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Authors: Keisha Ervin

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“A’ight, Dylan, that’s enough,” State tuned up his face.

“Whatever, that’s real,” she laughed. “You want something to drink?”

“Yeah, I’ll take an espresso.”

“Megan,” Dylan called out to her cashier, “can you bring us over an espresso and a glass of water, please?”

“Coming right up,” Megan said cheerfully.

“Homegirl kinda cute.” State admired her frame.

“But is as dumb as a doorknob,” Dylan whispered. “The only reason I haven’t fired her is because she finally discovered concealer two months ago.”

“Wow,” State chuckled. “The place looks good, though,” he looked around the bakery.

“Yeah, but business sucks. As the economy gets worse, less customers and less orders seem to be coming in. It seems like I’m losing more money a month than I’m making, but I don’t want to close the place down. It would kill me, but I have to figure out my next step because advertising and giving out free samples ain’t working.”

“Why don’t you get you an agent?”

“An agent? What is that going to do?” Dylan eyed him, perplexed.

“With an agent on your side, you can try getting a book deal, television show, and your own products.”

“Wow, I never thought about that. I always thought that that was so far out of my reach.”

“Look here,” State reached into his wallet and pulled out a card, “this is my homegirl Brenda. She’s a literary agent. Call her up and tell her that I referred you to her.”

“State, you don’t have to do that,” Dylan pushed his hand back.

“I want to. It’s the least I can do for breaking your heart,” he looked her square in the eyes.

“You damn right it is,” Dylan took the card from his hand and grinned.

“So how many months are you?” State leaned back in his chair.

“Five.”

“What you having?”

“Don’t know. The baby was turned when we tried to see,” she explained as Megan brought over their drinks.

“I see,” he nodded, zeroing in on Megan’s ass as she walked away.

“So where is the Mrs.?” Dylan asked, referring to his wife, R&B sensation Ashton.

“I don’t know, off somewhere. We’re getting a divorce. She finally got tired of trying to change me.”

“Wow, didn’t see that one coming,” Dylan replied sarcastically.

“You real funny.”

“Seriously, I’m sorry to hear that,” she pretended to pout.

“Don’t be. We all know marriage is not for me.”

“You got that right. You know what? I think I just had an apostrophe.” Dylan cupped her chin and tapped her index finger against her nose.

“You mean epiphany?”

“Yeah, that too,” she pointed. “I think you’re one of those people who is more in love with the idea of being married than actually being married.”

“You know what, Dylan? You might actually be on to something.”

“I know. Being pregnant has turned me into a fuckin’ Jedi man. I swear it’s like I have ESPN,” she responded, not even knowing that she’d messed up.

“I totally agree,” State laughed on the inside as a photographer took their photo from across the street. “I totally agree.”

Shades of darkness filled the room. Angel sat alone facing the television screen with a glass of scotch in his hand. It was 2:00
A.M.
, but sleep evaded him. He couldn’t get the scent of Dylan’s perfume out of his nose or the sight of her hazel eyes out of his head. She followed him everywhere—in his dreams, when he brushed his teeth, when he bathed, walked down the street, even when he made love to Milania at night.

Angel often found himself wishing Milania’s kisses came from Dylan’s warm mouth or that Milania’s slit was the entrance way to Dylan’s honeycomb hideout. Taking a sip from the chilled glass, he watched the home movie before him and reminisced. It was the day he recorded Dylan and him in bed fooling around. Angel watched closely as she smiled gleefully and hit him in the head with a pillow. Instead of retaliating, he pinned her body down to the bed and brushed his lips upon hers.

Unable to resist the taste of his tongue, Dylan kissed his lips fervently, rotating between his top and bottom lip. Then their tongues met and heaven was exposed to their mouths. Angel couldn’t get enough of her then, and the fact still remained now. No matter how hard he tried to forget the weeks and months they spent together or how much he remembered her betrayal, emotions for her still lingered on.

Now shit was all fucked up. He’d pledge his commitment to another while feelings for Dylan suffocated him to the point he couldn’t breathe. Angel knew that a resolution to his problem had to come quickly, because he couldn’t spend another night obsessing over Dylan’s mouth, the curve of her waist, or the roundness of her hips. There was no denying it or hiding it. Dylan held the key to his heart, and yeah, he had feelings for Milania, but the feelings just weren’t as strong.

