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Ohhhh the picture.
I still didn’t know what the hell I was even thinking, posting that.
Well.
Actually.
I did know what I was thinking. I was thinking I didn’t want to look quite so sad and pathetic and desperate and lonely so loudly in front of the whole world. I didn’t want to look like I was how Monty’s little girlfriend was trying to make me seem, some clingy ex who couldn’t let go.
I didn’t want to look like I’d lost.
And I wasn’t sure I’d been very successful.
All it had done was get people talking, which usually never went the way you wanted.
I knew better, on about twenty different levels, which was why it was nowhere to be found anymore on my page. But, because the internet was the internet, of course it had still circulated—was still circulating—and only created an even bigger mess.
Even more drama than I was already plagued with.
Sierra assured me it would die down as long as I kept myself low-key, and I was doing my best. I was not a celebrity, so it shouldn’t be that difficult.
The problem came with being connected to a celebrity that attracted messiness.
It’ll be fine, I repeated in my mind as I tucked into my bowl of jambalaya and then spent the rest of my afternoon into the evening playing and socializing with my mother and niece. The condo had more than enough space that there was no need for them to get a hotel to stay overnight. They would just stay with me.
Once Mini was tucked away in bed, I joined my mother in my living room with a bottle of wine… and a wish and a prayer that she did not want to talk to me about Monty.
Admittedly, the chances of that were slim.
I wasn’t sure who was more angry at him, her or me.
“Okay now,” she said, as soon as I was settled beside her. “Talk to me about the new big fine football player the internet says you’re banging.”
My eyes went wide, my mouth dropped open. “Mama?!” I gasped.
“Girl, don’t you mama me, we’re both grown! Turns out your man ain’t shit? Fine. I saw the way that other man was looking at you at that basketball game. You know I looked him up on the internet? Found some workout footage. Have you seen that man’s legs?” She giggled. “Like tree trunks. You know who he remind me of? Your daddy when he was that age.”
“Okay, that’s enough of this,” I said, taking a big gulp of my wine.
“What?” Mama said. “I’m not lying. Your daddy was?—”
“Mama! If you want there to be anything between me and Tatum, I can tell you now, it is never going to happen if he makes me think of my father because you’ve embedded the visual in my head,” I explained, and she promptly buttoned her lips shut. “Thank you.”
“But—”
“Ma!”
“It’s not about him!” she swore. “Can I say what I was gonna say?”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “What is it?”
She hiked her chin in the air. “All I was going to ask is… are you okay?”
Shit.
Leave it to my mother to drag me right back to the edge of tears with just three little words.
“I… don’t know how to answer that, actually,” I told her. “These last few days have been… a lot. The basketball game, the restaurant, that interview, the baby. And then Monty showing up to try to reconcile… all of it is crazy to me. But I’m… I don’t know. Resolute. I mean, it’s not like the infidelity was something new, so there’s not really anything to process. I’m honestly not even sure why this time was the proverbial straw. I don’t know what it is that makes this just so untenable.”