A/N: Yes, I’m back like I never left! I’ve been hella busy this summer and I’m just happy to be checking back in. It’s been a little over a year since I began writing and I must say, I’m happy to still be doing this. I love y’all and the encouragement, support, and creative guidance some of you all have given me for the past year!
Warning(s): Fluff, Language, a dash of angst
Thursday, March 19, 2015, 6:19 p.m., Philadelphia
Today was the day: Michael and Khalida were meeting each other’s parents. Due to the filming of his upcoming film Creed , Michael temporarily relocated to Philadelphia. With him three hours away, Yaa was able to visit him as much as her schedule would allow her to. Now, here they were in his car headed to dinner. Both were visibly nervous and reasonably so. Michael paid special attention to the road as he drove his anxiety away. Yaa was deep in her phone checking and responding to work-related emails. In any event of distress, her first choice of relief was work—a drug of choice. As much as she tried to keep her composure, the constant shaking of her foot was the dead giveaway. In an attempt to console his nervous girlfriend, Michael gripped part of Yaa’s thick thigh.
“Hey...it’s ok to be nervous, sugar bear. Not to make you any more nervous than you already are, but my parents can at times be...a lot to handle. Buuut, I’m more than confident that you can be able to handle them. I’ve seen you go against lawyers that’ve practiced law longer than you’ve been alive and you don’t even flinch. So if you can deal with them, then Donna and Michael A. are the least of your concerns.”, Michael comforted as he kept his eyes on the road.
Yaa finally sent her last e-mail for the weekend and locked her phone. “Yeah, but the biggest difference between those old ass lawyers and your parents is that I haven’t slept with any lawyer’s son. Even further, you haven’t met my parents; they take bougie to a whole new dimension. I just don’t know how our parents are going to mix, y’know?” Michael drove in silence, contemplating on what Yaa had just said. “I’m sorry, Kari, that was a lot. I’m just...nervous.” Yaa lowered her head as she realized that she may have spoken too much, at least in her head.
Looking out of the car window, Yaa got lost in the Spotify playlist playing throughout the car. Without a word, Michael took Yaa’s hand into his and kissed the top of her knuckles gently. Her straight face quickly turned into a slight grin. “I love you, Peanut.”, she muttered.
Michael rolled his eyes, “I love you too, sugar bear.”
By the time Yaa and Michael arrived at the restaurant, their parents were already seated and well into conversation. The circular table was located towards the back in a corner, which according to the restaurant’s owner, was the best spot for an intimate dinner despite the sounds of people conversing and plates clacking. The couple walked to the back hand in hand to find the other only Black people in the restaurant--their parents.
“Well, speak of the Devil, there go our babies!”, Khadijah announced as she got up. After the seemingly never-ending round of hugs ended, the couple began introducing each other to parents.
“Mom, Pops, this is my girlfriend, Dr. Khalida Abdullah. Baby, these are my parents, Donna and Michael A. Jordan.”, Michael announced as he observed his parents’ reaction to hearing their son’s girlfriend’s name be prefaced with Doctor.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, sweetheart. Michael hasn’t shut up about you since New Years, and I must say, now it makes sense to see why you were the only thing he talked about. Isn’t she a pretty girl, baby?”, Ms. Donna greeted as she shook Yaa’s hand. With her husband’s affirming headshake, the handshake turned into yet another hug for Mr. and Mrs. Jordan.
“He talks about you two all the time also and thank you so much!”, Yaa replied. “Now, Kari, these are my parents, Drs. Khadijah and Mustapha Abdullah. Baba, Umi, this is Michael B. Jordan, my boyfriend.”
“Well, praise the Lord! Dreams do come true. My ibby has been dating you in her head for about 12 years. Finally a pleasure to meet you, son.”, Mustapha greeted, making sure to embarrass his daughter. Mission accomplished. “How are you treating my baby? Sublime, I hope?”
Michael looked to Yaa, who was in a side conversation with Khadijah. “Of course, Dr. Abdullah. There’s no reason for her to be treated any less or different.”
