Page 16 of My Only (My First, My Last)

A yla

As soon as I stepped into the faculty lounge, I inhaled a deep breath and fixed a smile onto my lips.

It was our annual work mixer at Park Avenue Prep, a tradition we held shortly after the school year began. A time to catch up, unwind, and bring our spouses—though that part was unwritten. It was the only event where we could truly mix and mingle.

For years, Hassani and I had arrived together, our little tradition locked in place. I’d stay late after school, change into my outfit in my classroom, then meet him for dinner before the party. We’d walk in at the same time, our bellies full, ready to be social.

This year was different.

This summer was different .

He’d started working on the Greene Gardens Project late last December, and by July of this year, I’d met his team. Because he was deep into the project, we hadn’t taken our usual summer trip. Instead, we settled for a weekend staycation in Manhattan and called it a day.

And now, for the first time ever, he was late to my event.

I waited in my classroom as long as I could, checking my phone every few minutes for an update. But nothing.

So, I finally decided to go to the party without him.

“Ayla!”

I looked up from my phone and lifted a hand when I saw who was calling me. Aisha Townsend, one of the teachers whose classroom was right next to mine.

I took another deep breath as I closed the space between myself and the group of teachers I spent most of my time with at Park Avenue Prep.

None of them had spouses—happily single and always attending the event solo—so I decided to join them until Hassani arrived.

“Hey, y’all.” I injected as much energy into my voice as I could muster. “What are we getting drunk off tonight?”

They all snickered, instantly catching the inside joke.

Park Avenue Prep kept things dry. The idea of teachers enjoying even a sip of alcohol under this roof—even at a work mixer—was practically a cardinal sin.

“Oh, you know,” Aisha started. “Grape juice and apple juice. Getting high off this central air too.”

I giggled.

“As always, the hair is poppin’, Mrs. Franklin,” another teacher, Celeste Ramirez, commented. “I love.”

“ Aww , well, you know.” I patted my coils and curls and smiled. “Thank you, as always.”

“Speaking of Mrs. Franklin ...” Aisha turned to me with a teasing grin. “Where’s the mister?”

“He’s working late,” I said, exaggerating a pout. “He should be here in the next hour, though.”

At least, I hoped so.

“ Hmph .”

The sound came from Janae, quiet but sharp enough to catch.

She hadn’t been the same since late last summer, when her ex-husband’s mistress showed up at school to tell her about the affair. I wasn’t there when it happened, but the recap alone was enough for me to picture it.

Ever since that day, Janae had changed. She smiled less, spoke in sharp, biting remarks that we often let slide, knowing she was still processing everything.

She moved into a smaller home with her kids, left her husband, and filed for divorce.

She was going through it, and we all did our best to be supportive.

But she kept us at arm’s length.

She ate lunch alone, avoided too much small talk, and never really let anyone in.

And none of us blamed her for that.

So, we gave her grace—because that was all she allowed us to give.

Sliding into the chair next to her, I wrapped an arm around her shoulder and gave her a quick hug. “How you doin’, girl?”

She shrugged. “Breathing, which should count for something, right?”

I rubbed my hand against her back. “How are the kids?” I asked, knowing exactly what to say to make her light up. “Corey’s gotta be taller than me by now, huh? I know he shot up like a bamboo tree this summer.”

And just like that, her whole face changed.

Her eyes brightened, her lips curved into a genuine smile.

She loved her kids.

And talking about them was the one thing that always brought her joy.

Janae talked my ear off about every and anything involving her children, which led to a conversation about everyone else’s children. From there, we moved on to TV, the news, and finally, our plans for the school year.

That was what Park Avenue Prep’s work mixer was all about—catching up, laughing, and running our mouths about everything and nothing. It was one of the best parts of working here.

The faculty at Park Avenue Prep was like a second family to me. We spent so much time together, supporting one another in ways that extended beyond the classroom. Not much ever happened here, but every now and then, there’d be something worth bringing home to share with Hassani.

It wasn’t the Greene Gardens Project, but it was a special part of my world.

Every so often, I checked my phone, hoping for an update. A text. A call. Something.

But an hour had gone by and still… nothing.

“Is Hassani still coming?” Vivian asked from across the table.

Vivian Carmichael had been at Park Avenue Prep before I was even born. She swore every year would be her last, promising to retire for real this time. But she always showed up every August for teacher orientation, and honestly? We loved her for it.

