Page 41 of Love Delayed

“Oh, fuck no!” I yelled just as loud. “Where the fuck is Evan?” I demanded.

“He’s at work, and I suggest you get the fuck up outta here before I call the cops,” she shouted.

“Fucking call ‘em, and watch them take your fake bodied ass up outta here because this is my damn house,” I yelled, moving past her ass.

I went into what used to be my bedroom, snatching open drawers and opening the closet door. None of my stuff was there. That negro had gotten rid of my shit!

I went back to the living room and held up a hand. “Bitch, don’t say shit else to me.”

As I moved through the rest of the house, I saw no traces of my boxes or belongings.

“I’m going to kill Evan’s ass!” I barked while heading towards the door to leave.

I snatched open my car door, got in, and dialed his number, but my call was sent straight to his voicemail. I sat there trying to calm myself down. I was so mad that my hands were shaking. Not only had he gotten rid of my things, but he had a woman in our home before the divorce was finalized. He had a whole bitch in my kitchen using my cookware that I had zero intention of leaving behind.

My hands continued to shake as I tried to text him. I prayed Evan hadn’t trashed my things, most of which were valuable to me. I hoped the jackass just packed my stuff and put it in somebody’s storage facility. I cranked my car and then dialed Leila, the event planner. I explained my dilemma, and without hesitation, she invited me to her shop to get whatever I needed for the showers I had to cater that day. After stopping at Hobby Lobby for a couple more things, I made it back to my catering company by eleven. My staff was already there, working like busy bees. I appreciated my team.

It wasn’t until I was at my first gig that Evan returned my call, but I couldn’t answer. I had left the situation with his ass in my truck, but his back-to-back calls continued to vibrate in my pocket. When I was in my vehicle headed to the next event, I decided not to call him. I didn’t want to risk ruining my mood for the next gig, so I let my mind drift to the only person I wished I could talk to then––Marcus Colman. Marcus was always my first thought in the morning and my last thought at night. I would go to sleep with a smile on my face because of the images of Marcus in my head, not the asshole who thought it was okay to get rid of my things without giving me a heads-up. The thought of Evan made me grip the steering wheel super tight. Then I exhaled while thinking of Marcus again.

Why did I leave something so good?Mytime away while in school was awesome, and my experienceworking with Chef Shelly was great. But would I stillhave had those experiences if I stayed? Would I haveeven gone to culinary school, or would I have workeda job I hated just so I could be withhim? No use in mulling over the past now. Ihave surely lost Marcus for good. He’s marrying snobbishLittle Miss Vegan, with her flat-ass tummy, sculpted backside,and perfect hips.

“Damn it, Zee! Stop it! Stop throwing jabs at the other woman. You’re the one who chose to chase your dream of cooking over love,” I said out loud, which made me even sadder.

I turned on some music to lighten my mood. I had to get myself together and stop wallowing over Marcus. I had this bridal shower, and then after, I would be seeing Marcus. I’d use the opportunity to be transparent and honest with him about how I felt and anything he might want to know. We could hopefully continue to be friends if it didn’t make things too weird between us afterwards. I’d take that over having no contact with him. As for Evan, I wouldn’t care if I never saw him again. He was a stupid, lying, cheating-ass bastard who didn’t deserve my time, tears, or energy, so I would not give him any.

By the time my team and I finished catering the bridal shower and doing the cleanup, it was a little after ten. Once I locked up the shop, I jumped in my vehicle, ready to head to the hotel. But before I could text Marcus to let him know I was on my way, I received a text from him.

Marc:So sorry, beautiful, but a pipe burst at my East Chicago property, and I’m stuck here handling it. How late is too late?

Me:No worries. Just reach out when you’re done to see if I’m still awake.

Marc:That works. Later.

Me:Later.

Once I arrived at the hotel, I showered to remove the smell of food from me. Not sure that Marcus would even make it tonight, I decided to dress and go to the bachelorette party my last client invited me to, which she was throwing immediately after the more “conservative” bridal shower I had catered. I hadn’t had a night out in far too long, and I deserved it. However, I changed my mind once I put the address she gave me into my GPS. It was in an area that I knew not to go to alone. So, instead, I hit up a spot I used to frequent called Jay’s, a grown-grown atmosphere with ole school music and inexpensive drinks. I walked into the tunes of The Gap Band flooding through the speakers. “Yearning for Your Love” was an old cut that I still loved, so I felt at home as I found an empty seat at the bar.

“Hey, I’m Kenya,” the barmaid said, introducing herself. “How can I help you?”

“Hello. I’d like a Sidecar, please,” I replied with a smile.

She looked familiar, but I couldn’t remember where I’d seen her. I told myself to stop trying to figure it out. Chicago was a large city, and we all had a twin somewhere.

After I got my drink, I sat there listening to “Where Did We Go Wrong” by Jeffrey Osborne, and I felt nice. The atmosphere was perfect, and as I scanned the room, I wished Marcus was out with me. That was a spot made for couples, but I was there solo. I ordered my second drink, and then I heard my name. I turned my head in the direction of the person who called me.

“I thought that was you, girl. How are you?” Leila asked.

“I’m great. How are you,” I asked, and we exchanged a hug.

“I’m doing good. Come. I want you to meet my husband and clan,” she said.

I got off the bar stool and followed her to where four tables had been pushed together to accommodate the large party.

“Honey, this is Zamora, the caterer I told you about. This young lady is on the rise, and I plan to work with her on tons of events,” she said, introducing us.

“Nice to meet you,” I said while shaking his hand.

“I’m Ray, and it’s a pleasure, Zamora,” he replied.