both whined our way through brunch about our man problems which is how we ended up drinking so many mimosas in the first place. But now that the champagne was down and the whining was over with, we were back on our, “Boy bye” vibes, Lemonade playing in the background as Jamila helped me take down my sew-in.
Okay, so maybe it wasn’t the greatest idea putting scissors in tipsy Jamila’s hands. But it was a chance I was willing to take if it meant not having to do the work myself, giving me the opportunity to just sit there and think - and drink - while she removed my weave.
“This hair low-key had you out here looking like Rapunzel, but the black version. So maybe… Trapunzel?”
I was already giggling when I repeated, “Trapunzel? Seriously, Mila?”
“You know we love putting Trap on everything these days, so why not?” she asked, before going into her remixed rendition of the famous quote from the fairy tale. “Trapunzel, Trapunzel, let down your bundles…”
My tipsy state turned my giggling into a full blown laugh as I shouted, “I swear I can’t stand you!”
“Whatttt? You don’t like that? If Disney can rewrite it, why can’t I?” she asked, only making me laugh harder as she joined in with giggles of her own. But once our laughs settled down, her tone turned a little more serious when she said, “I uh… I talked to mom.”
“If she’s using you to set me up again, I swear to God…” I started, but she quickly cut me off.
“No, no. It’s nothing like that,” she insisted, before continuing on to explain, “We had a little heart-to-heart of sorts, after that whole dinner situation.”
“Well that’s good for you, especially considering you weren’t even the one under attack,” I replied sarcastically, rolling my eyes and taking another hearty sip from my mimosa that ended up finishing off the glass.
Something told me getting a refill should be high on the priority list. But against my better judgement, I stayed put, listening in as Jamila continued working on my hair when she said, “Seriously, Jay. It was very eye-opening. The most I’ve ever heard her talk about her upbringing and all that.”
“Like I said, good for you,” I told her plainly, hoping that’d be enough for her to move on from it.
But of course it wasn’t, a piece of hair falling into my lap as Jamila continued, “All that “misguided” shit she was spewing your way at dinner? Pretty much came straight from grandma.”
Reaching up to make sure she had actually cut the weave and not my real hair by accident, I asked, “Can we talk about something else? Like, anything else?”
She smacked my hand way, insisting, “Move! I got it,” before going on to say, “And the answer to your question is no. We should talk about this cause I can’t be the only one who knows all of this shit.”
With a sigh, I crossed my arms over my chest, not giving her the go-ahead while also not really being in the position to shut her up; something she took as a green light once she started, “So grandma passed away as Mrs. Jackson, obviously. But before that, she was married to our real grandpa, Leonard Mitchell.”
“Grandpa Leo? I didn’t know they were ever married, just that mom had his last name.”
“Same. But the reason they divorced was because grandpa was out here on some reckless shit back in the day. Gambling away most of his check and drinking with the rest, leaving grandma to struggle raising school-aged mom, just… triflin’, pretty much.”
Finding out Grandpa Leo, who was honestly one of my favorite people in the world when he was alive, wasn’t always the good person I believed him to be was already enough new information for the day. But the plot only got thicker when Mila continued, “Anyway, when grandma decided to leave, she basically told adolescent-mom something along the lines of, “Marry for financial security because love doesn’t keep the lights on”.”
“Well damn,” I thought, understanding the gist of what grandma was trying to say while also seeing how that could’ve been detrimental to the mindset of a child if taken literally. And things only seemed to get worse in that regard once Mila continued her little story.
“So husband number two, Arnold Jackson, was a baller. Kept grandma and mom well taken care of and all that, but he was a cheating ass bastard. Like, making babies - plural - with the neighbor and shit. And when now teenage-mom asked grandma why she didn’t just leave him, grandma acted like it was the norm, that his mistakes were typical of men, and that as long as he continued to provide for them, it was no big deal.”
“Basically the same thing she tried to instill in us times a thousand,” I interjected, beginning to find the whole thing just as eye-opening as Mila had originally insisted.
