10h
Romeo help him!!!
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Romeo help him!!!
The Detroit Diaries 🖤📖
The Last Days in Georgia — Part Four
The Yard Sale From Hell
For approximately the first twenty minutes, I was having the time of my fucking life.
Seriously.
I don’t know what I expected, but apparently watching strangers fight over shit I hadn’t touched in three years was entertaining as hell.
My driveway looked like Walmart had exploded.
Furniture stretched across the garage and driveway.
Kitchen stuff covered folding tables.
Lamps.
Picture frames.
Dishes.
Glasses.
Small appliances.
Books.
Decorations.
Bathroom stuff.
Tools.
Random shit from the basement.
And somehow people had shown up before eight like this was a fucking Black Friday sale.
My mother had taken control of the money table because apparently nobody trusted me with cash.
Which was probably smart.
I was sitting beside Marshall watching some woman inspect a lamp like she was buying a house.
She looked at the price sticker.
“Would you take five?”
I stared at her.
“It says twenty.”
“I know.”
“Then why would I take five?”
Marshall covered his mouth.
I looked at him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
The woman smiled.
“How about ten?”
“Fifteen.”
“Twelve?”
I stared at her.
“Fourteen.”
“Thirteen?”
“Ma’am, we’re negotiating over a fucking lamp.”
“Jessica!”
I looked toward Mom.
“What?!”
“Language!”
The woman started laughing.
Marshall was losing it beside me.
Eventually she gave me fourteen dollars.
I watched her walk away with the lamp.
“See?”
I looked at Marshall.
“Businesswoman.”
“You just argued over a dollar.”
“It’s the principle.”
He laughed.
“I love you.”
My expression softened immediately.
“I love you too.”
Proof groaned from somewhere behind us.
“Oh my God.”
I turned around.
“What?”
“How many times y’all gonna say that today?”
“As many times as I fucking want.”
Mom gave me the look.
Not even a lecture anymore.
Just the look.
I pointed at Dad.
“He says it!”
Dad immediately became very interested in a toolbox.
Mom looked at him.
Dad looked at Mom.
Then Dad looked away.
I threw both hands up.
“SEE?!”
Marshall laughed.
“Baby.”
“What?”
“Come here.”
I walked over.
He was sitting in one of the folding chairs, so I dropped sideways onto his lap.
His arms automatically wrapped around my waist.
“There.”
“What?”
“Now you’re contained.”
“I’m not a fucking animal.”
“You sure?”
I gasped.
“Marshall!”
He laughed and kissed my cheek.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Proof groaned dramatically.
“Here we go again.”
“GET OVER IT!”
⸻
Around nine-thirty, the driveway was packed.
Cars were parked along the street.
People were walking around carrying boxes.
Somebody bought the dining-room chairs.
Someone else bought one of the guest-bedroom sets.
A couple bought the patio furniture.
The microwave went.
Several kitchen appliances disappeared.
Half the glassware was gone.
And every time somebody carried something toward their vehicle, I felt victorious.
“YES!”
Marshall looked at me.
“What?”
“One less fucking thing I gotta move!”
“You ain’t moving any of it.”
“Well, one less thing somebody else has to move!”
Then somebody bought one of the couches.
I watched two men carry it through the front door.
“Bye, couch!”
Marshall laughed.
“You saying goodbye to furniture now?”
“I’ve had that motherfucker forever.”
I waved.
“Have a good life!”
And I was fine.
Completely fine.
Until I wasn’t.
⸻
I don’t even know what did it.
There wasn’t some huge dramatic moment.
It was something stupid.
I walked through the living room and stopped.
The couch was gone.
The end tables were gone.
One lamp was missing.
Pictures had been removed from the walls.
There were lighter rectangles where they’d hung for years.
And suddenly the house sounded different.
Empty.
My footsteps echoed slightly.
I looked around.
This wasn’t just stuff.
This was my house.
I had lived here.
I’d gotten ready for work upstairs.
I’d thrown my purse on that counter a thousand times.
I’d walked through this kitchen barefoot at midnight.
I’d celebrated birthdays here.
Christmases.
Thanksgivings.
Arguments.
Breakups.
Makeups.
Regular boring Tuesdays that I’d never thought mattered.
And now strangers were carrying pieces of it down my driveway.
I walked toward the front window.
Outside, somebody was loading another piece of my furniture into a truck.
And it hit me.
I’m leaving.
Not going on vacation.
Not visiting somewhere.
Leaving.
Georgia wasn’t going to be home anymore.
I was moving to Michigan.
Michigan wasn’t next door.
It wasn’t Alabama.
It wasn’t Tennessee.
It wasn’t somewhere I could casually drive home from whenever I felt homesick.
I was moving hundreds of miles away from the place where I’d grown up.
My family.
My streets.
My routines.
Everything familiar.
Suddenly I didn’t feel like joking anymore.
⸻
I went back outside.
Marshall noticed immediately.
Of course he did.
He was talking to Proof when I walked past them and sat quietly in one of the chairs.
A minute later, Marshall appeared beside me.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
He studied me.
“No, you ain’t.”
“I am.”
“Jessica.”
I looked toward the house.
He followed my eyes.
And somehow he understood.
“Oh.”
I nodded.
“Yeah.”
He sat down.
I moved over and ended up sitting against him, his arm around me.
For once, neither of us said anything.
His hand rested gently near the little curve of my stomach.
I watched another car pull away.
“It’s weird.”
“What?”
“Watching everything disappear.”
He nodded.
“I’ve lived in Georgia my whole fucking life.”
“I know.”
“And now I’m just…”
I gestured toward everything.
“Leaving.”
His hand moved slowly over my stomach.
“You don’t gotta pretend that ain’t scary.”