But the option of breaking off their engagement wasn’t something Angel was ready to do either, ’cause at the end of the day, he might carry around a love for Dylan the size of the Atlantic and Pacific oceans combined, but the fact still remained that she’d done the unforgiveable and fucked another man behind his back. Angel’s ego just couldn’t let that slide without feeling like an absolute punk. So here he was, engaged to a woman who only filled the void of him not being alone.

Unbeknownst to Angel, as a trickle of water from the outside of his glass slid down his hand, Milania stood silently in the doorway. Venom raced through her cold veins. Her worst nightmare had just been revealed, but she wasn’t down for the count. Milania still had a couple more nasty tricks up her sleeve. Come rain or come shine, Angel Carter was going to be hers.

“All my scars are open.”

Shontelle, “Impossible”

Brandy’s chart-topping hit “Top Of The World” couldn’t describe the glorious feeling inside of Dylan’s heart. Despite the media frenzy claiming that State was the real father of her child after photos appeared of them chatting inside her bakery, she took State’s advice and contacted agent extraordinaire Brenda Hampton. After a ten-minute conversation, they set a date to meet at House of Savoy, an Italian eatery in the heart of downtown St. Louis for dinner and drinks. Drinks meaning she’d have a cocktail and Dylan would have ginger ale.

The day of the meeting came quickly and the outcome couldn’t have been any better for Dylan. She and Brenda vibed immediately. They were like long lost friends. They bonded instantly over sweets, past experiences, fashion, and men. Once Brenda skimmed through Dylan’s photo book of delectable one-of-a-kind pastries, she knew that Dylan was destined to be a star.

Brenda admired her tenacity, quirky wit, energetic attitude, and her concept that would teach the everyday woman that sweets and fashion went together like Diddy and shiny suits was an instant hit. When the plates were cleared and they air-kissed good-bye, Dylan left the meeting with a literary agent and an optimistic outlook on life.

She just prayed that once the manuscript was finished that the major publishing houses would jump at the chance to sign her. But Dylan’s triumphant mood changed within seconds when she exited the restaurant doors and spotted Angel and Milania walking down the street hand in hand. Dylan felt like she was in a bad 1990s teen romance where the Queen B of the cheerleading squad flaunts the fact that she’s the girlfriend of the quarterback in front of the gangly, yet-if-she-just-got-a-makeover-she’d-be-beautiful nerd.

Just like in the movies, all three sets of their eyes connected and Dylan’s breath faded into the night sky. Chill bumps rose beneath her cardigan-covered arms. It seemed like with every step they took, time delayed and layers of her clothes burned away. She felt like her feelings and body were exposed to the earth and people around her.

Suddenly Dylan felt sick. A sour sensation permeated the pit of her stomach. She didn’t understand how something so good could be followed up by something so bad. Angel and Milania were the last people on earth she wanted to see. She just wanted peace, a space of her own to feel secure. However, the devil, karma, or the universe had other plans for her.

Plus the fact that, once again, Milania was outshining her in the style department and that crushed her heart.
Damn, do this bitch ever look bad,
she thought, eyeing her Sheri Bodell, beaded and padded cap-sleeved, silk, V-neck dress, Stella McCartney tuxedo jacket and open-toe, L.
A.M.
B. booties with twisted straps going down the front. Angel didn’t look too bad himself. He was dressed leisurely in a blue Yankees cap, black rosary, V-neck tee, John Varvatos leather trim jacket, dirty-wash jeans, and blue Louboutin sneakers with a white sole.

The pure, unadulterated sex appeal of him put Dylan on edge. The baby could feel her anxiety too. Dylan’s little one started kicking like crazy. In order to calm herself and the baby she gently rubbed her belly and whispered,
Okay, baby, Mommy’s straight. You don’t have to go all Street Fighter on me; Mama got this,
as Angel and Milania approached.

“Word?” Angel shifted his shoulders, disgruntled.

“What you mean, ‘word’?” Dylan responded, caught off guard by his reaction to her.

“C’mon, Dylan, you already know.”

“Know what?”