“You know I gotta see them stunning light eyes and that smile to kick off my school year the right way,” she teased.

I giggled. “Watch yourself, Mrs. Carmichael, talking about my husband’s eyes. Relax.”

She threw her head back and laughed out loud, setting off everyone else at the table.

I laughed too, but inside, the question sat with me.

Where the hell is Hassani?

“I’m sure he’s doing his best to finish up whatever’s keeping him from winking and smiling at you,” I told her with a grin. “Work has been nonstop since he started the Greene Gardens Project.”

Monica Ellison, another teacher at our table, perked up. “Wait, is that the village upstate? The one started by that billionaire?”

I nodded. “Yup, Bryant Greene.”

Gasps and wide eyes circled the table.

“I didn’t know Hassani was working on that!” Vivian scooted to the edge of her seat. “What exactly is he doing?”

“He’s the principal architect.” My cheeks ached from smiling so hard. No matter how many times I said it, I marveled at how huge this job was. “He’s in charge of designing and overseeing the building of all the commercial and residential properties.”

“The whole village, Ayla?!” Vivian’s eyes nearly popped out of her head.

I nodded. “The whole thing.”

“Now, baby.” She pointed at me. “You were supposed to lead with that. That’s huge .”

“Enormous,” I agreed, scoffing with a laugh. “Bryant Greene even hosted an event for the project over the summer at The Metropolitan Museum of Art.”

Jaws dropped.

“It was…” I sighed, shaking my head at the memory. “Beyond anything I’ve ever been to. That’s when I really understood how big of a deal this was.”

“Well then,…” Vivian said, waving a dismissive hand, “him being late makes sense, child. That’s amazing, Ayla. Absolutely amazing.”

Everyone nodded and murmured in agreement.

Vivian laid a hand over mine. “When you see him, you let him know I am very, very proud of him. So proud. Wow.”

My heart swelled. “Well, when he gets here—if he gets here on time—you can tell him yourself.”

Vivian smirked. “That man is busy literally building a village. He don’t need to be here tonight.”

I playfully rolled my eyes.

“What he needs to do,” she continued, “is tell me how I can get a house over there, ‘cause Lord knows I’m about sick and tired of this city.”

“You say that every year, Viv,” another teacher passing by chimed in.

“And I mean it every year,” Vivian shot back. “Things are getting so damn ridiculous and expensive in this city. Do you know how much money I had to drop on…”

And just like that, she was off, pulled into another conversation.

I took the opportunity to check my phone again.

Still nothing.

I tapped on my messages, ready to text Hassani, when I heard a quiet hmph from beside me.

“First, they start missing little things like this,” Janae spoke under her breath, her head propped in her hand. “Then, suddenly, they’re too busy for everything.”

It was like she had pulled a thought straight from my head and spoken it into existence.

My gut reacted before I could.

I turned to her, forcing a smile as I bumped her shoulder. “Now, Janae,” I said, trying to keep things light. “Don’t get back in the mood I just pulled you out of. Come on now.”

She chuckled, shaking her head, but her expression didn’t fully lift.

“All I’m saying is…” She popped a saltine cracker into her mouth, her voice quieter this time. “ Watch the patterns, boo.”

I stared at her for a moment, realizing too late that I’d been holding my breath.

Her words stung. More than I wanted to admit.

Because ever since the start of the year, everything had shifted.

Hassani and I had our routines. We had our life before the Greene Gardens Project. And the second he signed on as their principal architect, everything changed—fast. So fast my head was still spinning, trying to keep up.

I couldn’t wait for the school year to start again, just so I could have something— anything —to ground me.

Then, my phone buzzed in my hand.

My heart leaped before I could stop it.

Maybe he was outside. Maybe he was on his way. Maybe…

Hassani: I’m so sorry, baby, but I can’t make it tonight. I’ll make it up to you, though. I promise. I love you.

The air in my lungs just… stopped.

My fingers hovered over the screen, but my mind went blank.

I reread the text. Then reread it again. And again. Looking for something more. Some reason. Some explanation. Some proof that I wasn’t slowly losing him to something bigger than me.

I started typing— What’s the hold up?— then deleted it.

Typed again— I told you about this, weeks in advance . Why are you canceling? —deleted that too.

My chest felt tight; my fingers numb.

What was the point?

I settled on a simple reply.

Me: Ok.

That one little word felt like surrender.

“You all right?” Janae asked beside me.

I looked up, met her gaze.