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“Hey, I have to go. I’m going into a council meeting, and I can’t be late.”
He hangs up before I can say goodbye. Rolling my eyes, I turn my phone on vibrate and pocket it.
Yet, I'm worn out at the end of each day and today is no different. On Sunday, I spent a grueling day with my mother, father, brother Grant the second, and his wife, Samaria.
They had initially refused to acknowledge my engagement to Kenneth. My father criticized Kenneth for not asking him first, and my mom went on and on about how selfish it was to not ask me in front of my friends and family. I didn’t tell her I agreed because that would have started another issue altogether.
It is always a hectic day as I watch my parents gush over my older brother and how he gets everything right. If that’s not bad enough, they go on and on about his wife who couldn’t be more perfect with her flawless skin, perfect size eight body, gleaming chiclet teeth, her boarding school manners, and her career as a director at some foundation for the arts. If that’s not bad enough, they announced this weekend that they’re expecting a child.
My parents were elated and as talk usually does, it moved to me and how my biological clock is ticking and I don’t have much longer to become pregnant. Never mind that Samaria is a year older than I am and is on her first pregnancy. Somehow, they view me as an old maid.
It didn’t matter, though. All I went through with them didn’t faze me like it normally would. I was so lost in my thoughts about Marco that I drowned my family out.
I was stuck with them through church service until I left their house after dinner at eight. That was when I got a chance to truly reminisce and remember how he looked, smelled, and tasted. I recalled how his fingers felt inside of me.
After I sucked him off, I texted my best friend letting her know that I was okay and was ditching the party meant for me.
After all, when would I get a chance to be alone with Marco DeLuca again? When would I ever see him again?
We talked for three hours as we reminisced on old times and caught up on the years we’d missed from each other’s lives. Then we said goodbye, and he had his bodyguard drive me home.
It feels as if I’ve been trying to catch up on the sleep I missed over the weekend all week. Every night my dreams have been full of Marco DeLuca. Every day my thoughts have been full of breaking off the engagement with Kenneth.
Pushing myself off the couch, I head back into the studio and go through my closing ritual before I lock the door behind me. We quit pretty early today closing the shop a little after six-thirty.
A whistle from somewhere behind me draws my attention back to the present, and I notice that the sun is dipping down in the sky.
The whistle sounds again, and I smile when I look over my shoulder and see my best friend, Rashida McIntyre, coming up behind me.
Rah, as I call her, is a social worker at a high school in our community.
“The sexiest forty Double-D tattoo artist I ever saw!” she sings and whistles again. “Got them tits on display again I see.”
I do a little dance and then laugh. “Hey, girl. What’s up?”
“I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by to see if you were close to quitting time.”
“Girl! I am. I only want to head home with a bottle of wine and a pizza. I doubt I’ll make it to bed. Probably fall out on the couch, eat the pizza, and drink the whole bottle of wine. I won’t be washing my body until Monday morning when it’s time to do it again.”
She chuckles and shakes her head.
“I hope not. After all, you’re someone’s fiancée now,” she says gaily. “Besides, don’t you have to work tomorrow?”
“I do.” I groan, walk around to the side of the building, and unlock my car.
“Mm-hmm. Come on. Let’s go,” she says, aiming her key fob at her SUV.
“What?” I groan.
“You’re not getting out of our weekly Thursday night dinner at my place. It just changed up a bit,” she says.
We have Thursday night dinners weekly, alternating between her place and mine. Fridays and Saturdays rotate for our hang-out days depending on our plans with our significant others.
“How so?”
“We’re having it at your house, and I’m paying.Farina’s Pizzeriaand a bottle of Stella Rosa Black! I’m even supplying plastic plates and dollar store wine glasses. No dishes for you to wash and no need to drive home. Get as drunk as you want as long as you show up sober tomorrow to keep pushing forward on this project,” she says, cheekily grinning at me.
Laughing, I say, “I’ve got the paper towels! Let me shut down, and I’ll meet you at your car.”
