Glass House

THIRTY-SIX

The air conditioning in the villa was crisp, but on a 90 degree island, I appreciated it. When I opened my eyes, the cool air dispersed goosebumps across my bare skin. I cozied up under the thick duvet in an attempt to retain any heat I could. I've become used to waking up with Nas' arms around me, but he'd woken up early to train for the IBAs. I was imagining him telling me I can't take days off, even on vacation for the millionth time and rolled my eyes at the thought. 

I quickly grabbed my phone from the nightstand then threw the duvet all the way over my head. Opening Instagram illuminated the darkness underneath the cover but made my eyes strain. The first post on my Explore page was of Santana.

"Ugh, thought I blocked this bitch," I whispered to myself. I squinted a bit, trying to make out the details of her post without clicking it. 

Santana was pictured with her family in a background I recognized immediately: my museum. Her family posed proudly as Meech cheesed hard, passing what looked like key to her mom. Curiosity got the better of me.

So proud of my very own mother as she starts her new journey as Executive Design Director at the African American History Museum of Arizona! Come join us next Saturday as we reveal all new exhibits, artifacts, and a new layout! This place needed you, mom!

Admittedly, it stung. I had already become numb to Santana and her antics, especially after learning my promotion was going to her mom, but to know all my heard work was being gutted purely out of spite was a different level of disrespect. I worked my ass off in that museum and nobody, not even Dr. Thoreaux, could deny it. 

I shook my head, taking one last glance at the photo and taking note of Santana's unhealthily flat stomach. No fat, no bump, no sign of a baby. A true psychotic bitch.

I stepped down the marble staircase wincing with each step as the cold ground shocked my bare feet. Nas was sitting in the nook of the kitchen in just gym shorts with a towel thrown over his shoulder. He was scarfing down a bowl of cereal, not having yet noticed my presence at the kitchen entrance.

"Ion got time to talk," he muttered lowly without looking up. 

"Uh, okay?" I walked over to him, "Not even to say good morning?" I slid into the nook booth next to him, resting my chin on his shoulder to see what he was looking at on his phone. 

He immediately slid out the other way, finishing the cereal on the way to the sink before placing the bowl in and turning to the stainless steel fridge.

I was confused about his demeanor. He typically was a morning person, especially with me. I was unsure if I had done something to upset him or if it was something else. 

I got back up, walking over to him more slowly this time as he fished through the fridge.

"Where did you go last night, babe?" I asked him sweetly as I leaned against the sink behind me. I made sure my tone wasn't accusatory because I knew how that question sounded. "I woke up to pee and couldn't find you."

"To the house," he replied flatly. He pulled out 3 eggs from a carton and stepped to the blender just beside the fridge that was already loaded with different berries and some greens.

"Again?" For the last two nights, I had woken up to Nas gone from our bed. He told me he hasn't been able to sleep from the stress of the IBAs so he would go for a drive and end up at his old family home. 

He cracked the eggs into the blender and started it, "Yuh."

As his smoothie blended, he looked through the cabinets above him for God knows what as I just stared at his back. His behavior was...unusual.