“I know.”
“I ain’t expecting you to.”
I looked at him.
“Michigan is fucking far.”
“Yeah.”
“You better be worth it.”
That crooked grin appeared.
“I am.”
I laughed.
“Cocky motherfucker.”
“There she is.”
I leaned my forehead against his.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Then I looked down at my stomach.
“And apparently we’re bringing somebody else.”
He smiled and rested his palm over the bump.
“Yeah.”
And somehow that helped.
Georgia was what I knew.
But maybe Michigan could become something I knew too.
Eventually.
⸻
Unfortunately, my peaceful little emotional moment lasted approximately six minutes.
Because somebody screamed.
“Oh my God!”
I looked up.
Teenage girl.
Standing about fifteen feet away.
Staring directly at Marshall.
Her eyes were enormous.
She grabbed her friend’s arm.
“Oh my GOD.”
I closed my eyes.
“Here we fucking go.”
Marshall laughed quietly.
The girls approached.
“Are you Eminem?”
Marshall looked at me.
I looked at him.
Then back at them.
I mean…
Bleached-blond hair.
Black T-shirt.
Baggy pants.
Silver chain.
Sitting in my driveway.
It wasn’t exactly a difficult mystery.
“Yeah,” he said.
The girls lost their minds.
“CAN WE GET A PICTURE?!”
“Sure.”
And that was it.
Game over.
Because somebody else noticed.
Then somebody else.
Within ten minutes, apparently my yard sale had developed a secondary attraction.
Used furniture and Eminem.
Proof walked past me.
“You should start charging.”
I looked at him.
“Don’t tempt me.”
⸻
Most people were sweet.
Pictures.
Autographs.
Quick hellos.
Marshall handled it like he’d done it a million times.
Because he had.
And honestly?
Watching him interact with people was kinda cute.
Until one girl got very comfortable.
She stood beside him for a picture.
Fine.
Then her arm went around him.
Still fine.
Then her hand started wandering.
Not fine.
I watched.
Marshall looked toward me.
He knew.
My eyebrows went up.
The girl leaned closer.
I stood.
“Excuse me.”
She looked at me.
“What?”
I pointed toward Marshall.
“That’s my property.”
Proof immediately turned around because I knew damn well he was laughing.
Marshall bit his lip.
The girl looked offended.
“He’s not property.”
“I know that.”
I smiled sweetly.
“It’s a joke. The part about you keeping your hands to yourself isn’t.”
Marshall coughed to hide a laugh.
She rolled her eyes.
Oh.
Wrong fucking move.
I stepped forward.
“Did you just roll your eyes at me?”
“Baby.”
Marshall caught my hand.
I looked at him.
“What?”
“I got it.”
I pointed toward her.
“She rolled her eyes.”
“I saw.”
“Don’t fucking roll your eyes at me in my driveway!”
Mom called from the money table.
“Jessica!”
“What?!”
Mom just stared at me.
I sighed.
“Fine.”
I sat back down.
Proof walked past.
“Property?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
He started laughing.
⸻
Then another girl asked for an autograph.
Fine.
Picture.
Fine.
Hug.
Fine.
Then she stayed attached to him.
I stared.
Marshall glanced toward me.
I gave him the look.
He gently stepped away from her.
“Thanks for coming.”
Smart man.
She looked at me.
“You’re his girlfriend?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Long enough.”
She looked down at my jeans.
My jeans, incidentally, were barely surviving.
The top button had surrendered sometime around breakfast.
I couldn’t get the damn things comfortably closed over my stomach anymore, so the waistband sat slightly open underneath my tank and hoodie.
The girl’s eyes flicked toward my stomach.
Then toward Marshall.
Then back to me.
I knew that calculation.
I pulled my hoodie slightly closed.
“Don’t.”
Her eyes widened.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were thinking loud.”
Marshall started laughing.
She walked away.
I turned toward him.
“Why are you laughing?”
“You’re jealous.”
“I am not jealous.”
“Baby.”
“I’m territorial.”
“That’s jealousy.”
“No, it’s fucking different.”
“How?”
“I’ll figure that out later.”
⸻
By lunchtime, everybody had figured out the system.
If somebody wanted a normal picture?
Fine.
Autograph?
Fine.
Shake his hand?
Fine.
But if somebody started acting like Marshall was included with the purchase of a used toaster?
Jessica appeared.
And Marshall found this entirely too entertaining.
At one point I walked past him carrying a box.
Smack.
I stopped.
Slowly turned around.
Marshall looked completely innocent.
Proof nearly spit out his drink.
“Did you just smack my ass?”
“No.”
“Marshall.”
“No witnesses.”
I pointed at Proof.
“There’s literally a witness.”
Proof immediately looked away.
“I ain’t seen shit.”
“TRAITOR.”
Marshall grabbed my waist and pulled me toward him.
“Come here.”
“No.”
He kissed me.
I kissed him back anyway.
“I love you.”
“Love you too.”
From behind us—
“Oh my God, WE KNOW.”
I turned around.
One of my siblings.
“Then stop listening!”
Marshall buried his face against my shoulder laughing.
⸻
By the afternoon, the house was emptier.
But strangely?
I was okay again.
I’d had my moment.
I’d cried a little.
I’d gotten quiet.
I’d let myself feel it.
And then I realized something.
I wasn’t erasing Georgia.
Georgia wasn’t going anywhere.
It was where I came from.
My family would still be here.
My memories would still be here.
And if I wanted to come home?
I’d come home.
I wasn’t losing one life.
I was starting another one.
I looked toward Marshall.
He was signing something for a kid while Proof stood nearby.
Then he looked up.
Saw me.
And smiled.
Not Eminem.
