Her Man: Chapter Three

He Left Me Alone. I Hated It.

Malachi left me alone. Like, actually left me alone. And before y’all start, yes, I know that’s exactly what I told him to do. I remember the conversation. I was there. I specifically told that man to stop contacting me, and when he said he would, I considered the matter handled. Finished. Done.

I went to sleep Saturday night feeling like a woman with morals, boundaries, and enough common sense not to ruin a friendship over somebody with a beard and a decent personality.

By Sunday afternoon, I was checking to see if he watched my Instagram story.

Now, in my defense, I check my story views anyway. Everybody does. Don’t sit there acting like you post something and never look to see who watched it. That’s not weird.

I posted a picture of my coffee around eleven, checked the views maybe twice, and Malachi wasn’t there. Fine… good, actually. Around two, I posted a meme about people needing to stay out of women’s business. Checked again. Nothing.

By Sunday night, I had posted a song. The song was not for that man. I need to make that very clear because I can already feel y’all judging me. I liked that song before I even knew Malachi existed. I had probably listened to it fifty times. Now, did I choose the specific part about wanting somebody you weren’t supposed to want? That’s neither here nor there.

And did I check to see if he watched it? Okay, now you in my business.

He didn’t.

Monday came. Nothing. Tuesday came. Nothing. No DM. No accidental like. No mysterious deleted message at one in the morning. That nigga didn’t even watch my stories. Like, at all.

I started wondering if he had muted me, which immediately pissed me off because why would you mute me? I didn’t do nothing to you. Again, I recognize the insanity of this argument.

Tuesday afternoon I was at the nail salon, sitting underneath one of those little UV lamps while a woman named Mimi painted my nails a dark cherry red, when I posted a picture of my hand against my thigh. That was for the nails.

The fact that my thighs were also in the picture was unavoidable. I checked the viewers before the polish was even dry. Nothing…

“Girl, you keep looking at that phone like somebody owe you money.”

I looked up at Mimi. “I’m checking something.”

“Mhm.”

She went back to my nails. I put my phone facedown…thirty seconds later, I flipped it back over. Still nothing.

I don’t know what irritated me more, the fact that Malachi was ignoring me or the fact that I had somehow decided he was ignoring me when, technically, he was doing exactly what I asked. There is a difference between being ignored and being left alone. I understood that intellectually. But emotionally, he had me fucked up.

Wednesday, I posted a selfie. Not for him. It was a good selfie though. I had on a little white tank top, gold hoops, lip gloss doing exactly what lip gloss is supposed to do, and my hair had cooperated for once without requiring prayer or violence.

I posted it with no caption because women who look good don’t need captions. Nia liked it almost immediately.

@niaaaa: bitch 😍😍😍

Tiff replied about twenty minutes later.

@dat.bxtchtiff: face card carrying a balance I see

Bartender Fine Ass liked it too.

Malachi didn’t even watch it. I stared at the viewer list long enough to feel embarrassed in the privacy of my own home.

“Okay,” I said out loud. “Fuck you too then.”

My apartment was silent.

“Exactly.”

And that should tell you where I was mentally. By Thursday, I decided I was done thinking about it. For real this time. I had work to do, laundry sitting in the dryer for two days, groceries to buy, and a best friend whose boyfriend I absolutely, positively, unequivocally was not waiting to hear from. Which reminded me, I still had to cuss Tiff out.

---

Tiff was twenty-three minutes late to lunch. This was actually early for her. I had already ordered fries by the time she came through the door in oversized sunglasses, a cropped denim jacket, and a purse so small I don’t know what the fuck she kept in it besides maybe a quarter. She spotted me across the restaurant, smiled like she hadn’t just left me sitting there by myself, and slid into the booth.

“So what’s tea?”

I pushed the basket of fries away from her.

“You gave Malachi my fucking number?”

Her hand stopped halfway to the basket.

“Oh.”

I leaned back. “Oh?”

Tiff slowly lowered her sunglasses. “Well damn hoe, good afternoon to you too.”

“Don’t good afternoon me. Why the fuck did you give that man my number?”

“Because, he asked for it.”

I stared at her.

She stared back & twisted her lips into a knowing look, without breaking eye contact. I hate that this bitch just knows everything.

“So that’s your answer?”

“What else you want me to say?”

“I don’t know, Tiff. Maybe why?”

“I already told you, because he asked for it.”

“Tiff.”

“Jenny.”

“Why would Nia’s boyfriend need my number?”

She shrugged and reached for a fry. I slapped her hand.

“Damn, bitch! What the fuck?”