Another piece of hair fell as she agreed, “Right. So that’s how she went into the relationship with your dad, and mine.”
“But neither of our dads messed around on her, to our knowledge,” I defended, a fact that was making it difficult for everything to curl over in my head.
Still, Jamila did her best to make sense of things when she replied, “Neither of them were real “providers” either, though. And if that’s what she believed men were solely supposed to be, I can see why those relationships went left.”
“That still doesn’t make what she said the other night, nor what she did, okay,” I told her, refusing to let any of that go just because grandma had messed up her head the same way she did ours.
I was grateful that Mila agreed, “It doesn’t. But after sharing all of this with me, she sort of froze up, went quiet. Almost like she was realizing the flaws in her logic, the flaws in grandma’s logic, in real time. And I’m not saying she’s suddenly reformed or anything like that, but she might be coming around soon.”
“Well I wish her the best of luck,” I offered, not investing any more energy into Jamila’s optimism based on one little revelation that I hadn’t even gotten from the horse’s mouth.
But leave it to my little sister to try and bridge the gap anyway by suggesting, “You should talk to her.”
“Definitely should’ve gotten that refill,” I thought, letting out a frustrated grunt as I replied, “I knew that was coming. I knew her getting in your head about all this would somehow turn into, “Give her a chance, Jay”, “She’s your mother, Jay”, “She’s not that bad outside of the fact that she brought your cheating ex-husband to dinner…”.”
Yanking my head back by the leftover weave, Mila snapped, “Bitch, will you relax? I didn’t say she’s the only option on your fuckin’ phone-a-friend list. I just said you should talk to her. Now if that’s tomorrow, or if it’s five years from now is up to you. But I just thought you’d find all of this as interesting as I did and possibly want to hear more from her.”
Was it interesting? Sure. But hearing it from my little sister didn’t really move me as much as a simple apology from my mother could, something I wasn’t holding my breath to wait on as Mila said, “Maybe you should use some of your connects to get us on one of those family therapy reality shows. Iyanla: We’re Fucked Up.”
With a much-needed chuckle, I corrected, “It’s called, Iyanla: Fix My Life.”
“Same thing,” she offered, chuckling herself when she asked, “Can you imagine her and mom going at it? I mean, layers on top of layers of drama. Must-see TV.”
I could already imagine it now, Iyanla trying to use one of her unconventional therapy methods just to be met with some of my mother’s antics. “Mom would probably give that woman a heart attack.”
“Or fake her own to make the viewership skyrocket since she just can’t be outdone,” Mila suggested with another little laugh that made me laugh too considering how accurate was. But the laugh was also enough for the pressure in my bladder from all those mimosas to show up, forcing me to press pause on her getting started on the next section of my hair so that I could go pee.
The effort it took to stand up from the pillow I was sitting on on the floor, make it down the hall to the bathroom, and then sit down on the toilet already had me regretting drinking so much. But the relief of a drunk pee was like no other, my eyelids drifting closed until I heard someone knocking on the bathroom door. And before I could even address her, Mila announced, “Uhhhh… somebody’s at the door. And he kinda looks like Khalid, but also somehow a hundred times finer which makes all the terrible things I said about him earlier null and void.”
Since that didn’t even make any sense, I finished peeing then went to wash my hands while shouting back, “You mean, the part about how I should’ve taken his phone and shoved it up his ass? Or the part about how I should’ve cut his locs in random places he couldn’t hide when he was sleep?”
“Who said that? I said that?”
Pulling the door open, I teased, “Are you really that drunk?” Then I made my way to the front door, taking a quick peek through the peephole to see a guy that was definitely built like Khalid running a brush over his fade which meant it couldn’t be him. But when I opened the door and saw those familiar, playful brown eyes looking back at me, it felt like I had swallowed a gum ball whole.
“Oh… my God.”
As much as I loved Khalid with his locs, seeing him with a fresh fade - and smelling fresh out of the barber’s chair - had me relying on the door for support when he finally spoke. “Hey Jay.”