Not the guy everybody was suddenly crowding around.
Just Marshall.
My boyfriend.
The father of the little baby currently making it impossible to button my fucking jeans.
He finished the autograph and walked toward me.
“What?”
I shook my head.
“Nothing.”
“You staring at me.”
“Because you’re cute.”
“Cute?”
“Don’t push it.”
He wrapped his arms around me.
“You okay now?”
“Yeah.”
“Sure?”
I nodded.
“I think it just finally hit me.”
“What?”
“That I’m really doing this.”
His expression softened.
“Still wanna?”
I looked at him.
Then at my house.
Then toward my family.
Then down at the little bump beneath my shirt.
And finally back at him.
“Yeah.”
I smiled.
“I really fucking do.”
He kissed me.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Proof walked past carrying a box.
“For the love of God.”
I laughed.
“YOU’VE GOT TWO MORE DAYS OF THIS!”
“I’m moving hotels.”
“No you’re fucking not!”
Mom looked at me.
I caught her expression.
“Sorry.”
She shook her head.
Then Dad said something under his breath that definitely contained the word shit.
I pointed.
“SEE?!”
Mom turned and gave Dad the same look.
Dad immediately shut up.
I burst out laughing.
“Oh, this is fucking bullshit.”
Mom’s head snapped toward me again.
“Sorry!”
Marshall wrapped his arms around me from behind, laughing into my hair.
And standing there in the middle of the loudest, weirdest yard sale Georgia had probably ever seen—with strangers buying my furniture, teenage girls discovering Eminem in my driveway, my mother policing everybody’s language, Proof instigating shit, my jeans refusing to button and Marshall’s hand resting protectively over our baby—
I realized something.
Leaving home didn’t mean I didn’t have one anymore.
Maybe I was just about to have two.
Georgia was the one that made me.
And Michigan?
Michigan was about to find out exactly what the fuck it was getting.
To Be Continued… 🖤📖
The Detroit Diaries 🖤📖
The Last Days in Georgia — Part Three
Yard Sale Morning
I was dead asleep.
Not cute asleep.
Not peacefully curled up with perfect hair asleep.
I was gone.
Somewhere underneath the blankets, hair probably looking like I’d fought somebody during the night, completely unaware that apparently the rest of the fucking world had already started their day.
Then I felt somebody kiss my cheek.
“Baby.”
Nothing.
Another kiss.
“Jessica.”
I made some kind of noise and buried my face deeper into the pillow.
“Go away.”
Marshall laughed quietly.
“You gotta get up.”
“No.”
“Your family’s gonna be here.”
“No family.”
“Baby.”
“No yard sale.”
That made him laugh.
I cracked one eye open.
There he was.
Bleached-blond hair slightly messy from sleeping, already dressed in a loose black T-shirt, baggy gray sweatpants, white sneakers and his silver chain.
Way too awake.
I frowned at him.
“Why the fuck are you functioning?”
“Because somebody’s gotta get your ass outta bed.”
I closed my eye.
“Find somebody else.”
He kissed me again.
“Come on.”
Then I smelled it.
Bacon.
My eyes opened.
“Is that bacon?”
“Yeah.”
“And eggs?”
“Yeah.”
For approximately two seconds, breakfast sounded incredible.
Then my stomach turned.
Hard.
“Oh, fuck.”
Marshall’s smile disappeared.
“What?”
I threw the covers off.
“Move.”
“What—”
“MOVE!”
I barely made it into the bathroom.
I dropped in front of the toilet and got sick.
“Fuck…”
Marshall was behind me almost immediately.
“Baby?”
“Don’t—”
I held up one hand.
“Just give me a second.”
He crouched beside me and pulled my hair away from my face.
I sat back against the cabinet when it finally stopped.
“Jesus Christ.”
“You okay?”
“No.”
He rubbed my back.
I took a few breaths.
Then my stomach rolled again.
“Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”
Back over the toilet.
Again.
When it finally passed, I sat on the bathroom floor staring at absolutely nothing.
Marshall stayed beside me.
“You sure this is normal?”
I looked at him.
“Apparently.”
“Every morning?”
I laughed weakly.
“That’s the biggest fucking lie anybody ever told pregnant women.”
“What?”
“Morning sickness.”
He looked confused.
“Why?”
“Because it ain’t just the fucking morning!”
That finally got a little smile out of him.
“Baby, I’ve been sick in the morning, afternoon, nighttime—whenever this child apparently decides food is offensive.”
I rested my hand against my stomach.
“I don’t know what asshole came up with the name morning sickness, but they owe me an apology.”
Marshall rubbed my back again.
“Feel better now?”
“Give me five minutes.”
He kissed the side of my head.
“I’ll be downstairs.”
“Tell the bacon I hate it.”
He laughed.
“Yesterday you loved bacon.”
“Pregnancy is complicated.”
⸻
Eventually, I got myself off the bathroom floor.
I flushed the toilet.
Washed my face.
Brushed my teeth.
Twice.
Then stared at myself in the mirror.
“Okay, bitch. We have a yard sale.”
My black-and-blonde peekaboo hair needed some serious attention.
I brushed it out, styled it so the blonde and dark sections framed each other, and did my makeup: smooth early-2000s glam, neutral shadow with bright silver shimmer across the lids, sharp black winged liner and huge dramatic lashes.
Diamond earrings.
Perfect.
Then came clothes.
Underneath, I put on my ridiculously pretty aqua/mint leopard-print rhinestone bra and matching thong.
Because apparently even while selling half my house in my driveway, my underwear needed to have a personality.
Over that went the black fitted camisole.
And then my distressed light-wash skinny jeans.
I had to wiggle them over my hips.
Then I stopped.
Looked sideways.