“Answer me.”

“I don’t fucking know! He said he needed to ask you something about Nia without Nia knowing.”

“And that didn’t sound suspicious to you?”

“Everything sounds suspicious when Malachi says it.”

I blinked. Tiff stole a fry while I was processing that.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means exactly what I said.”

“So you knew he was on bullshit?”

“I knew he asked for your number.”

“You knew why.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Tiff.”

“Those are two different questions, Jenny.”

I hated when she made sense because she always looked smug as hell doing it.

The waitress came over before I could respond, and Tiff ordered a margarita despite it being barely after noon. When the waitress left, Tiff reached for another fry, and this time I let her have it.

“He asked me maybe two months ago,” she said. “Said he wanted to ask you something about Nia and didn’t want her seeing it. I gave it to him. End of story.”

“Two months?”

“Yea, something like that.”

That bothered me more than I expected. Two months meant Malachi had my number before he ever used it. He had asked for it, saved it, and just… had it.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Tiff looked genuinely confused. “Tell you what?”

“That you gave him my number.”

“Girl, I forgot.”

“How do you forget something like that?”

“Because it wasn’t my number.”

I rolled my eyes.

“And anyway,” she continued, dipping my fry into my ketchup, “how do you know I gave it to him?”

Shit.

I looked at her. Tiff looked at me. Something shifted across her face. Not shock. Tiff wasn’t dramatic like Nia. She didn’t widen her eyes or lean across the table demanding answers. She just chewed her fry a little slower. Staring into my soul.

“He texted me,” I said.

“Mm.”

“And I asked him where he got my number.”

“Mm.”

“He said you.”

“Mhm.”

“Stop saying that.”

“Mm.”

“Bitch.”

She laughed. “I’m listening.”

“There isn’t anything to listen to.”

“I didn’t say there was.”

“You’re doing that thing with your face.”

“What thing?”

“That little… thing.”

“This is just my face.”

I narrowed my eyes. She smiled. I just sighed. I could feel it. Yea, she clocked it, but what Tiff didn’t know was really how much there was to clock. She knew Malachi had texted me.

She did not know I had called him. She didn’t know we had talked for forty-seven minutes and thirteen seconds. She didn’t know he told me he liked me. She definitely didn’t know I had spent the last four days checking Instagram like a teenager waiting on her crush to view her story. And she wasn’t about to find out either.

“So what’s tea with Ari?” I asked.

Tiff’s smile disappeared. Interesting.

“Huh?”

“You heard me.”

“Why are you asking me about Ari?”

“Because apparently everybody except me knows who the fuck she is.”

Tiff took a sip of water. “I’m not getting in that.”

“You already said that.”

“And apparently you didn’t hear me.”

“Nia lied to me.”

Tiff looked toward the window.

“Did she or did she not?”

“Jenny.”

“Was Ari her friend?”

She sighed. “Yes.”

“Was Malachi with Ari when him and Nia started talking?”

“It’s quiet on the creek with that whole situation.”

I frowned. “Girl, what?”

“You heard me.”

“No, I heard words. I don’t know what the fuck you just said.”

Tiff laughed. “It means I’m staying out of it. Nia is my friend. You are my friend. Ari was cool with people I was cool with. Malachi is Malachi. And bitch, I like my edges exactly where God put them.”

“So you knew.”

“I know a lot of shit.”

“And you don’t tell anybody?”

“That’s why I know a lot of shit.”

Well, I couldn’t even argue with that.

Our food arrived, and for a few minutes we ate without talking about Nia, Malachi, or Ari. Tiff told me about some man she had been seeing who apparently owned three cars but slept on an air mattress.

I told her owning three depreciating assets and no bed was exactly why I didn’t trust men. She told me I didn’t trust men because I was “emotionally constipated,” and I told her she was dating a nigga with a furnished driveway and an unfurnished bedroom.

We were halfway through arguing over whether an air fryer counted as an appliance when Tiff suddenly said, “Just be careful.”

I looked up.

“With what?”

She dipped a fry into ranch. “Whatever.”

“You’re so fucking irritating.”

“I know.”

“No, for real. You say weird shit and then act like you didn’t say it.”

“I said be careful.”

“About Malachi?”

Tiff shrugged.

“About Nia?”

Another shrug.

“About Ari?”

She picked up her margarita.

“Tiff.”

She took a long sip.

I threw a napkin at her.

She laughed.

Then, just before we changed the subject, she said, “All I’m saying is Nia and Malachi don’t break up normal.”

I waited. That was it.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“You’ll see.”

