Baby Momma Saga, Part 2

by Ni'chelle Genovese

Genres: African American Urban

Synopsis

After the bitter and surprising cards were dealt to her son’s father, Rasheed, in Book One of the Baby Momma series, Michelle is finally looking forward to leading a normal, quiet family life. However, there is nothing quiet about the secret lives the people around her are leading. Michelle finds herself drawn in by the allure of her budding real estate career, catering to the likes of models and basketball players and enjoying the sex-fueled spoils of the rich and shameless lifestyle. This only highlights the unsettling fact that her marriage and home life aren’t as picture perfect as she imagined. When things begin to fall apart and fingers start pointing, it leads her down a dark and dangerous path. Her present is united with a past that could potentially destroy everything she’s worked to achieve. Michelle’s journey is comprised of twists and turns, temptation and erotic encounters, and Michelle has only seen the tip of the iceberg. Only time will tell how far down in the depths of deceit she’ll go in her attempt to shake her past and fortify her future.

Release date: November 28, 2017

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 400

Sample

I could probably tell you the time every half hour on the hour throughout the night because I woke up at the slightest thing. Every time I’d shift or turn over, the house settled, or if one of the kids so much as sneezed, my eyes would fly open and my heart rate would shoot to threat level “imminent danger.” The only good thing about sleeping as lightly as I did was that I heard everything, which was also the bad part. Something had awakened me, and with my sleeping habits, a mosquito could have burped, thus sending my brain into panic mode. Okay, October. I know your signature move is bumps in the night and whatnot, but this is not how I want to start things off.

I’d left my window open and the wind picked up the scent of the gardenias outside. It cooled my face and, as I sat up, made my sweat-soaked sheets feel as though they’d been doused in ice water. It was still unclear if I’d heard feet shuffling or if I’d dreamt about it and immediately my thoughts turned to Larissa. Confused, I’d started to call out, but stopped as the hazy, restless cobwebs cleared in my mind. Secretly I wished it were her coming home late. That used to be her usual bullshit reaction to “nothing.” Okay, granted, what I would call “nothing” was most likely someone or something I’d done. Larissa and I had a long history of drama and an even longer history of unhealthy solutions.

Regardless of how much it hurt, every time I opened my eyes I’d have to remind myself that she was gone. I was a widow now, with a late wife, and there was no changing that. Realization would sink in and my throat would feel like I was trying to swallow a dry handkerchief whole. It didn’t matter where I was. I could be lying in bed or at a grocery store with the kids, or just daydreaming. Because, when I say every time I opened my eyes I felt like crying, I meant every time. Since she was gone, a noise in the night was definitely not a good thing.

The house alarm was beeping at sixty-second intervals; it only did that when it was running on the backup generator. The power was out; or worse the power had been cut. Just the simple thought of someone cutting the power made me cautious. I reached into the nightstand and grabbed my handgun. It felt cold and foreign to my fingers, but it made me feel safe. The bedroom was painted in a combination of eerie shadows from the battery-powered air freshener in the corner.

Everything always looked strange with shadows attached to them at night, especially people. Some people could stand with a shadow over even a little bit of their face and look like monsters. Rasheed was one of those niggas who could wear a shadow and exude pure sex. Whereas Larissa, my late wife, would look like the very devil himself.

Sometimes I’d slip and absentmindedly think of Rasheed. He was my heartworm for life, even after his death. He’d gnawed his way in, latching on. I’d gotten so used to living with him and the pain and our illusion of love that I felt borderline guilt and misery at having him removed, permanently. He was murdered because of me. Now Honey was trying to murder me over him. Well, over the daughter she had with him. Honey, Danita, Diamond, the list could go on; they were only a few of the many reasons why my heartworm had to go. I shook my head at myself and frowned. You stay with someone for years and over the course of time they seep into your pores little by little, day by day. The craziest thing happens and suddenly, you can’t make lasagna anymore because the smell reminds you of one person. You can’t drink a certain kind of champagne because the taste reminds you of the other.

