'Love Me Forever' Comes Out Tomorrow! Read Chapter One

Chapter One

“I’m telling you… it was like something straight out of a movie. A boardroom full of some of the most intelligent men in the country. All of them just watching me. Waiting for me to say one thing to make them turn down the offer…”

Munching on the driest steak I’d ever tasted in all my life, I lazily raised my eyes to meet Curtis’. It was Valentine’s Day. The one day out of the year when I should have been able to get a single sentence in about myself, but here he was, talking nonstop about himself since the moment I sat down in his car.

I know you’re probably thinking:

Wait, wasn’t Curtis your ex who cheated on you with your friend and stole your money? So what are you doing sitting with him on Valentine’s Day?

It’s a long story…

So, I guess I should start at the beginning.

After spending the weekend with Kamal and finding out that there was a level of intimacy possible that I’d never even imagined, my mind was everywhere. Our connection was raw and intense because we knew each other on a deeper level.

Falling for a man like that was dangerous. I didn’t want to be that exposed. I didn’t want my heart broken again. And that’s exactly what would happen once Kamal, like Curtis and every other man, disappointed me. It was inevitable.

I would like to think differently, but after dealing with Curtis’ cheating ass, I realized the only man on Earth who proved to me that he could be trusted was my grandfather. When he and my grandmother were alive, she would always look at him with love whenever he did anything sweet to let her know he cared.

“God broke the mold when He made you,” she would always say.

So many times, I’d smile and roll my eyes when I heard her saying it. If my grandmother did anything, she made sure to always brag about her husband.

But now that I’m older, I understand exactly why she did it: because men out here ain’t shit. It’s because men out here ain’t shit! Specimen #1: Curtis.

But even knowing that, after receiving his text begging me to take him back, I wasn’t strong enough to block his number and move on. I needed to be around something familiar. And when I drove into my driveway and saw Curtis sitting on my front step, waiting there for me, I had every intention of telling him where he could take his raggedy ass.

But then, he presented me with a deposit receipt showing that he’d returned all of my money—with interest—and started begging on his knees for me to give him one last chance. Something about it all seemed so pitiful that I thought that maybe he wasn’t lying. Maybe he had changed. I mean, why else would a grown ass man be on his knees, with tears in his eyes, begging and pleading in the rain like he’s in a 90s R&B video?

So, basically, I folded like a sheet of paper and let him right back in: into my house and my life. We ended up sleeping together, and give us another chance. That’s how I ended up here:

Having dinner with my (once-again) fiancé on Valentine’s Day, about three hours after finding out that I was pregnant.

And also three hours out from realizing that I have no idea who the father is.

Fuck.

My.

Life.

It couldn’t get any worse than this.

“…And I stood at the front of the room, laying out my plans for the new development,” Curtis continued, overly-animated as he spoke and completely oblivious to the fact that I was barely paying attention. Or maybe he just didn’t care. It made me wonder why I’d ever pretended to be interested all those times before.

“I was surrounded by a room full of sharks. But in the end, when I started dropping my knowledge, showing them how I can get their money to work for them, they couldn’t help themselves! I had them!”

He smiled so hard as he boasted that his slanted, almond-shaped eyes almost appeared completely closed. As I stared at him, the image that came to my mind was little baby Buddha: bald and grinning with absolute bliss. The only difference being that, while Baby Buddha was full of jovial bliss, Curtis was just full of himself.

After six weeks and a half weeks of giving it a chance, it was becoming clear that nothing about him had changed. I’d been duped by his theatrical apology but, in the end, what I got was the same ole Curtis.

Stuffing a breadstick in my mouth, I cut my eyes up to him once again as he continued his story, basking in his own love of himself.

“And it was then that I said to them,” he spoke, this time, using his wineglass as a prop. The wine swirled inside the glass as he dramatized his story, trying to conjure up all kinds of energy for what he thought was the world’s most interesting story of his Einstein-level genius.

“‘Gentlemen, the art of this deal is not in the numbers, it’s in the vision… But I intend to make sure you get them numbers’. Those were the words that did it! Just like that, bam! Deal sealed. Every single one of them was eating out of the palm of my hand.”

He clapped his hands together as if to illustrate a point.

Furrowing my brow, I nodded, my fork idly pushing my food around on my plate. Beside me were my gifts: wilted flowers (clearly, the bottom of the barrel that everyone else’s man knew to avoid) and box of assorted chocolates (which he knew that I hated). It felt like they were staring me in the face, bearing witness to what felt like the lowest point of my life.

