“Well, isn’t that the whole point of this, Jackson?” I asked, tears welling up in my eyes.
Jackson sat in silence, unable to look at me. And then he broke his own silence, “To give us space.” He still wouldn’t look at me.
I searched his eyes, “What was the point of this?” I was getting upset. What did Jackson think would happen? I would loyally sit and wait for him to sow his wild oats without me at least attempting to sow my own? I did at first, but then I met someone. He met someone.
Jackson and I walked away from each other that day, both of us in pain, but neither of us were willing to communicate whatever needed to be said.
I met up with my friend Keri to complain about the entire situation to her. “He wouldn’t even tell me what his point was in opening up our relationship in the first place.”
“Well, of course not. His a– was all the way embarrassed and his feelings were hurt because you met someone else too,” Keri leaned back on my couch.
“I don’t think he really met someone,” I attempted to laugh, but I was still hurting from me and Jackson’s split.
“He probably didn’t. But guess what? I’m pretty sure he’d have no issue meeting someone now,” Keri said casually.
“Because you gave him all the motivation he needs to move on. He’s in jealousy mode now,” Keri laughed.
Maybe Keri was right. Maybe Jackson hadn’t met someone. But either way, I was allowing things to move forward with Abdul. He was my happily ever after. He was funny, charming, smart, chocolate and thicker than a Snicker. I felt like I hit the lottery. Abdul and I would spend any and all of our pockets of free time together. I was a 9-to-5er and he was a waiter at a restaurant in Harlem;I lived in Brooklyn. We might as well had been in a long-distance relationship.
Abdul and I were a few months in and it was a lazy Saturday morning. Saturday was our day. I didn’t have to work and he had go in by 6pm. Most days, we were out and about, at brunch, at the gym, taking a painting class, at the museum, walking the Brooklyn Bridge, getting lost in Chinatown. You name it, we did it. But every once in a while, we liked to unplug and indulge in laziness. Maybe we’d play a game, maybe he let me give him a facial, but this time, we were Netflix and chilling.
My phone lit up with Jackson’s name. He hadn’t reached out to me in months and here he was calling. I felt flush when I ignored it. I cuddled back into Abdul’s brawny arms. He squeezed me and kissed me on the forehead.
All I could think was, “Not today Satan.” I missed Jackson. I thought about him everyday. I fantasized about him calling me, and when he did I wasn’t sure how to feel.
After the movie, Abdul wanted to take a walk. So we did. We were holding hands, walking through the park when he stopped, squeezed my hand, pulled me into him and kissed me. We stayed stuck in that kiss for as long as it took me to get lost in the kiss, get un-lost and lost again. I leaned on him, he wrapped his arms around me and I was in my very own fairy tale. I smiled into the kiss.
We when finally pulled apart, Abdul looked at me and said, “I enjoy spending time with you.”
“Me too, I smiled at my chocolate Zeus.
“I want us to be official,” Abdul held both of my hands.
And just like that, I had a new boyfriend, months after Jackson and I opened our relationship.
Later that night, my new boyfriend was on his way to work and my phone rang. It was Jackson again. I ignored it, but my stomach — it flipped as if I was on a roller coaster.
When Abdul left, I looked at my missed calls, knowing Jackson’s name would be right there, in red with a “2” beside it. I thought about calling him back. And then my phone rang again, but with a private number. Surprised, I picked up the call, “Hello?”
“Danielle, you weren’t picking up my calls,” I recognized Jackson’s voice immediately. “Danielle?” He asked.
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