Giving a greeting in return didn’t feel nearly as important as acknowledging, “Your hair. It’s…”
“Gone,” he finished for me, grinning as he swiped a hand over where his locs used to be then looked back at me to say, “And I see you’re on the same wave.”
I was so caught up in his new do that I had forgotten about my own hair-braided, half-weaved one, the mention making me slam the door in his face in a panic. And while I could only imagine how confused he looked on the other side, I was just as confused by him showing up like this, yelling through the door, “What are you doing here, Khalid?”
Watching him through the peephole, I saw his annoyingly-fine ass shove his hands in the pockets of his jeans as he answered, “I just came by to talk, Jayla. Well, apologize, mainly.”
“Go on,” I shouted, peeking over at Mila who had a hand over her mouth to cover up her laughing.
While I was busy giving her the death stare to stay quiet, Khalid shouted back, “I really gotta yell it through the door for all your neighbors to hear? I mean, I will, but...”
Having any sort of conversation face-to-face with him looking like that and me looking like this didn’t really seem like a fair match-up. But if he was really here to apologize like he said he was, then he’d just have to accept me how I was. Though I was grateful when Mila passed me a cap to throw on over the part she had already taken out so that I could actually open the door again. And when I did, I didn’t bother looking at him when I said, “Follow me.”
After bounding the couple flights of stairs to the first floor - a truly bad idea in my current state - we ended up in the courtyard of my complex that was especially quiet since most people were at work. But the deafening silence only expanded my anxiety about what it was he had to say, a little annoyed when the only thing that came out of his mouth was, “So… how you been?”
“I’m going to be honest. I’m a bit too tipsy for small talk, so just get to the point. Why are you really here?”
The silence returned as he carefully chose his words, my patience growing thinner by the second until he finally answered, “I’m here to tell you how sorry I am, to your face. I might not have known exactly what you were going through at the time, but I knew what you had been through, and I didn’t hold up my end of the bargain by respecting your pace like I said I would. I shouldn’t have pushed you like that.”
While I could appreciate his apology, it still wasn’t enough for me to welcome him back with open arms, my frown remaining intact when I expressed, “Khalid, it’s not even just about you not respecting my pace. But for you to treat me like I was wrong for having any sort of standard when it came to our developing situation just because we hadn’t put titles to it, and then suddenly hop on some “strictly business” bullshit because of that was…”
“Selfish,” he finished for me, grabbing my hand to look me in the eye as he continued, “It was selfish, and inconsiderate, and I’m sorry. For real.”
It sounded good, but I had been here before, had heard it all and been fed every one-liner that only led to the same thing happening again. And as if going to his phone was a good idea considering it had been the catalyst to all of this, he pulled it from his pocket, scrolling to open his Instagram app and show me his blank profile.
“Why are you showing me this?”
“I’m done, Jayla. No more “influencing”, one and done on the hosting, no more entertaining and engaging the fans. The money and the fame isn’t worth losing the best thing that’s ever happened to me in you.”
The best thing that’s ever… okay, maybe I hadn’t heard that one before. And while I was internally flattered, I didn’t acknowledge that part out loud, instead addressing the first part of his statement when I asked, “Khalid, are you crazy? Do you realize how much money you’re leaving on the table?”
Completely unfazed, he looked me straight on to express, “None of it means shit without you, shorty. None of it.”
Once again, I was flattered as hell. But somehow, I still fought the urge to hop into his lap and take a whiff of the special finishing sauce his barber had used, gnawing on my lip instead as I teased, “I take it that meeting with Carl didn’t go so well…”
With a little chuckle, he replied, “He really thought he had one. Dude tried to set me up with all types of companies that ain’t got shit to do with me which only made it even clearer that you really got the juice, shorty. Not that I ever believed otherwise, but...”
Turning his way, I admitted, “I’m a work in progress, Khalid. You remember that little rant you went on about me being a good businesswoman? Having all these skills to see right through the bullshit? I didn’t always have that. I didn’t always have this... voice, particularly in my personal life. But I do now. And even if you decide you can’t handle that, it’s not going anywhere.”
