Page 23 of Cause When You Love Someone

Clarke

S andstorm

Comfortable in the salon chair in my beauty room, I sat with my eyes shut while Sage gathered my hair into a ponytail. I didn’t consider I would need help to do my hair when I voluntarily became a chicken head, but luckily, Sage loved to play in my hair, so he jumped at the chance to help.

When the music went from Cardi B to Kehlani, I hummed along with the song. Surprised by my positive energy during a heartbreak, I silently thanked God for giving me the strength to get out of bed when I really just wanted to climb into Ishmael’s.

“Someone is chipper this morning. I’m happy to see you in good spirits.”

I freed an easy breath. “Yeah. I’m doing something I love, so I can’t complain. I spoke to Jerry earlier. He said the network is excited about the direction we’re taking the show.”

“That’s good news. I know you were worried that the bigwigs only wanted footage of you throwing ass on a yacht and fists in the club,” he kidded. “Hmm. Have you spoken to?—”

“No,” I interjected. “It’s been a week, and I don’t think I will. Ishmael is so set on protecting me, but he won’t allow me to do the same for him.”

“That sounds like something you two can get over.”

A swoosh of air fled through my nostrils. “Not if he can’t put his pride to the side,” I muttered. “Enough about me and my disastrous love life. Are you ready for your vacation?”

“I am, but I would feel better knowing my favorite person is in one piece.”

I untucked my bent legs and sat up straight in the chair. “I’m good. I promise! Even with a broken heart, I’m ready to get back to the dancefloor. If things get too heavy, I’ll just go shopping.”

We shared a laugh at my girl math answer, but we were interrupted by his phone. I sat quietly while he spoke to whoever was on the line. I could tell by Sage’s tone that the call was work-related.

“Was that the new guard?” I asked after he slid his phone into the pocket of his slacks.

“Yeah. He’s downstairs with your mom, so let’s get a move on it.”

I rolled my eyes at the idea that my biggest critic would be a witness to a vulnerable moment.

I hadn’t worn a leotard in front of other people in four years.

I hadn’t attended a class in five. Rusty was an understatement when it came to my dance skills, and I didn’t need my mom’s judgment to play on my insecurities.

I draped a peacoat over my dance fit, then draped a crossbody bag across my chest. My call time was ten, and I wanted to make a good impression on the teacher by being on time and dressed accordingly. It was bad enough that the studio had to make accommodations for the filming crew.

A second call from Rock led us downstairs, where my mom waited in my black truck. Only in her presence for a second, I noticed a mean mug disturbed her fresh Botox.

“Hello to you, too, Mother.”

“Hey. Why wasn’t I informed about the location change for today?”

I ran my tongue over the edges of my teeth. “It’s obvious you know something. We’re doing things a little different this season.”

She snarled. “Different or safe? I can tell you got some bullshit up your sleeve, Clarke. You’re going to ruin your reality career with this better-than persona.”

As she interrogated me, I recalled Ishmael’s silly but truthful joke about me being in charge.

“I’m not going to defend how I want to present myself to the world. If I choose to dance on a cloud instead of fighting and promoting a toxic relationship, that’s my decision.”

She dusted off her hands as if ridding herself of me. “All right, smart ass. I’m going to let you bump your head. You’ll crawl back when you need me to nurse you back to health. Just like I told you that the fling with you and Ishmael wouldn’t last.”

At that point, my mom didn’t deserve to know the details of my love life, so I put on my shades and relaxed until we got to the studio.

By the time we pulled up, Jerry waited outside at the curb.

As soon as I stepped out of the truck, he roped his arm around mine and whisked me off before anyone else could get to me.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“No problem. Judging by the voicemail I received from your mom a little while ago, I assumed the car ride would be tense.”

I smirked. “You know us so well.”

Aside from the dance instructor, Kori, there were two cameramen and three dancers in the large room. I didn’t know if the small class size was a strategic decision, but the less eyes, the better.

“Ms. C. Rose!” Kori walked over and embraced me. “I’m so happy to welcome you back to your happy place.”

“That is music to my ears. I appreciate you allowing us to film at your studio. I know the cameras and all that jazz are . . . a lot.”

The pretty lady with the honey brown skin placed her hands on her midsection. “It’s an honor. I love providing a space and opportunity for a fellow dancer.”

“I needed to hear that,” I admitted. “Where should we start?”