And stared.
My stomach wasn’t flat anymore.
There was an actual little curve.
Not huge.
But definitely there.
I turned sideways again.
“Holy shit.”
My hand went over it automatically.
“You’re really in there.”
For a second, everything else disappeared.
The yard sale.
Moving.
Michigan.
Tour.
My family.
All of it.
Then I smiled.
“Okay, little Shady. Mommy’s got shit to do.”
I slipped on my gray fuzzy UGG slippers and grabbed my oversized black sunglasses, pushing them onto the top of my head.
Then I pulled on my bright hot-pink PINK zip hoodie with the rhinestone leopard-print hood.
I looked in the mirror.
Hot-pink hoodie.
Ripped jeans.
Gray UGG slippers.
Diamond earrings.
Huge lashes.
Black-and-blonde hair.
Baby bump.
Yep.
That would do.
⸻
When I got downstairs, the smell of breakfast hit me again.
I stopped.
My stomach considered betraying me.
“Don’t you fucking dare.”
Marshall looked over from the kitchen.
“You talking to me?”
“My stomach.”
“Oh.”
He walked toward me.
Then stopped.
His eyes went immediately to my stomach.
I caught him.
“What?”
His expression softened.
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit.”
He came closer.
“You’re showing.”
“I KNOW!”
I looked down.
“I noticed upstairs.”
He put his hand gently against the little bump.
That still did something to me every single time.
“You okay with it?”
“Yeah.”
I smiled.
“It’s weird.”
“Good weird?”
“Very good weird.”
He leaned down and kissed me.
I kissed him back.
Then again.
Then once more because apparently neither of us knew how to stop at one.
“I love you,” I murmured.
“Love you too.”
Another kiss.
“I really fucking love you.”
“I know.”
I pulled back.
“Excuse me?”
He grinned.
“I love you too, baby.”
“Better.”
I kissed him again.
⸻
Then I noticed the kitchen.
There was breakfast everywhere.
Eggs.
Bacon.
Biscuits.
Fruit.
Toast.
Drinks.
I stared.
“Who did all this?”
“Your mom.”
I looked toward the clock.
Then toward him.
“My mother’s already here?!”
“Been here.”
“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?”
“I tried waking you up!”
“No, you kissed me and harassed me.”
“That’s called waking you up.”
“Not effectively!”
I heard my mother somewhere toward the garage.
“Jessica, I can hear you!”
I yelled back.
“GOOD MORNING, MAMA!”
Marshall started laughing.
I pointed at him.
“Shut up.”
⸻
I sat down.
Then changed my mind.
Instead, I walked over to Marshall and sat sideways across his lap.
He immediately put an arm around my waist.
“Comfortable?”
“Very.”
“You got a whole kitchen full of chairs.”
“I like this chair.”
He smiled.
His hand rested over my stomach.
I leaned against him.
“Love you.”
“Love you.”
“You’re gonna get tired of me saying that.”
“Nope.”
“Because I’m gonna say it approximately nine hundred times.”
“That’s fine.”
“Love you.”
He laughed.
“Love you too.”
I kissed his cheek.
Then his lips.
He kissed me back, lingering just long enough for me to forget there were people somewhere in my house.
Until—
“Y’all know there’s a yard sale happening today, right?”
Proof.
Of course.
I lifted my head.
He was standing in the doorway holding a plate.
I stared at him.
“Good morning to you too.”
“Morning.”
He looked at Marshall.
Then me sitting on Marshall.
Then back at Marshall.
“Y’all been awake five minutes.”
Marshall shrugged.
“She likes me.”
“I fucking love him.”
Proof laughed.
“We know.”
Marshall’s hand gave my hip a playful squeeze.
I smacked his arm.
“Behave.”
“You’re sitting on me.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And my parents are here.”
“So?”
I narrowed my eyes.
He smiled innocently.
I leaned close to his ear.
“You can survive until tonight.”
His eyebrows went up.
I kissed his cheek and stood.
“Now feed your pregnant girlfriend.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
⸻
Mom walked into the kitchen.
“Are you feeling better?”
I nodded.
“A little.”
“Marshall told me you were sick.”
I looked at him.
“You told my mother?”
He shrugged.
“She asked why you weren’t downstairs.”
Mom touched my arm.
“Try to eat something bland first.”
I looked toward the bacon.
“But bacon.”
“Toast.”
“Bacon.”
“Toast.”
I sighed.
“Fine.”
I took a piece of toast.
Mom smiled triumphantly.
“I hate when you’re right.”
“I know.”
I nibbled the toast.
So far, baby approved.
Then I heard voices outside.
Lots of voices.
I looked toward the window.
There were already people slowing down in front of the house.
My eyes widened.
“What time is it?”
“Seven forty-five,” Mom said.
“The yard sale doesn’t start until eight!”
Dad came through the garage.
“People are already asking if they can look.”
I stared at him.
“No.”
Dad laughed.
“Jessica—”
“It says eight!”
Marshall walked up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist.
I leaned back against him.
“Baby, tell them.”
“Tell ’em what?”
“They have to wait until eight.”
He looked outside.
“There’s like twelve people out there.”
“What?!”
Proof peeked through the blinds.
“More coming.”
“Oh my fucking God.”
Mom looked at me.
“Jessica.”
I closed my eyes.
“Sorry.”
Then the baby shifted—or my stomach did something strange enough that I instinctively put my hand over the bump.
Marshall’s hand covered mine.
“You good?”
“Yeah.”
I looked outside again.
Cars.
People.
Tables.
Furniture.
Boxes.
Half my life sitting in my driveway with price stickers on it.
I took a breath.
“Okay.”
Marshall kissed my temple.
“Ready?”
“No.”