“That you been duckin’ and dodgin’ a nigga,” Angel barked, becoming angrier by the second.

“And for good reason.” She mean-mugged him, then eyed Milania up and down.

“I need to holla at you. You here alone?”

“Yeah, why?” she ice-grilled him, then rolled her eyes at Milania.

Dylan was determined to serve him and his chick nothin’ but shade.

“Ay, why don’t you go in and get us seated while I rap to Dylan real quick,” he said to Milania.

“All right,” she smiled.

Never passing up an opportunity to piss Dylan off, Milania placed her perfectly manicured hand on Angel’s cheek, turned his face toward her, then kissed his lips in a way that foreshadowed the kind of night she wanted to have. Releasing her lips from his, she wiped the leftover lipstick residue off his mouth and smirked, “Dylan.”

“Milania,” Dylan snapped, sickened by the sight of her.

Milania didn’t even respond. She simply grinned.

“I’ll see you in a second, babe.” She let go of Angel’s hand and walked back toward the casino which was right next door to the Savoy.

“Man, y’all gon’ stop that shit,” Angel said, fed up with their nonsense.

“Pshh, please, and what is it that
you
want? I don’t have too much to say to you either,” Dylan snarled.

“And why is that?”

“What? You ain’t get the hint yet?” Dylan rolled her neck.

“What hint?”

“That I don’t want you around! I’m raising this baby by myself! You and Stankonia can continue to be the played-out version of Hov and B all y’all want and live in this fantasy world where no one else exists, but just leave me and my baby out of it!”

“What the fuck is you talkin’ about?” Angel’s heart raced a mile a minute he was so upset and turned on by her.

“Don’t act stupid. You know damn well what I’m talkin about. Ever since I told you I was pregnant, you ain’t been beat for me. All you been worried about is that bitch!” She pointed toward the casino. “You couldn’t even come see about me while I was in the hospital.”

“Hold up! What?” he said astounded.

“Really, Angel?” She folded her arms. “You gon’ act like I’m lying?”

“I ain’t actin’ like shit! I came up there to see you!”

“All right, I see now yo’ ass is possessed. I’m outta here,” Dylan turned to walk away.

“Hold up!” Angel took her by the hand and pulled her back.

The touch of her hand sent shocks of electricity through his veins—and Milania’s as well as she watched them from afar.

“Did you
really
just grab me?” Dylan pretended not to like his forcefulness.

“Shut up.” He gazed down into her face.

He could vividly see all of the pain and fear she kept bottled up in her hazel eyes. He wished he could be real and tell her how he felt, take her into his arms, kiss her on the lips, and dip up outta there, but reality kept getting in the way.

“You talk too much. Now I don’t know what yo’ problem is or who pissed in yo’ cereal this morning, but I came to the hospital. The only reason I left is because Gaylord Focker said that would be best for you. He thought me being there would cause you more stress, and I ain’t wanna do that so I shook.”

Dylan tried her best not to laugh at Angel’s quip about Tee-Tee but failed miserably.

“Hold up, are you serious? You really came up there to see me?” Dylan said in disbelief.

“Yeah, you know I wouldn’t do you like that. At least I thought you knew.”

“So you mean to tell me I’ve been walking around feeling all mad and disappointed and shit for nothin’?”

“Yeah, toward me, but you need to throw that attitude toward yo’ man.”

“Oh, please, believe me, I will be.”

“Now what the fuck is up with this bullshit all over the news about that nigga State being yo’ baby’s daddy?” He eyed her physique, taking in the fact that she’d gotten bigger.

“Exactly what you just said—a bunch of bullshit. And the fact that you’re even standing here asking me about that tells me that you still don’t trust me.”

“I do trust you. It’s
him
I don’t trust,” he stated bluntly.

“Well, I don’t have anything to do with that,” she remarked.

“Look, I know it’s long overdue, but my bad for snappin’ on you like that over the phone. That was a fucked-up thing to do.”

“It’s cool,” Dylan said putting it all behind her.

“Nah, it’s not. You know I don’t really even roll like that. I was just upset, but anyway, how you been?” Angel placed his hands inside his pocket. “Have I missed anything?”

