Page 2 of The Brooklyn Way

“You hate your life, boo?” she questioned.

I made indecipherable noises with my mouth. The truth of the matter was that the term “hate” was a little strong for what I actually felt. But it was easier to express to my friend that I hated my life than it was to admit to her that I was indifferent about it. There was nothing to hate… or to love for that matter. Everything was blah! Everything was what it was. I was existing.

As the clock ushered in each new day, I arose and lived the new day the exact same way that I lived the one before it, just doing what I needed to do to get through it. Indulging in copious amounts of comfort food—chips, cookies, mashed potatoes, fried chicken, and coleslaw along with copious visits to Target… Those were my coping strategies.

“Have you been sewing at all?”

Thinking back to the life I used to live, I smiled. I used to sew. Actually, I used to be a highly sought-after famous social media dress designer. I had made countless dresses for fellow influencers—dresses for birthday bashes, anniversary parties, baby showers, galas, bridal showers… I’d even made custom wedding gowns. Sewing and creating event-worthy dresses had been my passion. Never had I foreseen the day when sewing wouldn’t be a huge part of my life, but the joke was on me. My sewing machines were gathering dust in my storage unit.

I admitted the truth with reluctance. “No.”

I heard her suck her teeth. “Why, friend? Why are you letting his bitch ass and that backstabbing cum bucket steal your passion? You’re probably hating your life because you aren’t doing what God so obviously put you here to do.”

The bitch ass and the cum bucket that Carrington was referring to were my ex and the chick he left me for—a fashion influencer, Kelly Callow, who went by the name of Dressed to Kell. She hired me to make a dress for her thirtieth birthday soiree. The dress was complicated and had to be constructed in three distinct pieces, which required several visits to my apartment for fittings and try-ons. Kelly was local, so the visits weren’t difficult for her to navigate. Little did I know that she was also navigating herself right onto my man’s dick.

I never suspected anything. Kelly was loud, boisterous, and completely over-the-top. She based her social media presence on fashion that she wore to clubs and industry events. She favored revealing, scanty clothing pieces that left very little to the imagination. There was absolutely nothing wrong with Kelly’s persona or her style of dress. I was only confused about their pairing because Vince (my ex) was a nerdy, introverted doctor who prided himself on his conservatism. Kelly was pretty and sexy. I wasn’t surprised that Vince was interested. What confused me was her interest in him.

I was shocked when Vince admitted to me that he was falling out of love with me and falling into it with Kelly. My heart literally ached when he said he planned to explore where things could go between them. Of course, I was blindsided and devastated. I mean, I loved Vince and thought we had a solid and stable relationship. We’d been together for over ten years. Still, as much as his decision hurt, I wasn’t in the business of keeping no niggas that didn’t want to be kept. Instead, I waited for him to talk to me about how we would work through the transition of moving out of each other’s lives. The asshole then proceeded to steal all the wind out of my sails by deciding not to move out of the two-bedroom apartment that we shared.

“How is that supposed to work, Vince?” I’d asked with indignation, as I paced back and forth in front of the television in our living room. “Do you really expect me to live here, splitting the bills while you… frolic up and through here with your… little friend?”

He’d scoffed at my use of the term “little friend,” but I hadn’t cared.

“Look,” he’d told me from where he chilled unbothered on the sofa that I had purchased. “Kelly doesn’t like you. She doesn’t want to come here. So, no, we won’t be spending any time here… unless she changes her mind. Then, we will be spending time here… and you’ll have to deal with it.”

All I heard from his entire dialogue was “Kelly doesn’t like you.”

The same Kelly who had found me through social media and hired me to create her birthday gown? Why wouldn’t she like me? It wasn’t like I was the one sneaking around sleeping with her man… that was her. She was the slide. I was the girlfriend… the live-in girlfriend. If anything, I shouldn’t have liked her, and she shouldn’t have had an opinion—like, at all.

“She doesn’t like me?” I couldn’t help questioning.

Vince had the audacity to look sheepish, before replying, “Uhm, she knows this is politically incorrect, but she doesn’t like fat people. They give her the creeps.”

If he’d meant for that comment to be a gut-punch, he’d succeeded.

It was a fact that I’d put on weight since Vince and I had paired up in college. I’d gotten thicker and heavier and if I was honest with myself… rounder.

I knew that. Life and stress, as well as stress and life, had contributed to the extra pounds and rolls. But Vince had never mentioned it before. He’d never said anything about me getting bigger. He’d never acted repulsed by me or even aware that I’d gained weight. Now, thanks to his new woman, I was “fat.”

Since I was speechless, Vince decided to keep talking.

“There are eight months left on this lease,” he’d continued, standing to his full five feet ten or eleven inches. “When it’s up, Kelly and I plan to move in together. Until then… I’ll keep living here. When I move out, you can keep the apartment, or… whatever.”

Because I still couldn’t speak, he’d simply turned and walked away.

So, there I was, having to not only live with my ex, with a front row seat to his life with the woman he’d left me for, but I also got the unwanted encore of having to see them coupled-up anytime her social media posts came down my timeline.

I whined my friend’s name because the last thing I wanted to talk about was Vince or my homelife situation. “Carrington.”

“Brooklyn.”

I heaved out a long sigh.

“Look, I’m getting married. You know this. You were there when Bryce popped the question. So, I don’t know what you think is happening here, but you are making my wedding dress.”

“You’re wearing your mother’s wedding dress. The same wedding dress that your grandmother wore. Don’t try to do me, Carri.”

“Do you not realize that that dress is going to need alterations? You think I’m trying to be out here looking like the 1990s? My mother had it altered from how my grandmother wore it in the ’70s, so she’s fully on board with me giving it a little 2020’s flavor. You’ll need to input the flavor, Brook. So, I suggest that you hot foot it on over to Joann’s to pick up some practice fabric, then pull your sewing machines from wherever you’ve been storing them, and get your swag back. Because I expect you to do a good job, and you’ll need to start soon. The wedding is in…” she did her mental calculations, “…ten months. Get your mind right, homey.”