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“So?”
“I ain’t never take Sam to no fucking spa.”
“Whose fault is that?”
I looked at him.
“I’m just saying.”
“He taking my wife on trips and shit.”
“Again—”
“And this bitch just eating it up.”
Frozo’s face changed.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Start calling Sam out her name because she finally stopped taking your shit.”
“I can call my wife whatever the fuck—”
“That’s about to be yo ex-wife.”
I went quiet.
Frozo stared at me.
“You know what your real problem is?”
“What?”
“You ain’t even mad because you lost Sam.”
“The fuck you mean?”
“You mad because Sam ain’t sitting home crying over you.”
I laughed.
“Nigga, shut up.”
“I’m serious.”
“You don’t know what the fuck I feel.”
“I know you.”
He pointed at me.
“You thought Sam was gonna kick you out, cry for a few weeks, cuss you out, make you work for it, then eventually let your ass come home.”
I didn’t say anything.
“That’s exactly what you thought.”