I removed my jacket, instantly conjuring a laugh from the back of the room. I peered over my shoulder to see my mother smiling with a camera in her face. It wasn’t one of those proud, nurturing smirks, but a condescending grin.

“You are too thick for that costume, C. Rose,” my mom suggested in a sarcastic tone. “Girl, you are going to make a fool out of yourself.”

Kori’s mouth fell into a disgusted shape. “Do I need to make this a private session?”

“You sure don’t. I’ll be quiet.” My mom raised her palms in the air.

For the most part, we went through basic stretches and warm-ups before Kori taught me a jazz number.

The bass from the music tickled the bottom of my feet, ushering a smile onto my face.

My attention to detail helped me through the steps, and despite the weight I’d gained over the years, my stamina was top tier.

Like riding a bike, I remembered to keep my shoulders squared or to shift my weight to the ball of my foot to increase my speed while turning.

Enthralled with the sensation of freedom, I didn’t remember the cameras were in the room until Jerry asked if we could add ballet into the mix.

Once my lesson was done, I had a one-on-one conversation with Kori about my plans to convert the property I inherited into a dance studio. We planned to meet again—without Jerry and the cameras—and she asked that I have a sports physical done before our next lesson.

Though I had more scenes to film, I had a few hours to kill before I had to be in front of the camera. A quick call to my doctor gave me the opportunity to complete my physical without having to wait weeks.

“Mom, we’re about to run to Dr. Stewart’s office. I want to get my physical handled.”

“That’s fine. I want to see how much you weigh. You think because you carry it in your ass and hips, it doesn’t matter.”

“Mom, if you’re going to be nasty about this, maybe you should skip the doctor’s appointment. Jerry isn’t coming, so there won’t be any camera time.”

“Clarke, stop talking to me.” She snarled. “Sage, call Rock and tell him we’re coming out.”

Just like during our ride to the studio, I remained quiet until we reached our destination. The less I spoke to my mom, the less I ran the chance of being discouraged.

The doctor’s office was empty, so we were escorted to a room within a few minutes of arriving. Since I was only getting a simple check-up, I didn’t stop my mom when she followed me. Instead, I asked Sage to come to the back as well.

“Ms. Clarke,” Dr. Stewart sang when she joined us in the room. “Is everything okay? You’re not due for your semi-annual appointment for another three months.”

“Well, I need a sports physical.”

“Sports physical? Okay. What are you getting into?”

“A fairytale,” my mom answered in a mocking tone. “She has the nerve to try to get back into dance.”

“Mama. Please. Stop.” I offered my doctor a smirk. “I’m taking classes with Kori Soles, and her studio requires every student have a physical in their file.”

“Aww, Clarke! I love to hear that. I remember you coming to me for your first physical. Whew. You’re making me feel old,” she declared before seizing the clipboard hanging on the door.

It was quick, but I saw Dr. Stewart’s perfectly arched brows leap up her forehead before crashing down.

“Is everything okay?” I quizzed.

“Yeah. I just think you might have to rework your plan. You may have to put the dance recital on hold and start planning your baby shower.” She carried air into her nose. “You’re pregnant, Clarke.”

My neck jerked back. “Girl. That’s not funny.”

“Comedians don’t make enough money for me, honey.” She grinned as she stepped over to me. “I can run a blood test or complete a vaginal ultrasound, but the stick is positive.”

A burn flared behind my eyelids when I tried to hold my emotions in, but that didn’t last long.

Silent tears rolled down my face when my head fell to the side, giving me a clear view of the mischievous smirk on my mom’s face.

I had just started to accept the idea that I had to give Ishmael up, and now, I may be attached to him forever.

I had my reasons for cutting him off, and I was afraid the news I’d just received wouldn’t be enough to stitch us back together.

“Every time I take one step forward, it feels like I get knocked two steps back,” I muttered.

My mom scoffed. “You didn’t get knocked down. You got knocked up. You love saying you’re grown. Now, you’re acting like you don’t know what happens when you have unprotected sex.”

Though she was right, I couldn’t appreciate her brash tone. I knew hopping on Ishmael’s dick would produce more than a body rocking orgasm. That didn’t mean I needed the truth thrown in my face.

While I had a silent panic attack, Dr. Stewart’s voice merged with the background when she asked Sage and my mom to leave.

My mom argued her down, but the mention of security made her abandon her seat.

The last thing she needed was a blog to get a tip that she was showing her ass in the nice part of town.