“And I don’t want it to. I just… I fucked up, Jayla. But I swear I learned my lesson. None of that shit will ever happen again.”
Considering the genuine person Khalid had always been, it was hard not to take him for his word. Though my eyebrow still piqued when I asked, “Ever again?”
“Ever. Again,” he answered, punctuating his words with a kiss against each of my cheeks. And it was then that I realized how much I missed his touch, secretly wishing Jamila wasn’t upstairs so he could apologize to my other cheeks.
But it was probably a good thing we weren’t in private, allowing me to stay on topic once I told him, “That’s a big claim to make.”
“Then I’ll put that on my grandmama’s grave to let you know I’m deadass,” he quickly replied, a response that definitely let me know he was serious while also making me frown since…
“Can you not?! This has nothing to do with her, God rest her sweet, sweet soul.”
Instead of agreeing, he only laughed, wrapping his arm around my shoulder to pull me into his chest. And while this time around the silence was a lot more soothing, especially now that I was in a better position to smell him, I couldn’t help admitting out loud, “I learned a lesson too.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“Always be prepared for a guy to show up on his “baby, baby, please” shit,” I told him with a laugh, lifting my hand to tighten the cap over my hair.
It was the same one I had on that day in the convenience store, and even prompted a similar response from Khalid once he replied, “You still look good, shorty. You always look good.”
“It’s the bad bitch way, even on her day off,” I insisted with a smirk, peeking up to find his eyes and glad to see him wearing one as well.
Looking me dead on, he asked, “So are we good, Jay?”
I definitely felt better now that it seemed like we were back on the same page. But when my throat responded with a gag and then my mouth began to water, I quickly answered, “Before I answer yes, I have two orders of business for you. One, I need you to get your Insta-posts back because some of those contracts were still active. And two, I need you to hold my leftover weave back because I think I’m about to throw up.”
In a flash, I was bent over from my seated position and Khalid caught my hair just in time for most of it to miss the splash of breakfast that came out of my mouth right onto the concrete. And after a second smaller wave of barf, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and whined, “Another lesson; no more bottomless mimosas with Mila.”
“Is that a whole sausage link? Did you like, forget to chew or somethin’?” he asked teasingly as I gagged again before shouting, “Not funny!”
He laughed anyway, standing up and straddling my vomit to lift me from my seat as he sang, “Poor shorty. Come on. Let’s get you back upstairs and into bed.” And before I could protest, he was already carrying me towards the stairs like a big ol’ baby, my arms wrapped around his neck for extra support once he started climbing them two by two. But the hold felt so different without his hair in the way, my hands finding their way to the back of his head for a rub that made him chuckle.
“Weird, right?”
Opening my disgusting mouth while being so close to him might’ve killed him, so instead I only nodded as he maneuvered to open the door, my sister popping up from the couch the second we walked in to say, “What the hell did you… do you know I will kill you?!”
Khalid wasn’t at all fazed by her threats, confidently calm when he told her, “Chill, Mila. She just threw up from all those mimosas you apparently had her on. You know good and well she’s a lightweight.”
“He would know,” I thought as Mila asked more to herself than us, “She is?”
Instead of giving her an answer, I muttered, “Bathroom, please,” without opening my mouth too much, happy when Khalid obliged my wishes. And even after putting me down so I could brush my teeth and rinse my mouth, he stayed nearby so he could see me off to my bedroom, even going as far as tucking me in before sitting on the edge of the bed to rub my forehead since my hair wasn’t an option.
Somehow, even with everything that had gone down - and the fact that I surely looked a hot ass mess right now - I didn’t feel as embarrassed about it as I would’ve in the past; more so happy to have someone like Khalid around who genuinely cared to make sure I was well taken care of. And when he took that a step further by asking, “Can I get you a cup of coffee the way you like it, boss lady?”, I knew I had made the right decision in giving us another chance.
He deserved it.