It’s been said when a relationship is over, you should remain single six months for every year you were with that person. I got with Rah at sixteen, Ris at eighteen, and I was twenty-seven now. Based on that theory, I wouldn’t be fit to deal with anyone until my ass was damn near thirty-two. Add in the fact that Ris had a drug habit and Rah had children with two different women, one of whom was trying to kill my ass, and I’d probably be better off staying single for the rest of my damn life.

Rasheed was like a drug. I could never tell if I was sprung off good dick or just stuck on dumb love, but we had this hardcore yo-yo “relationshit.”

I mean, the harder we fought, the grimier and lower he got with the shit he did. In turn, that’s how much higher the highs would be when we bounced back and how much harder his love would seem to be magnified. It was addictive and it was mind-blowing. It’s a damn shame that it took me having a baby and some years in order to learn how to tell the difference between ships and shit. Some people are ships and those are the ones you build your relations and connections with. They’ll help you carry your burdens and your dreams, and they won’t let you drown. Others, as in Rasheed’s case, are just shit. Larissa just happened in the middle of all of that.

I quickly surveyed my things, trying to make sure nothing was moving or, worse yet, creeping up on me. I was too damn old for nightlights, but with everything going on I could admit that I was too damn scared to sleep without one. Safety light was the best name I could come up with when Trey asked why Mommy’s nightlight had “smell goods” in it and his didn’t. As far as anyone was concerned I just had it because it smelled nice, and it just so happened to have a safety light on it.

When I heard it, it was faint yet distinct, like “hungry in church and hearing someone trying to sneak a piece of candy out of their pocket” distinct. Someone was trying to get into the house. Throwing the sheets aside, I grabbed my phone and put my Bluetooth in my ear.

I fought back memories of that night that forced me to become a slave to preparation. The night Honey dragged me out of my own house and almost killed me. It made me stay on high alert, always sleeping fully clothed or in my robe over full pajamas. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept comfortably, let alone the entire night.

I’ve always had a fear of guns. Guns and cancer, and if you grew up in my house you would as well. My mother passed away from cancer when I was ten and I was raised by my father, who was shot in a hunting accident two years later. Even still, I’d never get caught unprepared or unprotected again. If you’ve never had someone stand over you ready to end your life while your son is crying, calling out, “Mommy”, you wouldn’t understand.

Weighing the small Luger in my hand, I disengaged the safety and inserted the clip in mechanical motions. The gun range was my weekend getaway. Towanna would watch the kids so I could familiarize myself with my new gun. Some of the folk up in there looked shady; it always made me nervous to be around so many strangers with weapons. Then I’d remind myself I had a weapon too, and was damn lethal with it. Sliding it into the pocket of my robe so it’d be easily accessible, I speed-dialed three. My car keys, credit card, and cash were already in my pajama pocket in case we needed to get on the road. Three packed bags stayed in the trunk of the car in the garage. I kept everything on standby at all times because at any moment someone could come for us or for me and I couldn’t risk not being ready.

“Michelle? What’s wrong?” Towanna answered on the first ring.

“The power’s out and I think someone’s outside. It sounds like the bay window downstairs. I’m getting the kids.” The words tumbled out of my mouth in a rushed whisper as I padded soundlessly out of the bedroom toward Lataya’s and Trey’s rooms.

They were like little sponges, soaking up every detail of even the smallest things. I’d just enrolled Trey in what everyone said was the best private school in the area. He’d only been in the school for three days before I was called in over his behavior. On one occasion he told a little girl to sit her ass down before he sat her down and, again, when he tried stabbing a boy with a jumbo pencil over a toy. It was bad enough there were only a handful of black kids in the school to begin with. I couldn’t have him being the poster child for the single-parent household.

“Okay, get the kids and go back to your bedroom. I’m on my way right now. Are you all right?” Towanna asked.

“Yeah; scared, but I’m okay.”

The kids’ rooms were directly across the hall from each other and not more than two feet from mine. Afraid to stay by myself and tired of months in the hotel, when Towanna suggested we stay here with her I was all too eager to accept. Don’t get me wrong, I still didn’t trust cops, VA cops specifically. However, my choices were staying on my own, or staying with Towanna. Living with a cop was the safest thing I could think of until I could come up with a solid game plan. Towanna’d been more than patient with my “just a little while” that turned into a little over a year, but we split everything and she swore she loved the company. I took the easy way out as opposed to finding a new house right away, but I couldn’t help thinking that Honey was out there and eventually she’d be coming for Lataya.