He laughed.
I turned around and kissed him.
“I love you.”
“Love you too.”
“Okay.”
I pushed my sunglasses down over my eyes.
Pulled my pink hoodie straight.
Looked toward Proof.
Then my parents.
Then the absolute circus developing outside my front door.
“Let’s sell some fucking shit.”
Mom immediately called from behind me—
“JESSICA!”
I closed my eyes.
“It’s gonna be a long fucking day.”
Proof nearly choked on his breakfast.
And Marshall?
Marshall just kissed the side of my head and laughed.
Because apparently he was already learning exactly what being part of my family meant.
To Be Continued… 🖤📖
Next: The Yard Sale From Hell — Everybody Wants Everything 🏷️💵😂
The Detroit Diaries 🖤📖
The Last Days in Georgia — Part One
If You Want It, Put Your Name on It
Friday morning had officially turned my house into a fucking department store.
There were people everywhere.
My mother had already taken pictures of half the furniture and started organizing what was being sold. My dad was downstairs. My aunts and uncles were carrying things around. My siblings were going through closets. Proof had somehow appointed himself assistant manager of absolutely fucking nothing.
And Marshall?
Marshall was supposed to be helping me.
Supposed to be.
I was standing downstairs with a roll of masking tape in one hand and a black Magic Marker in the other when I looked at him.
“Baby?”
“Yeah?”
I bit my bottom lip.
I shouldn’t have.
I knew better.
His eyes immediately dropped to my mouth.
Then slowly came back up.
I smiled.
“Do you want anything?”
His eyebrows lifted.
“What?”
“Out of the house, dumbass.”
He grinned.
“Oh.”
“Don’t fucking ‘oh’ me.”
I turned toward the basement.
“Come downstairs. I wanna show you something.”
He followed me.
Unfortunately, the second we were out of everybody’s direct line of sight, his hands found my waist.
I stopped.
“Marshall.”
“What?”
“You know what.”
“I ain’t doing nothing.”
“You are literally rubbing all up against me.”
He kissed the side of my neck.
“Baby…”
I closed my eyes for half a second.
“No.”
“What?”
“My fucking parents are here.”
“So?”
“My aunts are here. My uncles are here. My siblings are here. Proof is here.”
“Okay.”
I turned around.
“You can have me to yourself later.”
That grin appeared.
I pointed at him.
“Don’t.”
“You said it.”
“Because I fucking miss you.”
His expression softened slightly.
I leaned closer.
“A lot.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
I kissed him quickly.
“And I’ve missed your little friend too.”
His eyebrows shot up.
I immediately backed away laughing.
“Oh, you motherfucker, don’t even—”
He came after me.
I put both hands against his chest.
“NO. Behave!”
“You can’t say shit like that and then tell me to behave.”
“Yes, I can.”
“That’s fucked up.”
“You’ve got me all to yourself tonight.”
He stared at me.
“Promise?”
I smiled.
“Promise.”
Then I shoved the masking tape against his chest.
“Now help me sell my shit.”
⸻
The basement looked like somebody had emptied a sporting-goods store, a storage unit and a garage into one room.
I pointed toward the workout equipment.
“Okay. Serious question.”
Marshall looked around.
“What?”
“Do you want any of this?”
Weights.
Dumbbells.
A weight bench.
Exercise equipment.
Storage shelves.
Random electronics.
Boxes.
Things I hadn’t touched in months.
“Because I’m not taking most of this crap.”
He picked up one of the dumbbells.
“You use these?”
“Occasionally.”
He gave me a look.
“Fuck you.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Your face did.”
He laughed.
I pointed toward the masking tape.
“If you want something, put your name on it.”
“What?”
“I’m serious.”
I tore off a piece.
“Movers aren’t coming until right before I leave. So anything you want shipped to Michigan—or Detroit or wherever you want it—put your initials on it.”
I stuck the tape onto the weight bench.
Then wrote:
MM
“There.”
He stared at it.
“That’s mine now?”
“If you want it.”
He laughed.
“Baby, you’re giving away your whole fucking house.”
“Pretty much.”
I spread my arms.
“You want weights? Take them. Want the bench? Take it. Want something out of the office? Take it.”
I started toward the stairs.
“You want a printer for the studio? Take the fucking printer.”
“Dre probably got like fifty printers.”
“Well, now he can have fifty-one.”
Marshall laughed behind me.
⸻
Proof was standing near the kitchen when we came upstairs.
I pointed the Magic Marker at him.
“Proof.”
He looked suspicious immediately.
“What?”
“If you see something you want, take it.”
“What?”
“Anything I’m selling.”
I handed him the tape.
“Put your name on it.”
He stared at me.
“You serious?”
“Dead serious.”
He looked around.
“Anything?”
“Within reason.”
Marshall immediately said, “Don’t tell him that.”
Proof grinned.
I pointed at him.
“Furniture. Electronics. Kitchen shit. Glassware. Whatever. If you actually want it, put your initials on it before Mama prices it.”
Proof held up the tape.
“This is dangerous.”
“I know.”
He disappeared toward the living room.
I stared after him.
“I may have made a mistake.”
Marshall nodded.
“Definitely.”
⸻
I went into the kitchen next.
This part hurt a little more.
Because suddenly I wasn’t looking at stuff.
I was looking at my life.
My kitchen.
My things.
Things I’d bought because I’d thought this house was where I’d stay.
I opened one cabinet.
“Wine glasses?”
Marshall leaned against the island.
“What about ’em?”
“You want them?”
“For what?”
“I don’t fucking know. Drinking wine?”
“I don’t drink wine like that.”
“Okay. Sell.”
I opened another cabinet.
“Plates?”
“Sell.”
“Bowls?”