He was definitely keeping that Gatsby energy up—he sent her a dozen sunflowers every other Thursday and treated the office to lunch every now and again.For Valentine’s, the two went to Paris, where he officially asked her out. Apart from the lavish showering of affection and bomb sex, the two had a friendship and a connection that couldn’t be denied. Unlike Winston, Michael supported her career and her work ethic. In times she had to leave or cancel dates because she was called to emergency meetings? He didn’t want to, but he encouraged her to go on. The countless nights she was knee-deep in research? He definitely understood. Spending the night at the office? You bet your last dollar Michael was up with her. In those instances, he’d be sure to have food delivered to her. He even came to some of the trials she had to serve in. Though he didn’t want to admit it, seeing her in her zone turned him on. He respected her craft and her passion and vice versa. Their budding romance had actualized significantly slower than hers with Winston—she preferred that. Apart from the sugar daddy shit, she was finally in a “normal” relationship.
The group’s dinner was running smoothly. The parents got along surprisingly well. Being that they were around the same age, the four related to each other. As for Michael and Yaa, they got along with each other’s parents really well. Hell, they were the lost son and daughter their parents secretly wanted.
Everyone took turns telling general stories about current life happenings and the parents even took the time to tell embarrassing stories about their children. The more they told stories, the further Michael and Yaa slumped in their chairs in shame. Yaa definitely didn’t want to re-visit her first day of high school, which if you were coming into high school at 11, a nightmare was destined to happen on the first day. Mustapha still found it especially funny after almost 14 years. Thankfully, Khadijah found a way to keep her first-born from dying at the dinner table.
“Enough about Khali’s first day at St. Dominic’s, honey. Ibby’s still a bit traumatized. But since we’re on the subject of first experiences,the question of the hour has yet to be asked or answered: how’d you two lovebirds meet?”
Silence. Because neither wanted to explain to their parents that they’d spent the wee hours of 2015 fucking each other senseless, Yaa especially preferred her father tell more embarassing stories about her awkward middle school-esque experiences at St. Dominic’s Girls Prep. But instead of conveying their anxiety with their facial expressions, the two stared at each other until Michael finally spoke up. “Well, Dr. Khadijah... I had the privilege of meeting your daughter at a Great Gatsby-themed New Year’s party that I hosted. Tanisha told me about her and I would’ve been stupid not to invite her...so I did. We...talked all night and up until the…next morning. We haven’t stopped talking to each other since. ” Michael looked to Yaa from across the table whenever he paused, attempting to make his “story” appear more credible than it was.
“Well...son, I’m happy you’ve finally found someone who makes you happy as Khalida does. Moreover, I’m happy to have met two new friends in Khadijah and Mustapha. Here’s to new beginnings and relationships!”, Donna saluted as she raised her glass of water. The table toasted and continued on with the night.
Even after their children pleaded for them to come, the Jordan’s and Abdullah’s decided to opt out of going to the 76ers-Pelicans game following dinner. Though a blow, Michael and Yaa continued on with their date night. As the two sat in game night traffic, Michael couldn’t help but to take in his girlfriend’s beautiful profile. Her thick, oversized tortoise-shell glasses rested perfectly on the tip of her wide button nose. Her full lips were painted with the brightest red lipstick she could get her hands on. Her simple white turtleneck and jeans outfit was so simple, yet so...Khalida. Since the 76ers were playing Yaa’s New Orleans Pelicans, it was important for her to bring her Big Easy pride to the City of Brotherly Love. Though she wasn’t much for flashy jewelry, she made it a point to wear both her gold fleur-de-lis necklace and her Super Bowl ring. Such a flex.
Wells Fargo Arena, 9:17 p.m.
“YOOOOOO! THAT WAS A FOUL, REF, ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?!?!?!”, Yaa shouted out as she shot up from her courtside seat. Michael was being entertained by the antics of his passionate date. She basically coached the game while sitting down, one hand interlocked with Michael’s and the other hand occasionally used to give direction to her beloved Pelicans, and nursing her second glass of moscato. Michael found himself laughing at her sincerity, gassing her up every now and then to reaffirm her sideline gripe.
“That’s right, baby!” “Y’all heard the lady!”
The two really looked like a couple. Not saying that their chemistry indicated otherwise; but this was their first public outing. The Paparazzi seemed to take notice of the two—cameras from all around the arena were tuning in to see Michael B. Jordan and his non-model date be boo’d up with one another. It was obvious that the two were being photographed. They could’ve given half a collective fuck what social media said about their relationship. If anything, they kinda absorbed the sudden attention.
It was Kiss Cam time. Couples throughout the arena were caught off-guard and gave their significant others quick, yet meaningful kisses.