Walking into Lataya’s room I gave her a quick once-over. She was sound asleep, her thick lashes fanning over her pudgy little cheeks like delicate, dark brown palm fronds. She squirmed a bit but didn’t miss a single soft snore as I scooped her up into my arms. She’d been teething and was being all kinds of fussy with the rest of her teeth finally coming in. I eventually had to resort to rubbing the teeniest bit of rum on her gums and, voila, problem solved. She was happy as a jaybird and of course snoring like a drunken sailor not long after that.

I pressed her head full of soft curls onto my shoulder beneath my chin and turned to go get Trey. Even now, a shadow of a smile curved my lips and I shook my head, trying to repress a memory of a conversation I’d had with Ris. I’d come home one night and she’d played around saying she’d gotten Trey drunk. Tears burned my eyes and threatened to spill down my cheeks as they always did when I thought about the good times I had with Larissa. They were glowing embers in the fireplace of my mind that never seemed to completely go out. Thinking about something as simple as her laugh, or how she tried to kill Rasheed for me would act as fresh kindling and the fire would—

“Y’all good? I’m not more than five minutes away.”

Towanna’s voice broke through the silence into my earpiece, almost making me drop my poor baby.

“Shit, woman, you scared the hell out of me. I forgot you were there. I’ve got Taya, and I’m going to get Trey,” I replied in a hurried whisper, hoping I wouldn’t wake up Lataya as I tiptoed across the hall.

My mind was a hornet’s nest of activity, buzzing with a swarm of thoughts all at once. Aside from thinking about Ris, I was also hoping whoever was downstairs took just long enough to get in for me to get back to my room, even though I’d have rather been heading for the car in the garage.

Think . . . just calm down and think Michelle. There’s no way she could have found us. Where have we been, who have we talked to? Stores, parks, work, school, fuck I don’t know. It didn’t even matter; I was ready to fight until the death for my babies. Would she?

Lord, I hoped Trey wasn’t in one of those sleeps that an earthquake couldn’t shake him out of, and even if one did, he’d move at glacial paces, dragging his feet and whining. As I entered his room, his nightlight cast its familiar glow across the floor, illuminating my way. It carved shadowy halos around Ironman and Thor action figures along with his discarded pajama top and half-eaten Oreo cookies. Everything was scattered along the plush beige and brown carpet in a path that ran from his toy chest toward his bed. That mess definitely wasn’t there when I tucked his ass in, and I made a note to get his behind good for playing and sneaking snacks after I’d put him down for the night.

“Trey, baby, wake up.” I spoke his name softly, gently pulling back his comforter. He always slept like a little mole and there was no telling what part of the pile he’d be buried underneath. Something creaked downstairs. It was much louder this time, echoing throughout the house like a cannon blast in an empty auditorium.

“Trey?” I threw the blankets off his bed in a panic. My stomach dropped and I was about three heartbeats away from hyperventilating as I stared down at nothing but The Hulk’s animated angry green outline on the sheets.

“Towanna, he’s not here. Oh my God.” I scrutinized every inch of his room from the toys to his pajama top, and immediately my thoughts went to the worst.

“Michelle, calm down. I’m pulling up now.” Her voice was calm and controlled.

As comforting as it was knowing Towanna was outside, nothing was gonna reassure me until I could physically see and touch my baby. After all the drama with Honey and Rasheed and even Larissa’s murder, I just wanted my kids to have as normal a life as possible. I’d have given anything to make them forget all the bullshit they’d seen. From the petty arguments that I know they’d overheard between Ris an’ me all the way down to the bloodshed. Lataya was hopefully too young to be affected by it, but Trey worried me the most with his random questions about his daddy and Ris.