“Sell.”
“Glasses?”
“Sell.”
“Silverware?”
“Sell.”
“Vacuum cleaner?”
He stared at me.
“Why the fuck would I want your vacuum cleaner?”
I shrugged.
“I don’t know!”
He started laughing.
“I’m trying to give you options!”
“You trying to furnish my whole damn house.”
“Apparently.”
I grabbed the masking tape again.
Then I saw my black KitchenAid mixer.
“Nope.”
I tore off a piece.
JESSICA — KEEP
Marshall laughed.
“That one ain’t negotiable?”
“Absolutely the fuck not.”
Then my tea maker.
Another piece of tape.
KEEP
“Also mine.”
“You really need that?”
I slowly looked at him.
“Baby.”
“What?”
“Don’t question my tea maker.”
He held up his hands.
“My bad.”
“Thank you.”
⸻
Then came my movie and music collection.
That wasn’t even a discussion.
“All my DVDs are going with me.”
Marshall looked toward the shelves.
“All those?”
“Yes.”
“Jesus.”
“And my CDs.”
“All those too?”
“Yes!”
“They’re gonna take up half the bus.”
“Then move your shit.”
He laughed.
“I was there first!”
“I’m pregnant.”
He stared at me.
I smiled.
He shook his head.
“You’re gonna use that for the next nine months.”
“Absolutely.”
I started pulling CDs into boxes marked TOUR BUS.
Movies.
Albums.
Burned CDs.
Favorite DVDs.
Stuff I wanted close.
“Sunday, these go with us.”
“Got it.”
“And my paperwork.”
That reminded me.
I stopped.
The joking disappeared for a second.
“My doctor’s stuff.”
Marshall looked at me.
“Where is it?”
“Office.”
⸻
I went into the office and opened the filing cabinet.
There it was.
Medical paperwork.
Appointment information.
Pregnancy paperwork.
Everything I’d been given when I’d found out.
I pulled the folder out.
Marshall came up beside me.
“This stays with us.”
“Yeah.”
I handed it to him.
“Actually, put it with the stuff going on the bus.”
He took it carefully.
“Okay.”
“Not with the movers.”
“Got you.”
I watched him put it down beside my purse.
And something about seeing him treat a boring little folder like it was suddenly one of the most important things in the house made my chest ache.
I put a hand against my lower back.
Then winced.
“Fuck.”
His head snapped around.
“What?”
“My back.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing. It just hurts.”
“Sit down.”
“I’m fine.”
“Jessica.”
“Baby, I’m—”
“Sit.”
I stared at him.
“You’ve known I’m pregnant for one fucking day and you’re already bossy.”
“Sit down.”
I dropped into the office chair.
“Happy?”
“Yeah.”
I rubbed my lower back.
“My back hurts. My boobs hurt. I’m tired. Everything fucking hurts.”
His expression immediately changed at one particular word.
I saw it happen.
“No.”
“What?”
“Don’t.”
“I ain’t said shit.”
“You were thinking it.”
His grin appeared.
I pointed at him.
“Don’t you fucking think about it.”
He laughed and leaned down to kiss me.
“I’m serious!”
“Okay.”
“You’re gonna get me yelled at.”
“By who?”
“Pick a Wilder. There are approximately seventeen of them in my house.”
That made him laugh harder.
⸻
After sitting for a few minutes, I felt better.
Which meant I immediately ignored everybody’s advice and started working again.
I walked through the house like some deranged auctioneer with masking tape.
KEEP.
SELL.
MICHIGAN.
TOUR.
MM.
PROOF.
My Marilyn Monroe blankets?
Keep.
UGA blankets?
Keep.
Victoria’s Secret blankets?
Keep.
PINK blankets?
Absolutely keep.
Seasonal candles?
Keep.
I had entirely too many.
Fall candles.
Christmas candles.
Vanilla.
Pumpkin.
Apple.
Cinnamon.
Clean-linen scents.
Things I’d bought because the jar was pretty.
Marshall opened one cabinet.
“Jesus Christ.”
“What?”
“How many fucking candles do you need?”
“All of them.”
“You can’t even burn all these.”
“Watch me.”
He picked one up.
“Pumpkin cupcake?”
“Put that down.”
He smelled it.
“That ain’t bad.”
I snatched it from him.
“Mine.”
“You’re territorial as hell.”
“About my candles? Yes.”
⸻
By midafternoon, there was masking tape on damn near everything.
The house looked ridiculous.
Proof had actually claimed a couple things.
Marshall had claimed some basement equipment.
My personal things were separating into neat piles.
The sale pile kept getting bigger.
The moving pile kept getting more personal.
And every time I saw another SELL label, reality hit a little harder.
I was really leaving.
Not someday.
Not eventually.
Sunday.
I walked into the laundry room looking for another roll of tape.
Finally—
Quiet.
No mother.
No father.
No Proof.
No relatives.
Just washing machines, shelves, boxes and approximately thirty seconds of peace.
Then the door opened.
I didn’t even turn around.
“Marshall.”
“What?”
“You’re following me.”
“I need tape.”
“Bullshit.”
The door clicked shut behind him.
I turned.
He was smiling.
I started laughing.
“Baby…”
He walked over.
“What?”
“We’re supposed to be working.”
“We have been.”
“All day.”
“Exactly.”
He wrapped his arms around my waist.
I looked toward the door.
“My family is twenty feet away.”
“So?”
“So my daddy already almost interrogated you into another dimension.”
“He’ll survive.”
I laughed.
“You’re terrible.”
“You like me.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Unfortunately?”
I bit my lip again.
His eyes immediately dropped.
“Oh, fuck.”
“What?”
“I did it again.”
“Yeah.”
He leaned closer.
