I think it’s mostly that he doesn’t love me.
Having someone ditch you overnight results in wondering what changed for them to lose interest. It bruised my self-esteem, pushed me to question myself. I once heard my dad say to Uncle Harry he thought relationships were basically watching someone slowly lose interest in you.
And he was right, wasn’t he?
That’s what happened between him and Mom.
“I’ll make the popcorn,” I tell Morgan, who nods and makes a run for the living room, way too many snacks huddled up in her arms. I hear her turn on the TV and launch herself onto the couch.
Minutes later, I’m resting the popcorn bowl on the low table and leaping next to her. We’ve just started arguing on what to watch when the front door swings open.
I stop breathing.
Please don’t be Blake.
Relief rolls over me at Zoey’s signature tune: heels ruining my mother’s hardwood floor.
“Where you at, bitches?” she calls.
“Where we always are. The couch,” Morgan hollers.
Zoey smothers a chuckle, making her superstar entrance. My gaze travels up her outfit. Her straightened black hair flows down her shoulders, completing her killer outfit: purple top, tight skirt, high heels. Zoey’s gorgeous. There’s no denying it.
She’s also in excellent shape from doing extreme hot yoga every single day—I tried once and thought I was going to die in a puddle of my own sweat. Zoey’s also that friend who can engulf the entire menu at McDonald’s and still be a size zero. I assess her flashy attire, then my gray sweatpants and tank top, then Morgan’s oversized hoodie and leggings.
Yup. We look homeless.
“That’s your outfit for movie night?” Morgan beats me to it.
Zoey cocks an eyebrow. “Yeah. Problem?”
“Can you even sit in that thing?” I chortle.
“Sure I can.” She does just that, wedging herself between Morgan and me with apparent difficulty. Then she point-blank betrays herself. “So
… Where are your brother and his boys?”
Ah.
That’s why.
Girl, this isn’t your “movie night” outfit.
This is your “get with Kass’s brother” outfit.
“Not here yet,” I reply. Maybe I shouldn’t have told her they’d be here tonight.
Morgan puts the pieces together. “Wait, does that mean… Blake is going to be there?”
I give a faint nod.
“And have you talked to him since…”
“Not really. I mean, I’ve texted him. Four words. ‘Come get your shit.’ I had a box full of his crap in my room.”
“And did he? Come get his stuff?” Morgan asks.
I shrug. “No. Never even replied. I threw it out.”