Page 6 of The Need to Know

Foolish was stained on my chest like a scarlet letter.

And now he was back for round five.

The last time we broke up, I was a mess. I let myself go, I ate poorly, I gained weight, I got acne, and I had frequent migraines.

The mere thought of actually seeing Corey in person after so long was triggering, causing me to hug myself.

The only reprieve for the day was the sudden memory of there being a cookie in my purse. Some little girl had offered me one from her pack of cookies she’d gotten from the nearby grocery store a few shops up from us. One look at those dimples in her dark brown cheeks and the colorful array of barrettes and beads in her hair had me all too ready to accept her kind gesture.

I grabbed my bag from behind the counter and dug into the side pouch for the wax-paper wrapped cookie.

They had been kitchen sink cookies: peanut butter cookie with chocolate chips, peanut butter chips, white chocolate chips, pretzels, and coconut. A literal sin. One bite into the moist treat had me tempted to go and grab a whole pack.

But no, Corey would not drive me to stress eat ever again.

As if to cosmically save me from myself, the shop bell went off and Paisley came breezing in. I loved her ’fit, a light-blue denim button-down tied into a knot at the side, and leopard print pants.

“You look good. I swear there’s someone up at that radio station you’re showing out for,” I teased. On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays she hosted her own early morning radio show that broadcasted throughout Belmont and nearby cities. Her show was popular, creating another lane for customers for Shéc. They loved Pay’s personality and takes, and they loved the clothing lines we offered and the way I styled our glossy black mannequins.

Paisley smirked. “Get real, I’m just as shallow as you, but I’m also charitable. Looking good is my way of giving back to the world.”

“Someone give her a Carnegie Medal,” I deadpanned.

Paisley flipped some locks of her long chocolate brown hair over her shoulder as she came over to the counter. She’d recently gotten caramel highlights that really brought out the bronze in her brown complexion.

One good look at me and Paisley’s shoulders caved and her face fell. “What?”

I ducked my head, trying to hide behind my massive curls. Paisley wasn’t having it as she reached out and tucked some of my hair behind my ear, studying me intently. “Nothing.”

“Nas.”

I gave in. “Corey sent me flowers.”

Gone was her sympathy, quickly replaced with repulsion. “Ugh. Cancelled. Next.”

One thing about Paisley, she didn’t bullshit, she told it like it was. I was the soft kitten to her tough porcupine. We were like night and day: I was gray and she was black and white, she was blunt and I was gentle, I was a reluctant yes and she was a bold hell no, and she knew when to let people go with the quickness while I was too ready to take an apology.

Paisley went and set her purse behind the counter next to mine. She wrinkled her nose at the sound of Michael Jackson’s “She’s Out of My Life.” How fitting. She faced me, gesturing to the bouquet. “So why didn’t you toss them in the dumpster out back?”

I should’ve. “I…I don’t know.”

She shook her head. “You make it way too easy for him.”

“It’s not like I’m on the phone with him right now,” I argued. And it wasn’t like I was considering hearing him out this time. Not only did our last breakup wreck me, but it had been vicious—he had been vicious. He’d said some things you just couldn’t take back. He called me out of my name. Pulled back bandages to expose old wounds so I could bleed out. He’d showed me another side of him this time. And I couldn’t forget that. Ever.

Paisley fixed me with a cold look. “I’m just waiting for the day homeboy asks you to babysit that kid of his and you do it.”

I frowned. “Not that I would do that, but his baby is innocent in this.”

Paisley shrugged indifferently. “So? So were you once upon a time, but Corey straight up did not care, so like him, I don’t care about him, his son, or his crazy-ass BM. All I care about is you, Nas.”

Talk about harsh loyalty.

She held up a finger as she marched over to the front door. “He thinks he can weasel his way back in because he knows you so well.”

She slipped outside to gather the mail and I hung back, curious to see where she was going with her latest diatribe.

“What do you mean?” I asked as she came back inside.