Chapter 3: That Bastard.

The second I opened Nia’s apartment door, she took one look at my face, threw both hands in the air and yelled,

“I KNEW THAT NIGGA WAS GAY!”

I blinked.

“…Girl.”

“No, don’t ‘girl’ me.”

She grabbed my arm and dragged me inside.

“I knew something was off with that man.”

“You did not.”

“I absolutely did.”

“You absolutely did not.”

“I absolutely, positively, spiritually did.”

I stared at her.

“So… you watched me marry him?”

“I didn’t have evidence!”

“You just said you knew!”

“I had a feeling!”

“You couldn’t have shared that feeling before I legally attached myself to him?”

She looked offended.

“And tell you what? ‘Hey bestie, I think your fiancé likes men because he stands too nicely?’ Emma, be serious.”

I threw my purse at her.

She caught it.

“You see? Good reflexes. That’s why we’re best friends.”

I kicked my heels off so hard one of them flew across the living room.

Nia looked at it.

“Damn.”

“I know.”

“No, I mean damn. Those heels expensive.”

“Nia!”

“What? We already know your marriage is over. The shoe might still have a future.”

I covered my face.

“I cannot believe this is my life.”

She walked into the kitchen.

“You want wine?”

“Yes.”

“You want tequila?”

“…Also yes.”

“You want to commit a felony?”

“…Let me drink first.”

“Fair.”

She disappeared for a second before shouting,

“I bought ice cream!”

“I don’t want ice cream!”

“You don’t know that yet!”

“I know myself!”

“You married Mason.”

“…Okay, don’t do that.”

“I’m just saying your decision-making has been questionable.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“You can’t. Apparently that’s Logan’s department.”

I froze.

Then I laughed.

A snorty laugh that came out before I could stop it.

Nia peeked her head around the corner.

“There she is.”

I pointed at her.

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

“You are a terrible person.”

“I know.”

“You are going to hell.”

“I already got my seat.”

She came back carrying an entire bottle of wine and two glasses.

Not one. The whole damn bottle.

She set it on the coffee table.

“I’m not pouring.”

I frowned.

“What?”

“Tonight we’re drinking straight from the bottle. Glasses are for people whose husbands aren’t out here getting dicked down by their best friend.”

I snorted so hard wine almost came out of my nose before I’d even taken a sip.

“NIA!”

“What? Too soon?”

“Very!”

“…Okay.”

She waited exactly two seconds.

“So…”

I already knew that “so.”

“No.”

“So…”

“No.”

“I have one question.”

“I swear to God…”

She leaned forward with the most serious expression I’d ever seen.

“…Who was louder?”

I choked.

“NIA!”

“What? I’m trying to paint the scene!”

“I am not answering that!”

She slapped the couch cushion.

“I would’ve taken that secret to my grave!”

“I AM TAKING IT TO MY GRAVE!”

She collapsed backward laughing so hard she almost rolled off the couch.

“Oh my God… oh my God…”

When she finally caught her breath, she looked at me again.

“…But seriously.”

Her smile disappeared.

“How bad was it?”

I opened my mouth, closed it, then just shook my head and reached for the bottle.

Nia watched me take a long swallow before she leaned forward again, eyes big, voice already rising.

“So…. who was sucking whose dick? I need details girl!!!!!”

I choked on the wine.

“Nia!”

“What? You can’t just say ‘Mason is gay’ and then leave me hanging like some incomplete N*****x episode. I need the full picture. Was Logan on his knees? Was Mason on his knees? Was there switching? Was there moaning? Don’t you dare leave me with half information. I have been emotionally invested in this marriage for five years. I deserve the director’s cut.”

I wiped my mouth and stared at her.

“You are disgusting.”

“I am supportive. There is a difference. Now talk. Who was sucking whose dick, Emma? Paint the scene. Use your words. Don’t leave out the important parts.”

I put the bottle down and covered my face with both hands.

“I walked in and Logan was on top of him.”

Nia’s eyes got wider.

“On top how?”

“On top like… on top. Hand wrapped around him. Kissing him. Mason moaning like somebody was finally doing it right.”

Nia slapped the coffee table so hard the bottle jumped.

“Ohhhhhh no. Oh hell no. So Logan was running the show?”

“Yes.”

“And Mason was just laying there taking it?”

“He was moaning, Nia. Loud. Giving directions. ‘Right there. Don’t stop. I’m close.’”

Nia fell backward on the couch like the information had physically wounded her.

“Giving directions? Emma. Your husband was giving another man GPS instructions in y’all bed? On y’all anniversary? With the candles downstairs?”

I nodded.

Nia sat up straight like she had just received a word from the Lord.

Then she slid off the couch and dropped to her knees on the living room floor like she was about to propose.

I stared at her.

“What are you doing?”

She looked up at me with the most serious face I had ever seen on a woman holding a wine bottle.

“This was exactly how it was.”

“Nia. Get up.”

“I’m Mason,” she said, already adjusting her position on the floor, fixing her imaginary hair, settling in like she had paid rent on that spot. “And you’re Logan. Come on. Stand over me. Don’t just stand there looking stupid. Get into character.”

“I am not doing this.”

“Emma. My brain is trying to process what you just told me and it cannot do it without a full visual reconstruction. I need to see it. I need to feel the betrayal in my bones. This is important work.”

She pointed toward the hallway without breaking character even a little.

“Okay. Go grab my dildo from my room.”

I choked on air.

“Nia stop.”

“Come on girl. Go grab it.”

“I am not walking into your room to bring out a dildo so you can reenact my husband getting stroked on our anniversary.”

She looked at me like I had just said something deeply unreasonable.

“So what do you want me to do then? Just imagine it? With nothing in my hand? Just empty air and trauma? Emma. Be serious. I need accuracy. I need the weight. I need the realistic experience. Go get the dildo.”

“No.”

“Emma.”

“No.”

She clasped both hands together under her chin like she was about to start speaking in tongues.

“Please. For the story. For my healing. For the group chat that is about to catch fire when I drop this information. For every woman who has ever bought a man a custom watch while he was somewhere else discovering himself. Go. Grab. The. Dildo.”

I stood there staring at her on the floor, still in full position, waiting like this was a professional set and I was holding up production.

“You need serious help.”

“I need details and a visual aid. Those are two different things. One of them is therapy. The other one is currently in my nightstand. Now go before I lose the creative vision and have to start over.”

I muttered every bad word I knew under my breath and walked down the hallway. I could hear her yelling instructions behind me.

“It’s in the second drawer! Not the first one! The second one! And don’t judge the size! It was on sale!”