Waking up that morning, my intentions for the day were clear. I knew that Curtis would think about Valentine’s Day at the last minute and rush to have his assistant make last minute reservations at whatever place seemed nice enough and had space. I even knew he would slide and pick up some last minute flowers at the last minute. The only reason I didn’t know about the chocolate was because I figured, after five years of never seeing me eat one piece, he would figure out that I didn’t like them. Every year, he bought me chocolates and ended up eating them himself. Obviously, he was really just buying them for himself.

I also knew that Curtis would call me at the last minute, pretending he had plans all along and was just keeping them secret. And, normally, I would roll my eyes and accept, acting like it wasn’t the same story, just a different year. But things were going to change this year because when he called, I planned to break up with him.

For the first time in our relationship, I felt like I was going to be the one telling the dramatic story, all animated, with my hands flying through the air. I spent all day anticipating the moment when he would call and I would tell him all about his ass, ripping him from A to Z. But then…out of nowhere, I got sick. And all that led me down a rabbit hole that ended up with me finding out that I was pregnant.

Now, ‘Operation Break Up with Curtis’ was officially postponed until I figured out what the hell I was going to do.

“Honestly, babe, it’s like I was born for this.” A satisfied grin separated his lips. “My mind and my intuition… that’s one thing. But when I throw that charm on them? It’s a done deal. Every time.”

“Mmm-hmm,” I murmured, my response automatic at this point.

My grandmother always said that if you wanted to make someone think you were listening, always nod, smile, and then act surprised, in that order. Rinse and repeat.

Suddenly, in the midst of his talking, the colors in the room seemed to go dull. At the same time, the spicy scents coming from the kitchen began to smell too strong. The sounds became too loud and Curtis’ ego became much, much too big. It was overpowering to my senses. A wave of nausea rolled through me and I closed my eyes, clutching the table as I stilled my body to force it away.

I’m about to throw up.

Naturally, Curtis, completely lost in his self-serving monologue, didn’t even notice a thing.

“And you know, it’s not even about the money. It’s about being the best, about knowing you’re the best,” he said as if a chant, punching him index finger into the center of the table with emphasis. “Like Jay Z said, ‘Put some respect on my name!’”

That was Birman, fool, was what I wanted to say, but then another wave of nausea washed over me. I began scanning the restaurant for the restroom. If I didn’t make a run for it now, I wouldn’t make it.

“People think it’s about the money, but it’s really not. That’s not why I do it. It’s about knowing that I’m the best and no one out there can do this shit better than me. Like Kanye says, I’m the god of this.”

He really needed to lay off the hip hop references.

“Excuse me for a moment,” I said abruptly, standing up.

I didn’t wait for him to respond as I ran to the restroom, praying the entire way that I would make it to the toilet. I was already having a hell-ish day, it would be nice to make it through without feeling like I’d dropped even further into the depths of hell.

I made it to the stall just in time to vomit out everything I’d managed to eat, which wasn’t much. I didn’t know what was worse—the taste of the dry steak as it made its way back up, or the dry heaving that happens when I had nothing left but my body was still convulsing.

This was the first day that I was running to the bathroom any time I put anything in my mouth—food or drink. If this how pregnancy would be, I wasn’t sure that I was going to survive it. Whenever I thought about being a mother, I thought about a group of women with glowing faces, smiling as they rubbed their bellies, telling anyone who would listen about how beautiful and amazing their pregnancy was.

I guess I wasn’t far enough along to see the good side yet because I felt like pregnancy was going to be the death of me.

Standing up slowly, I flushed the toilet and then walked over to the sink to wash up. Once I was done, I rose up and found myself staring at my own reflection in the mirror. I looked into my own eyes and could clearly see how disappointed I felt about myself.

Olivia, what the hell did you do?

What kind of woman sleeps with two different men less than 24 hours apart? Without protection!

What kind of woman doesn’t know who her baby’s father is?

If someone had asked me these questions three hours ago, I would have talked mad shit about that type of woman.

I would have said that she was stupid, nasty, a hoe. Easy. Ignorant. Mentally unwell.

But now I was her. And that was the disconnect. Because I didn’t think any of those things about myself.

And yet, here I am.

As I returned to the table, I took a deep breath and tried to calm my mind. Curtis definitely had to have his suspicions about why I left so abruptly and I needed to be convincing when I lied.

“Sorry to leave like that,” I apologized as I took my seat. “I haven’t…um, been feeling well. The doctor told me that people, um, have been catching stuff that makes them… throw up. Not because they are pregnant—“

Curtis’ eyes lifted.

