“Jers don’t wear nothing but sweatsuits. He was mad when the invite said black tie.”
“Black tie? Jazzy, when the fuck you had the time to plan this?” His eyes widened.
“Big Mama will make anything happen for you, Pa. Remember that.” I tapped the side of his face.
“Fuck outta here.” He nudged my head with a laugh. “I told you I wanted to be chill this year.”
“I know, but you deserve to be celebrated. Plus… I invited your sisters.”
Based off the look on his face, I couldn’t tell if he was happy or pissed. He hadn’t spoken to his sisters in a while. Last conversation they had was a year ago when Ahkeem reached out to ask if they could help with their father. Khadijah and Niema made it clear that they wanted no parts. They witnessed their father’s life go downhill after their mother passed away, and unlike Ahkeem, who liked to force people to change, they gave up on him. There was some slight tension amongst the three, but nothing heavy enough to make them hate each other.
Ahkeem felt like his sisters got married, packed up, and ditched him with the responsibility of Kareem’s drunk ass. It didn’t make things any better that he didn’t reach out to invite them to our wedding, but he figured things were better thatway. They lived their lives separately and only communicated through annual text messages that were sent for the holidays and their birthdays.
I knew I had to tell him ahead of time because my husband had no filter, so if he didn’t want his sisters in his presence, he would say it loud and clear right in their faces. To save us the awkwardness and embarrassment, I had to make him privy to the fact that they were showing up.
“Khadijah and Niema actually pulled their heads out of their husband’s asses and came back to the city?”
“Okay, how about you don’t say that when you see them?”
He smacked his lips. “I’ll try not to. How it go when you reached out?”
“Well, considering the fact that they had no idea who I was, it was a little weird introducing myself as your wife.” I rolled my eyes.
He pinched the bridge of his nose stressedly. “We don’t talk like that. I told them about you and that we got married. I just ain’t think I needed to spill my whole life to them when the phone works both ways. Me and my sisters would go the rest of our lives without speaking if I don’t pick up the phone to call.”
I had no room to judge with the fucked-up family I came from. Hell, my brother killed my parents, and my sister tried to knock me off for a fucking bag. Ahkeem’s and his sisters’ situation was a cake walk compared to our shit.
“I know, baby, but maybe this will be a step in the right direction. We need all the family we can get.”
“You and Blue really all the family I need.”
“As sweet as that sounds, I think your mom would want all three of you guys to talk more.”
He pulled on the hairs of his goatee as he contemplated what I was telling him. He loved his sisters. They just had some things they needed to smooth over.
“I’ll trust you on this.”
I clapped my hands excitedly. “Yay. Now let’s go. Big Mama still needs at least six more hours of beauty sleep.”
He slapped my ass as I led him out of the home so we could head back to the penthouse. I was glad everything was falling into place for his birthday so far, and I could only pray that it continued at his birthday party.
There was something about a rooftop that made my husband feel like he was on top of the world. He was dressed like money. I had him fitted in an all-black Tom Ford tuxedo with a silk lapel. His gold cufflinks complimented the gold and bronze hues of my vintage Roberto Cavalli gown that fit me like a glove. The theme for the night was old money, and we emulated it perfectly.
He had my hand tucked in his while his other hand had a cigar in it. I held onto Blue’s hand, and he was just as handsome as his father in his own tuxedo.
The rooftop was absolutely gorgeous! There was black marble on the floor that reflected the full moon that lit up the dark sky. Lights streamed all throughout the rooftop, emulating stars. There were black and white portraits of Ahkeem all over, making it clear that he was the man of the hour. Not only was there a full bar with a pyramid of champagne coupes, but there was also a cigar station since my man found a new interest in them after his trips to Italy and Columbia for business.
I pulled all the stops and even had a quartet of violinists strumming their strings to the melody of Jay-Z’s and Kanye’s song “Niggas in Paris.”
“Put your hands together for the man of the hour, Ahkeem!” our party planner, Piper announced into the microphone, garnering everyone’s attention. A wave of applause filled therooftop as our family and friends put their hands together to celebrate him.
His entrance was nothing short of star studded. He thanked everyone with a wide stretched smile on his handsome face and his hand over his heart, indicating he felt all the love. Piper walked the mic over to us, and Ahkeem expressed his gratitude for everyone.
“Thank you all for coming out to celebrate my 31st birthday. Thank you to my wife for putting this all together. I had no fucking clue.” He winked at me with a smirk. “Lastly, shout out to God for allowing me to make it to another year. 31! Cheers to more love, more success, and way more fucking money!”
I passed him a flute of champagne, and he held it up in the air. “Salute!”
“Salute!” We all lifted our glasses in the air after him.