I put my arms around his neck.
“Five minutes.”
“That’s all I need.”
I started laughing.
“Don’t say shit like that!”
He kissed me before I could keep talking.
And for a few minutes, the yard sale disappeared.
The boxes disappeared.
Michigan disappeared.
The tour disappeared.
I wasn’t thinking about Sunday.
I wasn’t thinking about leaving my house.
I wasn’t thinking about whether this pregnancy would last.
I was just standing in my laundry room kissing my boyfriend while an entire house full of people was approximately one doorway away.
Eventually I pulled back.
“Okay.”
“What?”
“We have to stop.”
“Why?”
“Because if my mother opens that door, I am moving to Michigan today.”
He laughed against my forehead.
I straightened my tank top and messy bun.
“Do I look normal?”
“No.”
“Fuck you.”
“You asked.”
I shoved the masking tape into his hand.
“Carry this and look productive.”
He stared at it.
“What am I supposed to do with it?”
“I don’t know. Pretend you’re labeling something.”
I opened the door.
Proof was standing directly outside.
I froze.
He looked at me.
Then Marshall.
Then the masking tape in Marshall’s hand.
A slow grin spread across his face.
I pointed at him.
“Not. One. Fucking. Word.”
Proof raised both hands.
“I ain’t say shit.”
Marshall walked past him.
Proof waited until Marshall was several feet away.
Then leaned toward me.
“Your lipstick’s fucked up.”
My eyes widened.
“PROOF!”
He took off laughing.
And somewhere from the kitchen—
“JESSICA! LANGUAGE!”
I closed my eyes.
Sunday could not get here fast enough.
Or maybe…
I wasn’t ready for Sunday to get here at all.
Because every SELL sticker I put on something was another tiny goodbye.
And in two days, there wouldn’t be anything left to label.
To Be Continued… 🖤📖
Super Slim....
This guy loves his cat daddy ♥️♥️♥️
The Detroit Diaries 🖤📖
Marshall Coming to My House — Part Nine
Things Nobody Knew
The doorbell rang again.
I stood there for a second, trying to pull myself together.
What a fucking day.
I’d quit my job.
Told Marshall I was pregnant.
Had Proof find out approximately five minutes later.
Had half my family invade my house with barbecue.
Accidentally told my parents I was pregnant.
Cried in the backyard.
Fought with my parents.
My dad and Marshall damn near got into it.
And apparently we weren’t fucking finished yet.
I opened the front door.
She was standing there.
MC’s sister.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
For a second, we just looked at each other.
Because this was awkward as hell.
Not because I had a problem with her.
I didn’t.
Whatever had happened between me and her brother had never been her fault.
I stepped aside.
“Come in.”
She walked inside, glancing around at the boxes everywhere.
“Damn.”
I laughed weakly.
“Yeah.”
“You’re really moving.”
“Apparently.”
She looked at me.
“Apparently?”
“I’m still trying to process the fact that I quit my fucking job today.”
From somewhere behind me, my mother’s voice immediately carried through the house.
“Jessica!”
I closed my eyes.
“Oh my God.”
MC’s sister started laughing.
“Your mama still gets onto you for cussing?”
“YES.”
“I heard that!”
“MAMA!”
That got another laugh out of her.
At least the tension broke a little.
I pointed toward the stairs.
“All your stuff should still be upstairs in your bedroom.”
“Okay.”
“And I found some of your brother’s shit too.”
Her expression changed slightly.
“It’s boxed up. If you want to take it to him, take it. If you don’t, I’m donating it. I genuinely don’t care.”
She nodded.
“I can take it.”
“Thank you.”
We started upstairs.
Halfway there, she looked around at all the boxes stacked along the hallway.
“You’re taking all this?”
“Some of it. Most of the furniture is getting sold. Mama already took pictures of everything.”
“You’re selling the beds too?”
“The other ones, yeah.”
She looked toward my bedroom.
“Yours?”
I snorted.
“That mattress is going to the fucking landfill.”
She stared at me.
Then started laughing.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No, say it.”
“Nothing!”
I pointed at her.
“Mind your business.”
She was still laughing when we reached the extra bedroom.
I opened the door.
“There.”
Several boxes were stacked near the wall.
“That should be everything.”
She walked over and started looking through them.
I leaned against the doorway.
For a few minutes, neither of us said much.
Then she suddenly said—
“So…”
I knew that tone.
“What?”
“You know he’s seeing somebody, right?”
I blinked.
“Your brother?”
“Yeah.”
I shrugged.
“Okay.”
She looked at me like she was trying to decide whether she should continue.
That immediately made me suspicious.
“Who?”
She hesitated.
I narrowed my eyes.
“Wait.”
Something clicked.
“No fucking way.”
“What?”
“Does her name start with a B?”
Her face told me everything.
My mouth dropped open.
“ARE YOU SERIOUS?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh my God.”
I pushed away from the doorway.
“Of fucking course.”
She looked confused.
“You know her?”
“Know her?”
I laughed.
“I fucking cheered with her!”
Her eyes widened.
“What?”
“Yes!”
I started pacing.
“She always wanted him.”
I couldn’t believe this shit.
“She ALWAYS wanted him.”
MC’s sister sat down on the edge of the bed.
“I didn’t know that.”
“Oh, I knew.”
I shook my head.
“And he cheated on me with her.”
Her face changed.
“What?”
“Yep.”
“He told me—”
“I don’t even want to know what he told you.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“Jesus Christ.”
Suddenly the phone call from earlier felt even more ridiculous.
“And this motherfucker called me TODAY.”
“What?”
“Yes!”
I pointed toward the floor like her brother was somehow standing underneath it.
