Page 13 of Cooly

"I'm not judging." She held up her hands. "I'm really not. I just think it's funny that you didn’t tell me before we got together."

Diamond laughed from the front. "You sounding real bitter.”

Ayo's jaw tightened. "I'm not bitter. I'm curious. That's different."

"Is it, though?" Diamond turned around fully, facing us. "Because it sounds like you're still holding onto some shit that happened nearly a decade ago. You left him, remember? You packed your bags and walked out. It ain't have shit to do with me. You don't get to be mad about what he did after you were gone or even before you were there. The nigga was faithful to you. That’s all that matters."

"I'm not mad."

"You're definitely mad."

Ayo looked at me, searching my face for something. I didn't know what.

"I used to be mad. It bothered me that you could be with me and still have her in your back pocket.”

I stared at her. The streetlights flashed across her face, catching the gloss in her eyes.

"You never told me that," I said.

"Because it didn't matter. You weren’t going to stop being friends with her.”

The car was quiet. Even Diamond had nothing to say.

Because I wasn’t. Diamond was my day one. Known her since I was seven and her moms started working for my pops as a cleaner. She was as important to me as Indigo—maybe more, if I was being real. I could still remember her at fifteen, standing between me and my daddy’s cane, staring that nigga down and daring him to come through her to get to me. What we had was marrow deep; it just wasn’t romantic. Even Malik understood that.

She nodded. "I know," she said softly. "Don’t get me wrong. It’s not something that bothers me now. Shit I've been through and done... I just wanted to get that off my chest.”

"That's fair."

She looked at me, surprised. "You're not gonna argue?"

"Ain't nothing to argue about. You feel how you feel. I ain't gonna tell you you're wrong for feeling it."

She stared at me, and something in her expression shifted. Softened.

"You've changed," she said.

"I've been through some shit."

We sat in silence as the car pulled up to a building with light spilling out of the windows. Music filtered through the walls—Afrobeats, something with a heavy bassline.

Diamond turned back to us. I could tell she had an attitude, but she tried to keep her voice light. "We're here. Y'all done with the therapy session, or you need another lap around the block?"

I looked at her profile.

"Now you mad?"

"I ain't mad."

Ayo laughed. "You're definitely mad."

"Fuck both of y'all." She said pushing open the door and getting out.

Chapter 6

The kickback was buried in the gut of a Crown Heights brownstone basement. Red and gold Afrobeats posters lined the walls alongside Jay-Z and Bob Marley. The air was thick with the smell of jollof rice, fried chicken, plantains, and suya. I even spotted mac and cheese piled next to cornbread on somebody's plate—the whole damn diaspora was up in this bitch.

Ayo stepped through the doorway and immediately caught the vibe, her shoulders rolling to the beat.