It’s been a month now. A month, since Sly gave out his rules, and I have adhered to them. Making sure that I was everywhere that he said when he said be there. Making no detour along the way. Believe me, with my mouth and attitude, after that night I was going to tell Sly to kill himself and kiss my black ass. I wanted to and I was. Until my mother cornered me the next morning in the kitchen, she started telling me how a man was going to be a man. She said that it doesn’t matter what he did outside the home, it was the fact that he brought his ass back home that was important. She started filling my head up, telling me that I wasn’t some chick on the street, I was the woman carrying his baby, I was living in his house and I had the keys to his shit and my hands deep in his pocket. My mother basically told me what all women wanted to hear about their man and his life. She told me that I owned it and that it was time that I started acting like it.

So here I am a month later, hanging on Sly’s arm at the opening of his new restaurant, Ray’s. I’m talking to random people, letting them feel on my now protruding baby belly. Listening to them tell me how cute I am in my Vera Wang, white and black braided, party dress. And me, I’m soaking that shit up, cuz, but in all honesty, my damn feet hurt. I could kill Sly for convincing me to put on some pumps and making me stand all damn night. But I gotta say that I wouldn’t rather be any where else.

This place is the shiz-nit. But then again I should have already known that. The cook put his foot in every entrée that was served tonight. He put his thing completely down. I’m talking about ribs, chicken, pork chops, yams, cold slaw, potato salad, greens. That dude kilt it. And you know my pregnant ass tasted a little of everything. The one time that Sly had us sit down it was to eat the main course, with a bunch of people that I thought that I would never see outside of a one-hour time slot on TV. I was tearing up a plate of greens with some huge people.

But that wasn’t what had me in a daze all night. What had me flustered and in awe all night was my man. Sly, no wait, Justin. That Sly character could kill himself. There was a difference, see Sly was the cold bastard  that climbed in to bed with me last month smelling like a couple of different bitches. Sly was the jerk that watched me cry my eyes out , while curled in a ball on the right side of his bed, and didn’t do anything  about. But Justin, Justin was different. Justin was the man that made me his woman that first night five months ago. Justin was the guy that took my momma to church and liked having Sunday dinner every week as a family. And Justin was the man that all night has referred to me as his wife.

Yes, I said his wife. We had shaken every hand and rubbed every elbow in this place and to every person that walked through the stained glass doors of Ray’s tonight I was introduced as Justin’s wife. He was in full effect tonight. I watched my “husband” do his thing all evening. He had entertained and wowed all patrons and staff. He had made all the right corny jokes, had made statements about politics, economy, and general life that was supposed to be made, when they were made. I watched my man practically shove a rack of ribs down a petite, blonde woman’s mouth and the whole time she was smiling. I saw my man be my man. The man that I wanted him to be. I saw him be Justin, and that turned me on.

I was still in awe. Even as I sat in a both waiting for Justin to finish locking up and sending the staff home, my mind was still riling from tonight.

“Baby, do you see what your man gotta do to keep us living right?” I heard Justin say as he scooted into the booth with me and slouched.  “I saw you.” I say lying back on him. I feel his hands come around to rub my stomach. “I know you saw me. That’s why you was cheesin all hard, all night.” He said. He makes me sick with his cocky ass. “No boo, don’t kid yourself that was the pregnancy glow, not you. No body be cheesin over you. Ugh.” I said before laughing, feeling Justin’s chest rise as he did the same. “Yeah, right. You know you was feeling it every time I called you my wife. Don’t lie.” He replied, now doing his hands in a circular motion. “Whatever, I ain’t getting happy until I feel some weight on this here hand.” I hold up my left hand directly in his face. “So you want me to ice that?” He asks taken my hand in his and placing them on my belly.  “Naw, I want you to bling it out. I wanna feel like Beyonce, baby. I wanna be lawfully wifed, not that old tired ghetto wifey, nah nah. I wanna change my last name. Do you think that you can do that, oh great one?” I joked. But then he says something that makes the joke stop. “Yeah, I can do that.”