“Well, damn, I guess niggas on the front row ain’t in love?”, Michael joked as he watched the other couples display their affection.
Yaa downed the rest of her wine, her eyes fixed on her sulking boyfriend.“I know you fuckin’ lyin. I just know you are, Kari.”,Yaa quickly responded as she started laughing.
“Naw, I ain’t. But I’m saying, if you had a date that looked good enough to eat, you’d want for them to be seen, too. That’s all I’m saying, baby.”
Yaa rolled her eyes at his antics, “You’re pathetic, you know that, right?”
Just as it seemed as the segment was over, the cameraman saved the best for last. The camera pointed at Yaa and Michael mid-laugh. Without hesitation, Michael gripped her chin and allowed his lips to taste the wine left on her lips. Damn, he’s a good kisser. Yaa pulled back first, her face more red than an Alabama home game.
“Oh, so you frontin’ for the cameras, I see.”, he whispered in her ear. A genuine cackle escaped her lips. “You gon’ stop, Kari!”
Even though the game was in overtime, Yaa and Michael decided to leave early, in the interest of beating traffic and grabbing some late-night munchies. Clear and confident with their decision, the two made a quick beeline towards the tunnel. Unfortunately, with their decision came a flock of paparazzi behind them. The closer they got to the exit, the more cameras seemed to appear. Fuck. Whatever you do, don’t let go of his hand! Their brisk walk quickly turned into a jog. “Michael! Who’s the lucky lady?” “What’s your name?!” “I thought you only dated models, Mike? She doesn’t look like a model.” That last comment got the best of Yaa. “Aye, ya mammy doesn’t either, yet here we are!”, she scolded. As they made the last left turn to the exit, a group of maybe 10 camera people began their flashing light dance. This time, they weren’t moving out of the way. Michael stopped to assess a strategy.
“The hell you stop for?!”, a clearly shaken Yaa demanded.
“I need a plan. They don’t look like they’re going to move out of the way.”, Michael replied as he stared off in the exit’s direction. Yaa’s chest rose and fell as quickly as her heart was beating. Suddenly, her hand trembled in his and a slight sweat appeared on her forehead. Her fear-driven adrenaline was going into overdrive as the paparazzi came closer.
“Fuck, Winston, they’re everywhere!”, Yaa commented loud enough for only the two of them to hear. But before Michael could get pissed, he snatched her hand and made his way through the thick media jungle. Shuttering cameras, seizure-inducing flashing lights, and loud overlapping questions further added to the circus they walked through.
“Michael!” “Michael!” “ Mr. Jordan!” “Who is she? “How long are you in Philly? “Can you tell us about the movie?” “Michael, who’s your friend?” “How’s Cre—”. The clearly rambunctious questions being asked became muffled as the car doors closed. The two sat in somewhat silence as they tried to catch their breath. “Remind me...to never go anywhere else with you. Because that...that... was... bullshit.”, Yaa remarked in between breaths.
“I’ve never had the paps out on me like that. You ok? That was jus—did you really call me Winston back there?!”, Michael answered.
“I did? Oh shit, I’m so sorry!”
SOMEWHERE IN LOS ANGELES, 8:40 p.m.
“Aye, bro? Your ex, Klarissa, the real thick one, got dreads, right?”, Winston’s college friend Jamar asked as his furrowed brows remained glued to his phone.
“Klari-...you mean Khalida? Yeah. Why you ask?”, Winston asked as he handed Jamar another water.
“Looks like she’s on a date with...hold on…”, he took his glasses off to clean them and put them back on, “...Michael B. Jordan? She all up on this nigga, Duke.”
A date? Winston snatched the phone out of Jamar’s hand, “Gimme that and stop messing around, bro.” Sure enough, Jamar was right.
DEVELOPING: ACTOR MICHAEL B. JORDAN AND CINDERELLA DATE SPOTTED AT BASKETBALL GAME IN PHILADELPHIA
As he read the brief article, he began shaking his head involuntarily. He went numb with every paparazzi picture he saw of his Yaa and Michael holding hands. But when he saw the kiss cam picture and another picture of them exchanging smiles, that’s all his heart could stand to bear.