It had taken everything in me not to skip the conversation and just kiss all the little confusion lines out of his forehead when I tried explaining the concept of death. He seemed to grasp certain points but his behavior and his anger toward other children made me wonder if some things were indeed hereditary. When it came to Larissa and Rasheed, that boy had a barrage of questions from “Do you have to get hurt to go to Heaven?” all the way down to “Why would Jesus want my daddy if Jesus already has a daddy?” It was definitely a little more than I was cut out to handle. That was the only reason I’d fought every ounce of motherly instinct within me and forced them to sleep in their own rooms instead of in bed with me. My babies needed to not be forever traumatized or afraid of the past. That was for me to lose sleep over, not them, and now I was kicking myself for that decision.

His room faced the front of the house, and the blaring red and blue lights from Towanna’s police car flashed through his window, turning it into a gut-wrenching crime scene kaleidoscope. Thankfully they were shut off before my imagination could do any more damage.

“Michelle, do you have Trey?”

“No, I . . . I don’t know where he is,” I replied in a barely audible whisper as I glanced down at his pajama top.

“Then I need you to . . . oh shit . . .”

“Towanna? Hello?”

Tapping the Bluetooth to redial her number, I cursed silently and crept back toward my bedroom. The line wouldn’t dial out at all and I could feel the sweat beading on my upper lip as sheer panic set in. Towanna had gone over at least a thousand different scenarios after we’d moved in, but none of them were like this. I went back to my room to put Lataya down in the middle of the bed, piling pillows on either side of her in case she rolled. I’d just started to go check Trey’s room one more time—the closet, under the bed—when the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. It was that sixth sense you develop from playing hide and seek in the dark. Where you can just feel when someone or something is around a corner or in a darkened room.

My feet moved in the direction of the Lataya’s room, even though my brain said to be still. I was making my way back to Lataya’s room.

“Michelle, where y’all at?” Towanna called out from downstairs.

“I’m up here. I don’t know where Trey is.” I was on the verge of a complete meltdown, and my voice cracked.

“Get Taya; come here.”

I did as told, making my way toward Towanna. Her heavy-lidded eyes were wide and disturbed, her cheeks flushed. The crisp black uniform she always took so much pride in was wrinkled with dirt on the knees. Gone was the calm and reserved officer I’d spoken with on the phone. She actually looked frazzled and worried with her pistol drawn and her back pressed against the wall by the front door. The domino effect took place. That’s when one person freaks out or runs without saying a word and then everyone runs. She looked flustered, so in turn I got even more flustered.

“What is it?” I pleaded with her, “Please don’t tell me what I think it is. Did someone take him? Is he okay? Is he outside? Just let me see him,” I rambled at her wildly.

“Calm the hell down. The window was pried open around back and the panel box looks like someone fucked with it. Ennis, my partner, is out front calling it in now. Can’t figure out why the hell the alarm ain’t go off.”

“Where’s Trey? Towanna, did someone take my child?”

“Calm down, babe. I need you to focus while I sweep the house. Go get in the squad car; you’ll be safe while I check shit out. I’ma find him, okay?”

All I could do was nod. My heart was hacking away at my breastplate like a painful pendulum. It banged harder and louder by the second. I watched Towanna do something for me not many people would be willing to do. She was doing her best to stay brave and calm when my own hands were sweaty and shaking. In those quiet, painful seconds I came to the official conclusion that God punished Eve when she bit into that apple, and it wasn’t by giving her a monthly cycle or direct knowledge of good and evil. God’s specific punishment to Eve and all women was our hearts. Our hearts are our natural defects, our self-destruct buttons. We give our heart to a person and they have the power to destroy us with it or they can bring us back to life. Childbirth is a painful process that bonds us with our children. Yet it’s still possible for us to have spiritual, emotional, even heartfelt bonds with children who aren’t our own.

Shit, at the moment, my heart was damn near imploding from fear and simultaneously melting at the sight of Towanna taking care of me and my kids. I swore whoever or whatever was in the house wasn’t gonna have to lay a finger on me. At any moment my heart was gonna bust right out of my chest and kill me in the process. Oh, yes, hearts could also kill hearts. God gave Adam a little this and a little bit of that but he got Eve real good.