“He called asking if I was seriously leaving Georgia. Asking if I was really going with Marshall. Acting like I’m throwing our relationship away and wanting another fucking chance.”
Her expression became uncomfortable.
“He didn’t tell me that.”
“Of course he didn’t.”
I laughed bitterly.
“He’s with somebody else and calling me asking whether I’m really leaving.”
I shook my head.
“Same shit. Different fucking day.”
And then something inside me cracked.
It happened so quickly that I didn’t even have time to stop it.
My eyes filled.
“Jessica?”
I looked away.
“I’m fine.”
I wasn’t.
“Hey.”
“I’m fucking fine.”
My voice broke right in the middle of saying it.
Fantastic.
I covered my face.
“Fuck.”
She stood up.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“That isn’t nothing.”
I wiped underneath my eyes.
“I’m just tired.”
“Jess.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
But now that the door had opened, years of shit were coming through it.
“You don’t know everything that happened between me and your brother.”
She went quiet.
“None of y’all do.”
I swallowed.
“Everybody saw us breaking up and getting back together and breaking up and getting back together.”
My voice started shaking.
“But nobody knew why.”
She stared at me.
I couldn’t look at her anymore.
“There were six.”
Her eyebrows pulled together.
“Six what?”
I stared at the carpet.
“Pregnancies.”
Nothing.
Complete silence.
When I finally looked at her, her face had gone pale.
“What?”
“I was pregnant six times.”
She covered her mouth.
“And I lost every single one.”
“Oh my God.”
“Nobody knew.”
“Jessica…”
“Just me and him.”
The tears started coming harder.
“And every fucking time, I had to pull myself back together.”
She walked toward me.
I shook my head.
“I’d be fucking devastated.”
My voice cracked.
“I’d be crying. I wouldn’t want to get out of bed. I didn’t want to talk to anybody. And instead of understanding why I was falling apart…”
I couldn’t finish for a second.
She was already crying now too.
“He acted like it was funny.”
Her face changed completely.
“What?”
I nodded.
“He was relieved.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“He wouldn’t—”
“He DID.”
My voice carried before I could stop it.
Then I immediately lowered it again.
“He did.”
I wiped my face.
“And that’s the part nobody fucking knew.”
She just stared at me.
“I would be sitting there wondering what was wrong with me. Wondering why I couldn’t stay pregnant. Wondering if I’d ever get to be somebody’s mother.”
My hand unconsciously moved toward my stomach.
“And now I’m pregnant again.”
Her eyes dropped to my hand.
Then shot back to my face.
Fuck.
There it was.
Another secret out.
“You’re pregnant?”
I closed my eyes.
“Yeah.”
“Jessica…”
“Marshall’s.”
She looked toward the hallway.
Then at me.
“Does he know?”
“Yes.”
“Your family?”
I laughed through my tears.
“They found out tonight.”
“Oh my God.”
“Yeah. Welcome to the fucking circus.”
She didn’t laugh.
Instead, she stepped forward and hugged me.
And that caught me completely off guard.
For a second I just stood there.
Then I hugged her back.
“I didn’t know,” she whispered.
“I know.”
“I swear to God, Jess, I didn’t know.”
“I know you didn’t.”
She pulled back.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“Because I didn’t tell anybody.”
“Why?”
I wiped my cheeks.
“Because I was embarrassed.”
“Embarrassed?”
“I kept going back.”
That was the part that hurt to admit.
“I kept thinking maybe this time would be different.”
She shook her head.
“That doesn’t make what he did okay.”
“I know that now.”
There was movement in the hallway.
I looked toward the doorway.
Marshall was standing several feet away.
Not inside the room.
Not interrupting.
Just there.
He must’ve heard me crying.
Our eyes met.
And the second I saw his face, I started crying all over again.
“Fuck.”
I covered my face.
“I am so fucking tired of crying today.”
Marshall walked into the room.
He didn’t say anything about MC.
Didn’t make some smart-ass comment.
Didn’t try to turn it into a fight.
He just came over and wrapped his arms around me.
I buried my face against his chest.
“I’m sorry.”
His hand moved slowly over my back.
“For what?”
“This.”
“Baby, stop.”
“I’ve cried like seventeen fucking times.”
“So?”
“You probably think I’m fucking insane.”
“No.”
I looked up at him.
“No?”
“No.”
He wiped underneath one of my eyes with his thumb.
“I think you’ve been carrying a whole lotta shit by yourself.”
That shut me up.
MC’s sister looked between us.
And I think, for the first time, she understood why I was leaving.
Not because Eminem had shown up.
Not because I wanted some glamorous new life.
Not because I suddenly thought I was too good for Georgia.
I was leaving because something in me had finally decided—
enough.
She picked up one of her boxes.
“I’ll take his stuff too.”
I nodded.
“Thank you.”
She stopped at the doorway.
Then turned around.
“And Jess?”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t blame you for leaving.”
My throat tightened.
She looked at Marshall.
Then back at me.
“I hope this one’s different.”
I looked up at him.
His arm tightened slightly around me.
“Me too.”
She disappeared down the hallway.
For a moment, neither Marshall nor I said anything.
Then he looked down at me.
“Six?”
I closed my eyes.
There it was.
The conversation I knew we’d eventually have.
“Yeah.”
His hand slowly moved down until it rested over my stomach.
And suddenly I understood exactly what he was thinking.
I put my hand over his.
“Baby…”
He looked at me.
“You scared?”
My eyes immediately filled again.
I nodded.
“Fucking terrified.”
He didn’t tell me everything would definitely be okay.
He couldn’t know that.
Instead, he intertwined his fingers with mine over my stomach.
“Then we’ll be scared together.”
And somehow…
That was exactly what I needed him to say. 🖤📖