“Because I’m not,” I clarified my lie. “Just kinda nauseous. But it’s nothing to be worried about… unless it’s covid.”

Clearly, I’m not the best liar. A flaw that was the reason I opted to be a real estate agent instead of going to law school.

Laughing nervously under Curtis’ intense stare, I reached my fork and looked down at my plate. Maybe he didn’t see the lie that was so obvious, it may as well have been a banner across my forehead.

“You interrupted the best part of the story,” he replied, with a slight frown. Like a child, he folded his arms across his chest, leaning back in his seat.

My brows rose, for once happy that he was so into himself, he couldn’t pay attention to me.

“I’m sorry about that, Curtis, but I’m here now. What happened?”

Still frowning, he shook his head. “Nah, it’s all good. The vibe ain’t the same.”

And he was making it clear that he blamed me for it. How dare I get sick and ruin the highlight of his story? How evil of me.

Typical Curtis. He was always the victim.

“But let’s not let your attitude ruin the evening,” he continued before sitting up in his seat to reach across the table and grab my hands. “See? I used to blow up when you did shit like that to me but I’m not like that anymore. I’m choosing to make sure that we have a good evening. I told you I’ve changed.”

I was so flabbergasted at how he’d flipped the script on me, I couldn’t even bring myself to speak.

“Soooo…” he began, leaning back in his chair again, this time with an expectant grin. “What did you get me for Valentine’s Day?”

Stopping short, I froze in place as he sat back in seat, waiting with grand expectations for my response.

“Um… what do you mean ‘what did I get you’?”

He blinked in quick succession as if the answer to my question was public record.

“I mean, for Valentine’s Da—you didn’t get me anything?”

He truly looked dumbfounded, but I was more than ready to break it down for him.

“Curtis, you asked me to give you another chance after you cheated on me with my friend, and I did that. Did you really expect that I would buy you anything for Valentine’s Day?”

His face twisted up with irritation the second I hit him with some real shit. I wasn’t surprised; he was the type of man who didn’t like to have his own shit thrown back into his face.

“Ollie, how are we going to move into the future if you keep trippin’ over the past?”

Crossing his arms in front of his chest, he paired the bullshit coming out of his mouth with an air of superiority. As if he’d said some real shit. As if he had any right to tell me how and when to move on.

I couldn’t help it—I started to laugh almost hysterically at his audacity.

“It’s not the past, Curtis, it’s the present. I could forgive what you did in the past, but the reality is that you’re still fucking up! You told me that you would do therapy—it’s been six weeks and you haven’t gone to one therapy appointment. You said you would tell Janine she had to move out the condo you bought for her but she’s still staying there. You even said that you went to church and got baptized because you decided to be a changed man—“

I let out another laugh at that because, let’s be real—the idea of a man vowing to accept Jesus just to get back with you is hilarious.

“How many times have you been to church since I took you back?”

His eyes narrowing, Curtis pressed his lips firmly together, showing his anger, but said nothing. There was nothing he could say. He knew I wasn’t lying and he was out of excuses.

“Exactly,” I said with a nod of my head.

Point made.

“Ollie, that’s bullshit,” Curtis shot back. “How you gon’ say you need me to change but don’t provide space for me to show you? You won’t let me move back in. If we lived together then you could see how far I’ve come. I don’t go out. Don’t drink. I work and bring my ass right home. I’m not doing anything!”

He really thought he was standing on business when he was standing on bullshit.

“Like I said before, you living with me isn’t happening,” I reminded him. “I don’t trust you and I’m not opening up my home to somebody I can’t trust. The end.”

“But you gotta admit I’m putting in work,” he said, gesturing towards the flowers and chocolates he’d bought me for Valentine’s Day. “I got you this. And I’m here with you right now. Doesn’t that count for something?”

I scoffed. “You can’t be serious,” I said, shaking my head. “You haven’t figured out by now that I hate chocolate?

He scrunched up his face, truly confused. “Huh?”

The situation wasn’t just ridiculous; it was laughable.

Now, the vibe was really off. As usual, once Curtis was no longer happy, he found a way to drag me to the 9th level of hell with him. His misery loved company, and I wasn’t yet strong enough to take the high road.

What if he is my child’s father?

Will this be my life?

The thought made me feel sick to my stomach all over again. This wasn’t what I wanted. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to be a mother, but I knew for sure that I wasn’t ready to raise a baby with this man.

The full novel and finale to this short story series will be on Amazon TOMORROW!