His chest felt numb and totally void of any sensation or urge of movement. She looks...happy. It’s one thing to lose a loved one in death, but to lose the one you truly love to someone else and to see them happier with them is a different kind of hurt. His heart had been dropped onto a cactus; pricked and pained, but not yet bleeding. In that very moment, Winston wanted to ball up into the fetal position and isolate himself from the rest of the world. Career, family, life in general be damned. Duke...yo, Duke!
“DUKE!”, Jamar snapped Winston out of his moment of despair.
“Yeah?”, Winston replied dryly.
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” He didn’t realize his face and the top of his tank were wet from the excessive crying he’d did. Hell, he didn’t even know he was crying.
“Well, your ex is off dating movie stars and you’re funeral sobbing. She ain’t dead: she’s just moved on. You gotta allow her to move on and be happy. Besides, she ain’t say shit when you were with that crazy ass chick.”
“You know...I’m uh...gonna go to bed? Yeah, I’m going to bed. Lock the door when you leave . Goodnight.”
Before Jamar could get another word in, Winston walked briskly to his bedroom, slammed the door, and began to pace the floor. His chest began to heave as his sobbing intensified with every step. I fucked up, I fucked up, shit, I fucked up. No,no,no, no, no. She’s really moved on? All the women in the world, and he chose Khalida?! MY Khalida?!?! Fuck.
At some point, he was in denial that he saw Khalida in those pictures, because she surely wouldn’t have been kissing Michael B. Jordan. As much as he didn’t want to, he forced himself to go back to The Shade Room’s website to look at the article. Maybe, it could’ve been another thick woman with now ash blonde locs that shared similar tastes in optical wear. Maybe it was another beautiful Black woman that rocked bright red lipstick and wore black nail polish. Maybe, just maybe, the pretty lady in question’s embellished “K” brooch stood for something else, like, Kenya,Kenzie, or Kayla. Yeah, that was it: mistaken identity. Jamar knew how his best friend felt about Khalida and wanted to play around. Yup—case closed. But, when he looked at a new picture, his already confirmed suspicions were confirmed once more. As the two walked out of the arena and into the pool of flashing lights and voices fighting each other to be heard, Yaa naturally shielded her face with her right hand—the hand her Super Bowl ring always inhabited. Damn.
“FUUUCK!” ,he yelled at the top of his lungs.
He took deep breaths to calm down, certain that he’d startled his neighbors with his tantrum. “Why are you doing this to me, Yaa?”
Back in Philly, 12:30 a.m.
The maddening silence in the car made the 25 minute ride feel like a 12 hour ride. For Yaa, the obvious feeling of shame veiled over her. How could she call Michael “Winston” of all people at a time as that? Now, bitch, you knew better than that. You knew not to call that man no damn Winston. Try to fix it now. Her quick glances over to the driver side were calculated in the hopes that he wouldn’t see the shame over her face.
For Michael, it was much different. He knew that he obviously couldn’t be pissed , but he wasn’t necessarily fond of being called an ex of Yaa’s. He took the sound of silence to figure out what he needed to feel. Slight disappointment. Yeah, that was it: upon close self-deliberation, he had determined that he was just disappointed. Yet, the wave of his current emotion wouldn’t overtake him, as he knew that she wouldn’t be a repeat offender. A simple mistake made in the heat of the moment. Besides, he needed to meet that Winston fellow anyways.
Yaa finally broke the silence, “Baby, I’m sorry that I—” Her eyes crossed to take note of the index finger Michael had placed over her mouth. She looked over to see a silent Michael nodding his head subtly.
“You don’t need to apologize, love. I get it: in the heat of emotions and the moment, you reverted to calling a familiar name. You haven’t found yourself to be in a difficult situation with me, so now I understand.”, Michael explained as he finally removed his finger from over her lips,
“If anyone should be apologizing, it should definitely be me. I brought this attention to us. But, I can’t promise that that’ll be the last encounter with those nosy ass niggas.”
“Sooo...you’re not mad?”, a confused Yaa inquired for clarification.
He nodded, “Nah, in that moment, my ego was hurt, but since I’ve been driving, that fake anger was reduced to understanding. You’re good, mamas. Believe that.”
The two exchanged a glance and a laugh. Finally, the tense air had been cleared to play music. Yaa opened up her Spotify driving playlist and pressed shuffle. Ironically, “Say My Name” began playing, prompting a duet of a “Yoooooo!” to play background to the song.
“This shuffle ain’t shit!”, Yaa moaned with disgust.
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