The story of a single father with a dark past learning that money doesn't make him a man and a black girl who's struggling to rebuild herself less on a man and more on herself.
❝No matter how good of a woman you are, you'll never be good enough for...
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I handed Dante a bottle of ice cold water and then got comfortable on my squishy leather couch. Crossing my legs, I sliced my pie in half and then in half again. I originally didn't want to let Dante into my apartment but I couldn't let him leave because he was drunk. It wasn't even an alarming drunk but his jocular mood was somehow more annoying than his usual self.
"You cry a lot," Dante mumbled with a mouth full of pie. "I noticed that. It's ok though."
I nodded and hoped he'd stop talking but he didn't.
"You never told me what's wrong. You wanna talk about it? Maybe I can help," he probed gently. Twisting his drink open, he glanced at me again before draining every single drop of water from the bottle.
Yeah, you can help. Just get me pregnant and we'll be all good.
As much as I wanted to just ignore the fuck outta him, I forced myself to soak up as much of Nice Dante as possible. "I don't want to talk about it. Thanks though. Just focus on sobering up so you can leave, ok?"
He looked down at his bottle, his grip on it visibly tightening. "Yeah, ok. My bad." He stroked his beard gently and pulled out his phone. Lines creased his forehead and he pulled his snapback farther down over his face. His thick eyebrows bunched together, adding to the dents and creases on his face. His pale pink lips were pulled into his mouth for a second and he let out a small puff of air. The brazenness that he arrived with was simmering down into some unidentifiable mood that I wasn't used to.
"You mad now," I asked. "Look at you, pouting like a little kid or something. Fix your face."
He didn't look up at me or anything, he just grunted quietly. He looked so mean, glaring down at his phone as if it was his least favorite cousin. He clenched his jaw, making his cheekbones more defined then they already were.
"You're ugly," I commented, getting up and taking the empty bottle from his tight grasp. I tossed it in the trash and let the top of the trash can slam shut. Dante jumped slightly from the sound of it slam and then he threw his phone down.
"Yo, what is up with you? Fix your fucking attitude. I didn't leave one bitch's house just to deal with another one. I'm so tired of all of y'all! You're all disrespectful, liars and treat me like I'm some random. What's up with that?" Dante's voice was surprisingly quiet yet acrid, being considerate of his sleeping child in the other room. It was clear that he wasn't just talking about me now.
I guess he had a rough night too.
"All of us? What are you even talking about? I don't even have an attitude," I bristled at his accusation, crossing my arms and turning to face him.
"And it's not even just a few of you females. It's all of you. What's so wrong with me? I'm just wondering. Am I that disgusting that y'all can't give me just a little bit of respect," he spat, towering over me, raging. His creases deepened and bit his lip so hard I could see blood.