I pointed at her. “See, that’s the shit I’m talking about.”

She laughed so hard she almost choked on her drink.

And because I was irritated, I didn’t notice until later that she never answered the question.

---

Friday belonged to Nia.

Not intentionally. She called me around ten that morning and said she needed to go find something to wear for a kickback Saturday night, and somehow that turned into me meeting her at Lenox, us spending entirely too much money, getting hungry, leaving the mall, getting food, then driving around Atlanta with no real destination because neither one of us felt like going home yet.

That was normal for us; Nia and I had wasted entire days together since we were sixteen. We could make an event out of nothing. Walmart at midnight. Sitting in the car outside somebody’s house for an hour after we already said goodbye.

Driving thirty minutes for food we could have gotten ten minutes away because one specific location “made it better.”

Sometimes friendship isn’t built out of important moments… Sometimes it’s built out of having absolutely nothing to do and still choosing to do it with the same person.

At the mall, Nia came out of a fitting room wearing a long brown dress and turned in front of the mirror.

“Well?”

I looked her up and down.

“Absolutely the fuck not.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Why?”

“You look saved.”

“Bitch, what?”

“You look like you about to invite me to women’s ministry.”

She looked back at herself. “This is cute.”

“This is First Lady.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m trying to help you.”

She turned sideways. “Malachi would like it.”

“Malachi likes salmon and PrizePicks. His opinion don’t count.”

We both started laughing, that was us. But I probably haven’t explained things well enough.

To be real, Nia wasn’t just somebody I went out with. She wasn’t just somebody whose business I knew because we had been friends for forever. She was sewn into my life in all those boring little places people don’t think about when they talk about friendship.

She knew which family members I avoided at functions. She knew what I would order from restaurants before I even opened the menu. She knew when I was lying about being okay and, unfortunately for me, she usually knew when I was lying in general. Usually.

She changed into another outfit, a black two-piece that immediately made me nod.

“That.”

“I knew you would like this one.”

“Because I have taste.”

“Because you dress like a hoe.”

“See, now you’re not getting my opinion anymore.”

She laughed and disappeared behind the fitting-room door.

We ended up buying things neither of us went there for. I bought a little black top I absolutely did not need, and Nia bought shoes she complained about before we reached the parking lot. By the time we left, we were starving, so we grabbed food and ate in my car with the windows cracked while Atlanta traffic crawled past us.

Nia stole one of my fries. Everybody steals my fucking fries.

“Malachi been acting right lately,” she said.

I kept chewing.

“That’s good.”

“Like really good.”

“Okay.”

She looked at me. “Why you saying it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you don’t believe me.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You said okay.”

“Okay is a word.”

“See, this is why I can’t tell you shit.”

I laughed. “Girl stop, I’m listening for real, tell me.”

She smiled and looked down at her food. “I don’t know. It just feels different. Like after that whole situation, I was waiting for something else to happen. Every time his phone went off, I was looking. Every time he went somewhere, I was thinking he was lying. That shit is so fucking exhausting.”

I stopped playing with the straw in my drink.

“But lately,” she continued, “I don’t know. I feel like maybe I’m finally getting over it.”

Something uncomfortable moved through my stomach.

“That’s good,” I said again, softer this time.

“Yeah.”

She was quiet for a second.

Then she said, “I know I be crazy about him sometimes.”

“You be crazy about everybody.”

“Fuck you. I’m serious.”

“I know.”

She looked out the windshield.

“I just don’t ever wanna be that bitch everybody knows is getting played except her.”

I looked at my best friend. There are moments when the truth makes itself available to you. It doesn’t force you to tell it. It just opens a door. This was one of those moments. I could have told her everything.

I could have told her about the bikini picture. The messages. The deleted messages. The phone call. Ari. The fact that her boyfriend told me he liked me. I could have handed her my phone right there and let her read every word.

I could have told her I had spent four days wondering why he wasn’t paying attention to me. Instead, I reached into the bag between us and took another fry.

“You’re not,” I said.

She looked at me.

“You’re not stupid, Nia.”

“I didn’t say stupid.”

“Same difference.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“You know what I mean.”

She stared at me for another second, then smiled.

“Bitch, give me one of your fries.”

“You have fries.”

“Yours taste better.”

“They came out the same grease.”

“Exactly, so stop being stingy.”

I handed her one. The door closed. And just like that, the moment was gone…

---

Saturday night, I changed clothes four times. Again, not because of Malachi. Let’s establish that immediately.

The first outfit made me look boxy. The second was doing too much. The third looked better in my head than it did on my body, and the fourth was the original outfit I had put on before I started all that bullshit. It happens. It took forty-five minutes. That also happens.

