CHAPTER 4
DRIX
Isnatched India up and flipped her upside down, making her immediately start giggling.
“Berlin, if she throws up you’re cleaning it,” Chandler said simply.
“I hear you.”
I flipped my niece upright and set her on her feet.
“Ay, your mama said you can’t be flipping right now after you just ate, Indy.” I watched her stick her lip out and cut my eyes at her. “I’ll flip you in a little while but you have to go sit down and color or something so your food can settle, alright?”
“You promise?”
“I promise.” I nodded once. “Chill for a lil while then I’ll flip you again.”
“Okay.” She nodded once.
We high fived with both hands then she darted off.
“She has you wrapped around her finger. You know that, right?” Chandler asked as she pulled her meatloaf out of the oven and set it on the stove.
“She gets it from her mama.” I shrugged as I checked my phone.
Despite Chandler being the oldest between me, her, and Rome, she was still spoiled and knew she could get almost whatever she wanted from either of us.
After how she’d looked out for us when we were younger it was the least we could do. She paid for my first studio session and told me to put the song out. I’d used the profit to get our family caught up on rent.
Then, as soon as I’d come up with real cash, I gave her the money she needed to go to college, something she hadn’t even dreamed she would accomplish with a baby on her hip and no man to speak of. She’d gotten a degree in marketing and I fired my social media manager and put her on my payroll instead. Eventually social media turned into media training then being my publicist.
I didn’t have a manager on paper. I didn’t think I needed one. I made my own choices. Our dad handled my accounts and finances. Shit was cool how it was and I liked keeping my money within the family.
I did a double take when I saw Myome had followed me on Skroll but I followed her back without bothering to check her page out.
“How are things with Myome?” she asked.
“What?” I looked at her.
“Your wife,” she reiterated as she tossed butter into homemade mashed potatoes.
“Cool, I guess.”
“You guess?” she repeated.
“We ain’t exactly hanging out and shit, Chan.”
“Well, you probably should be. Don’t you think?”
“Shit. Probably.” I shrugged and sank into a chair at the table. “I haven’t even spoken to that woman since that meeting,” I confessed.
“Berlin!” Chandler scoffed. “It’s been a fucking week.”
“And the press is already spinning their own narratives so we don’t even need to fan them.”
Chandler stopped what she was doing and stared at me. I met her gaze. She put her hands on her hips and glared at me. Fuck, she looked like the spitting image of our mother.
“You told me you’d see this through at least for a little while, Berlin.”