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“Baby, we are more alike than you think. I just don’t expect a pity party for my past. You wanna be real? Let’s be real. I love you, Dim, but I swear, you need to look in the mirror. Nobody’s judging you. I’m going off what I see. And what’s seen through my eyes is a woman with unlimited potential who allows trauma to be her bad luck charm.”

“And how exactly is that?”

“Because instead of taking accountability, you make excuses. Then you expect that same accountability from others. Nobody is saying you can’t date around. The men you choose are not safe. Exhibit A, B, and C is that Tony mothafucka who tried to shoot up my spot last time you were there.”

Guilt rides her face harder than Skin Diamond in a porno, “Well, I cut him off for that.”

“That’s not the point,” I say, throwing my hands in the air.

“Okay. Then what is the point, Morgan?”

“The point is, it shouldn’t have happened, period. You could’ve died. I could’ve died. Tye could’ve died. One of my guests could’ve died. Hell, I could’ve lost my lounge just as quickly as I got it. That’s exactly why I don’t allow niggas in my shit now. But that’s also why I had my reasons to go in a different direction.”

“I get it,” she mumbles, looking down at her feet.

“Besides, when you expect someone to just give you a position at their place of business because we’re homegirls, that’s not right. Tyesha showed more effort. I even tried to bring you in, remember? You barely paid mind until you found out the position was given to someone else.

Look, I don’t mind working with you, sis. I just won’t baby you. I do care, but I won’t coddle. You want to work? Cool. Show me that. I’m more than willing to bring you in. I want nothing but the best for you and Kota. Always. I know it’s been rough since Jaron passed. But this funny acting shit could’ve been avoided. On both ends. Because all of this really hurt me. And I miss the fuck out of you.”

Another layered moment of silence passes before Dime finally sighs, twirling the blunt around between her fingers. A telltale sign that she’s way more invested in my words than before. As if I finally struck a major chord.

“Damn,” she looks in my direction again, “I never really thought about that. Aye, look, I’m sorry, sis. Because I’ve missed you too. For real. I’m just tired of struggling. Tired of feeling desperate. Tired of feeling so alone out here.”

This is the most vulnerable I’ve ever seen her. Usually, Dime keeps things very tight knit. Never exposing too much emotion. She smokes, drinks, and keeps a cool head. It’s a humanizing moment of sorts. Though it’s easy to sympathize with her sentiment. Speaking as someone who used to feel similarly. You can be surrounded by millions and still feel like only one truly has your back. With the one being yourself.

“You’re not alone, Dime,” I profess with my arms around her, “If I made you feel that way, I’m sorry. Seriously. But I’ve got you. This is a locked in forever thang. I promise. Just talk to me.”

“Aight, aight,” we finally separate from each other, “Enough of the dramatics.”

“Dramatics? Shit, you the one crying, girl,” she claims, still wiping away tears mind you, “I’m cool.”

She plays so much.

My lips are balled to hold back laughter, “Shut the hell up and light that blunt.”

The room fills with laughter and good vibes. It feels good to be in this state with her again. For the first time in a while, we’re back on the same page, being goofier than teenagers. Dime sparks up, allowing me to continue talking.

“But seriously, come down Thursday. Wear all black. And leave the niggas with bullets at home, ma’am.”

A thin chuckle leaves her throat, “I got you. Hell, who knows? Maybe I’ll bump into my husband somewhere down there.”

“As long as he stays his ass outside.”

I feel like Bernie Mac on stage in Chicago with the way she’s giggling on. I’ve missed her laugh though. Goofy and rambunctious as it is. She’s still going while my phone goes off in my hand. The number is unsaved, but I still get all the information needed.

Maybe Syren: Hey you. It’s the woman who was looking at your ass in the grocery store. Syren. Lol

There she is. Her text draws an instant smile. The phone’s still in my lap as I turn my head to Dime, too busy vibing to notice me. Her number gets saved before there’s a response to her text.

Me: Lmao. Well, hello. Make it home?

Syren: I did, I did. You ran through my mind, so I figured I’d text you now. Is that okay?

Me: It’s perfect. But I’m about to smoke with my homegirl, so I’ll text you later on.

Syren: Bet.

I place the phone back down to the right of me, looking up to see Dime all in my face. Blowing more smoke than a chimney on Christmas night. Being nosy like a child when their parents have company.