Eventually, I settled on jeans that made my ass look disrespectful, the black top I bought with Nia the day before, gold hoops, and enough perfume that anybody standing within three feet of me was going to know I had arrived. I did this for myself, obviously.

The kickback was at one of Nia’s coworker’s apartments in Midtown. Nice building. Floor-to-ceiling windows, city lights, balcony overlooking everything, the kind of apartment that makes you briefly reconsider every financial decision you’ve ever made. Like damn, this shit is niiiiiiiice. 

Music was already loud when I walked in, and somebody near the kitchen yelled my name before I could figure out who all was there.

Nia came bouncing over with a red cup in her hand.

“Bitch!”

“Why are you yelling?”

“You came!”

“You invited me.”

“That don’t mean you come places.”

Fair.

She hugged me and immediately pulled me farther into the apartment.

Tiff was there, of course, despite telling us she wasn’t coming. She was sitting on the arm of a couch arguing with somebody about whether Usher could beat Chris Brown in a Verzuz.

There were maybe fifteen people spread between the living room, kitchen, and balcony. Somebody had a hookah going. Somebody else was shuffling cards at the dining table. Two girls were already taking pictures against the windows.

Malachi was standing near the balcony door. I saw him before he saw me. At least I think I did. He had on a black T-shirt, dark jeans, chain, watch. Nothing special. Nothing I hadn’t seen a thousand men wear.

Still. Lawd. He looked over. Our eyes met. And for one stupid second, I forgot what my face was supposed to be doing. Then he smiled.

“What’s up, Jenny?”

“Hey.”

That was it. He turned back to whatever conversation he had been having. I stood there for half a second too long.

Nia grabbed my wrist. “Come take a shot.”

Oh.

So fuck me then?

And before y’all say anything, no. Not literally. Please don’t get ahead of the story.

I took the shot. For the next hour, Malachi acted like a perfectly normal man at a perfectly normal kickback with his perfectly normal girlfriend and her perfectly normal best friend.

It was deeply irritating.

He played Spades. He argued about music. He got Nia another drink when hers ran out. At one point she sat sideways across his lap while he was talking to somebody, and he absentmindedly rubbed her thigh like he had done it a thousand times.

I noticed that. I also noticed that I noticed it. So I went to the balcony.

A guy named Marcus came out a few minutes later. Tall, nice teeth, locs pulled back, smelled good. We had met once before at something Nia dragged me to, but apparently he remembered me better than I remembered him.

“You Jenny, right?”

“Unfortunately.”

He laughed. “Why you always say that?”

I blinked.

“Have I said that to you before?”

“Last time I met you.”

Well, damn. Maybe I need new material.

Marcus leaned against the railing beside me, and we talked for a while. He was funny. Actually funny, not man-who-thinks-he-is-funny funny.

He worked in tech, had just moved from Charlotte, and apparently had been asking Nia about me for months.

Under any other circumstances, this would have been useful information. Instead, somewhere in the middle of him telling me about a rooftop spot I needed to try, I looked through the glass.

Malachi was laughing at something. He wasn’t looking at me. I looked back at Marcus.

“So you single?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Like single single?”

I laughed. “What other kind is there?”

“You would be surprised.”

Oh, baby. Would I?

Marcus smiled. “Let me take you out.”

I should have said yes. He was attractive. He smelled good. He had all his teeth. As far as I knew, none of my friends were in love with him. That alone put him several points ahead of the competition.

“I’ll think about it.”

“That’s not a no.”

“It isn’t a yes either.”

“I can work with that.”

We exchanged Instagrams. When I went back inside, Malachi still didn’t look at me. Now I was irritated again.

A Spades game started shortly after, and somehow I ended up partnered with Tiff against Malachi and some dude named Dre. Why is there always some nigga named Dre? Nia stood behind Malachi drinking and talking shit despite not playing.

“Don’t embarrass me,” she told him.

“You not even playing.”

“Your losses affect this household.”

“Girl, sit down.”

“Clock it,” I said.

Malachi laughed. He looked at me. I looked at him. Just a second… Maybe two. Then Tiff slapped a card on the table.

“Jenny, pay attention before we get our ass beat.”

“I am paying attention.”

“No, you aren’t.”

I looked at her. She looked at me. There went that fucking face again. Quiet on the creek, my ass.

---

About an hour later, I went into the kitchen looking for ice. Malachi was already in there. Of course he was.

He stood at the counter pouring something into a cup. I considered turning around, which would have been the mature thing to do, but turning around would have made it obvious that I was avoiding him.

