Yeah, we go that far back.
Far back enough when hangouts were backyards
instead of the mall. When friendship wasn’t determined by likes and follows. We
were real friends. Friends who actually love each other, and even though
it’s not said, it’s felt. I know how Chantelle feels about me. She knows how I
feel about her and we were always good.
Now, I’m getting married and I don’t know how she’s
taking this.
“Okay, then. If you’re excited, maybe I’m catching
the wrong vibe. Am I catching the wrong vibe, Chantelle?”
“Ugh, why are you riding me about this?” she asks,
laughing in an effort to convince me that she’s cool, but I know she’s not. She
can’t lie to me. I know her too well. When I met Eva two years ago, my
friendship with Chantelle began a slow, gradual descent. I felt it happening.
Did I do anything about it? No. I just pretended everything was normal, hoping
the issue would correct itself. It didn’t. We grew apart. We weren’t tight like
we used to be, and it’s all on her end, not mine. I didn’t expect that,
especially from Chantelle. Man or woman — a best friend is supposed to have
your back come what may – at least that’s what I thought. Chantelle is supposed
to be happy for me. I want her to be happy for me. I don’t think that’s
too much to ask.
“What vibe do you think you’re getting, Samir?”
I shrug, then raise a finger to summon the
bartender. Before I can ask for another shot, Chantelle grips my wrist, lowers
my hand and tells the bartender, “That’s okay. He’s good.”
“Oh, wow. I got moms with me tonight.”
“Call it what you want, but I’m looking out for
your well-being. It’s not a good look for you or anybody else to be getting
drunk as a way of celebrating marriage. I never saw the sense of such
foolishness.”
I cross my arms and sit up tall. “Had I known you
weren’t in the mood to turn up, I would’ve just come alone.”
“Hmph,” she grunts. “You should’ve had a clue when
I said I DON’T FEEL LIKE GOING OUT TONIGHT. Remember that?”
“But you’re usually always in the mood to—”
“Yeah, but on a Wednesday night, Sam? A sister is tied.
Not tired. Tied!”
I chuckle. “I get that, but tonight’s different.
This is my bachelor party.”
She snorts a laugh. “Bachelor party? You’re
funny.”
“What?”
“Boy, this ain’t no bachelor party. A bachelor
party is a bunch of guys out here hootin’ and hollering acting like wild
animals while they toss back an unlimited amount of vodka shots and tease you
about how you’re turning in your player’s card for one woman. Oh, and
not to mention the constant bragging about how they’re still out here bouncing
from woman to woman and making you feel like you’re missing out on something. This
ain’t that. This is just me and you out here kickin’ it.”
“Well, in case you didn’t know, you’re the only
person I need to kick it with and I mean that.”
She looks up at me and I hold her vision as her
stare grows intense. She glances at my lips, then back up to my eyes before
clearing her throat and looking away from me.
What was that about?
It was definitely a moment, but why?
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