“When I was in the hospital I tried to learn the sex of the baby, but he or she wasn’t actin’ right.”

“Word. So you got to see the baby?” Angel’s eyes lit up.

“Yeah,” she beamed. “Angel, it was so tiny and cute.”

“Damn, I hate I missed it.” He sighed, truly disappointed.

“Me too.”

For a moment the stillness of the night and the unspoken words left in their hearts took over and they stood silent. Sounds of sirens, engines, and crickets filled the air. How Dylan wished that things between her and Angel could go back to the way things used to be before she made the worst decision of her life and cheated on him. Because to be that close to Angel and knowing he was no longer hers was pure torture.

“Well, let me get going. I don’t want you to keep li’l mama waiting.” Dylan adjusted the strap of her purse on her shoulder.

“Nah, you good,” he said, wanting to spend a little more time with her.

“Nah, I better go,” she replied, although she wanted to stay. “Besides, I gotta get home and post up. At night she get to actin’ crazy.”

“I thought you said you didn’t know the sex?” He stared at her quizzically.

“I don’t, but something’s just tellin’ me it’s gon’ be a girl. Lord knows, I wouldn’t know what to do wit’ no boy.”

“So she’s kickin’ now?”

“Mmm-hmm, like David Beckham.”

“Can I feel?” Angel stepped closer.

“Yeah,” Dylan placed his hand on her stomach.

Angel stood still with anticipation awaiting the feel of his baby when the baby thumped his hand.

“Hell, naw,” he laughed, overjoyed. He wanted to keep his hand there forever.

“I know, isn’t it weird?” Dylan giggled.

“Yeah.”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you that Billie is throwing me a baby shower next week.”

“A’ight.”

“You gon’ come, right?”

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Okay, it’s at 2:00, so I guess I’ll see you then.” She stepped back, causing his hand to fall away from her stomach.

“A’ight, drive home safe.”

“I will,” she looked down at her feet nervously.

“I’m for real, Dylan,” he placed his hand underneath her chin and lifted her head up. “Don’t let nothin happen to my baby,” Angel said referring to her and their baby.

“I won’t, I promise,” Dylan responded, knowing fully well what he meant.

“Well, a’ight, then. Have a good night.” He lovingly slid the back of his hand down the side of her face.

“You too,” she gazed up into his brown eyes solemnly before heading to her car.

A week later, a five-month pregnant Dylan sat comfortably eating McDonald’s french fries. Bubbling hot water whooshed around her feet. She, Billie, and Tee-Tee were having a girl’s day out, which consisted of a mani and pedi at La Petite Spa. La Petite was a quaint spa that offered the best manicures, facials, and massages. It was the only place Dylan dared to get her nails and toes done. She was in heaven, and she looked cute as a button in a gray sweatshirt with black lace inserts in the shoulders and black skinny-leg maternity jeans.

Dylan felt like a superstar. She hadn’t been pampered in months. Her feet were in dire need of scrubbing, and her nails were a hot atrocious mess. They were chipped, and she even swore she had a hangnail or two. The only thing that was spoiling her experience was Tee-Tee’s two-faced ass. She couldn’t get over that he had the nerve to turn Angel away without her permission, and on top of that, not even tell her that he did it. In her mind, his ass had balls of steel to make that big of a decision on her behalf without her knowledge.

“Champagne?” one of the nail technicians asked.

“Shit, yeah.” Tee-Tee reached out for one immediately.

“You, ma’am?”

“Wish I could, but I can’t. Baby on board,” Dylan pointed to her stomach.

“Oh, congratulations! I thought you were just . . . umm . . . okay, how about you, ma’am?” The nail tech turned to Billie.

“Yes, honey, yes. After the week I’ve had, I’ma need about ten of these, so keep’em coming.”

“Sure thing. My name is Rebecca, if you need me,” she informed them before moving on to another customer.

“Did that heffa just call me fat?” Dylan leaned over and whispered to Billie.

“I think so,” she giggled.

“Bitch. I swear to God if I end up looking like Nell Carter after I have this baby I’ma kill myself,” Dylan sulked.

“Shit, I’ma kill you,” Tee-Tee joked.

“Was I talkin’ to him?” Dylan looked over at Billie but pointed at Tee-Tee.