And I wasn’t avoiding him. So I opened the freezer. He didn’t say anything. I grabbed the ice tray. Still nothing. I cracked ice into my cup.

Nothing.

This nigga had talked to everybody in the apartment except me. I shut the freezer harder than necessary.

“You really weren’t gonna talk to me?”

Malachi looked over. There was a pause.

“You told me not to.”

“I know what I said.”

“Okay.”

I stared at him as he took a sip from his cup.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, what?”

“You told me to leave you alone. I’m leaving you alone.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t speak to me.”

“Jenny.”

“What?”

He looked at me for a second. “You know what you meant.”

Unfortunately, I did.

“I don’t care whether you talk to me.”

“Okay.”

“There you go saying okay again.”

That made him smile. That stupid fucking smile. The one I had apparently spent all week trying to get without admitting I was trying to get it.

“You mad at me?” he asked.

“No.”

“You look mad.”

“That’s just my face.”

“I know your face.”

I looked at him.

“No, you don’t.”

His smile faded just a little.

“I’m starting to.”

It got quiet. Not awkward quiet either. The other kind. The kind where suddenly you become aware of everything. The music through the wall. The ice melting in your cup. How close somebody is standing. Where their eyes are.

Malachi looked at me.

I looked at Malachi.

And for the first time since this whole thing started, there was nobody else involved. No Nia asking questions. No Tiff knowing too much. No Instagram. No phone.

Just me and him standing in somebody’s kitchen looking at each other longer than friends are supposed to look at their friend’s boyfriend. Then somebody walked in.

“Where the tequila at?”

I stepped away so fast you would have thought the stove was on.

“Over there,” Malachi said.

I left the kitchen. Didn’t look back. Didn’t need to. I could feel him looking at me. And this time, I didn’t mind.

---

I got home a little after two, kicked my shoes off by the door, dropped my purse on the couch, and went straight to the bathroom. Makeup off. Earrings off. Lashes off. Bra off, because civilization had officially ended for the evening.

My phone stayed quiet through all of it. I plugged it in beside my bed.

Nothing.

I got underneath the covers.

And, nothing.

“Whatever.”

I opened Instagram to see Marcus had followed me. Cute. I followed him back. Then I checked who watched my story.

Malachi had.

Oh, there you are.

I stared at his name for too damn long, then locked my phone. Two minutes later, I unlocked it again. Still no message.

This was ridiculous.

I opened our texts. His last message was still there from Saturday. I closed them back. Opened Instagram. Watched three stories I didn’t care about. Went back to Messages. Opened our thread. Closed it. Opened it again.

Y’all ever do something while actively watching yourself do the dumb shit and somehow that doesn’t stop you?

Yeah. I give y’all permission to judge me…

I typed.

You ain’t have to act that damn weird tonight.

I stared at it. Deleted it. Good. Growth.

But then I typed it again.

You ain’t have to act that damn weird tonight.

Send.

The second it went through, I threw my phone onto the bed like it had betrayed me.

“Oh my fucking God.”

I stood up. Walked to the bathroom. Came back.

The phone buzzed. I looked at it from across the room.

I wasn’t about to run. I walked. Fast. But walked.

I was leaving you alone.

I sat on the edge of the bed.

You can leave me alone without acting like you don’t know me.

The typing bubbles appeared.

Disappeared.

Appeared again.

So what exactly do you want me to do Jenny?

I didn’t type anything.

Because what the fuck was I supposed to say? Tell the truth?

Okay, fine.

I wanted him to leave me alone and still want me. I wanted him to respect my friendship with Nia while secretly wishing he wasn’t with her. I wanted to be able to talk to him whenever I felt like it and still call myself a good friend. I wanted all the excitement of doing something wrong without actually having to do anything wrong.

Basically, I wanted some bullshit. And Malachi had just asked me to explain the bullshit. But I couldn’t. The typing bubbles appeared on his side.

That’s what I thought.

I sat straight up.

“Oh, fuck you.”

I typed three different responses. Deleted all three. Typed another. Deleted that too.

Finally: Goodnight Malachi.

He liked the message and that pissed me off even more. I stared at the little heart on my text. Then I tapped his number at the top of the screen. His contact page opened. I hit Create New Contact. I don’t know why I did it. That’s a lie. I know exactly why I did it.

First name. Malachi. Save.

His number disappeared from the top of our messages. His name replaced it. I looked at it for a while. I told myself I saved his number so I would know when not to answer. Y’all believe that? Yeah.

Me neither.

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