My ears rang like a silent fuse and I shook my head trying to clear it as I shuffled past her, trying not to wake up Lataya. A million crickets chirped in greeting as I made my way to the squad car where Officer Ennis sat waiting inside. My senses were on high alert. Everything from the stillness of the air to the lavender baby shampoo that lingered in Lataya’s hair bombarded my frazzled nerves. I gave Officer Ennis a soft, nervous smile as I opened the passenger side door of the squad car. It was a little embarrassing to meet him, as we’d never been formally introduced, and here I was in my damn robe with my hair all tied up. He was a cop; he probably met a ton of people looking this way though, if not worse.

He was focused on typing something into the laptop in the patrol car. The scanner in the car was going crazy, blaring so loud I was worried it’d wake Lataya up. She could sleep through a tornado, and with the rum I’d given her she wasn’t budging, but that shit was overly annoying. Instead of sitting down, I opted to stand beside the car where the door could still shield me. Nervous and fidgety, I tried to make small talk.

“Hi, Officer Ennis. I’m Michelle. Officer Towanna said to come wait out here. Any idea how long before backup arrives?”

Something brushed up against my ankle and my nerves were so shot I screamed, waking Lataya in the process. She instantly started wailing. A white Persian kitten with cotton ball–fluffed fur purred up at me. I glared down, debating on kicking the living daylights out of its little ass. Towanna came running up behind me.

“What the fuck is it? Michelle? Ennis? What’s wrong?” she demanded.

I couldn’t answer. My eyes were glued on the ribbon tied around the kitten’s neck.

“Oh no, Ennis! No. No. No. Michelle, take Trey,” Towanna screamed, but her words fell on deaf ears.

There was no way in hell this could be possible. That Persian was Sodom and Gomorrah and at the moment I was Lot’s wife. I stood there, nothing but a useless pillar of salt punished for daring to look at it. Attached to the blue ribbon around the damn cat’s neck was a little card; even from where I was standing I could see the bright gold letters. Towanna’s voice was panicked and frantic in the background; she was in the squad car calling in Ennis’s murder. His throat was slit.

Trey quietly scooted past me.

“Ooh a kitty, Mommy.” He kneeled down to pet her.

Tears fell down my face as I was motionless, afraid to move, afraid to look around, and even more worried about the fact we were all outside in the open, exposed.

Trey continued to admire the tiny fluff ball. He was determined to pick her up. “Is dis for my birfday tomorrow, Mommy? It says my name, see?” He pointed to the card and went back to cooing at the kitten. “You can sleep with me under Taya’s crib. I don’t like my new room.”

Somewhere in my head I was screaming for him to get away from it, afraid that it’d blow up or try to claw him to death. As if Honey had actually sent some kind of trained attack kitten. How could she possibly even know when Trey’s birthday was and how the fuck could she have found us? My knees felt like they were about to give out and my stomach was queasy.

There was no way in hell Rah could be—

“Michelle . . .”

Towanna’s strained voice broke through my cluttered thoughts.

“Get Trey; we need to get inside. Right now.”

I barely nodded, grabbing Trey by the hand. He cradled his newfound fur ball from hell like he was carrying a football. I didn’t feel like arguing with him over that damn cat. There’d be time for me to launch it out the back door or chuck it down the garbage disposal later. Right now, my main concern was getting us inside safely.

The view from the window of our penthouse on the top floor was depressing. It was a “tired after a long day, going to check your mailbox and getting a postcard of a beautiful beach at sunset” depressing. I got the honor of having an upper-level front-row seat to one of the most beautiful attractions in the world. Yet, I wasn’t allowed to feel the sun and the sand or smell the salt spray from the ocean on the breeze. This had to be one of hell’s third dimensions. It was like baking chocolate chip cookies without eating a single one, or hitting a blunt without inhaling.

In my jealous state of envy I’d started calling the little shadowed figures in different stages of beach enjoyment “sheeple.” I’d combined the words sheep and people. That’s how all the little blotchy outlines looked from where we sat. The sheeple always followed all the rules and did as they were told. The sheeple didn’t break laws. The sheeple bought the movie tickets and were instantly in love with me. The movie premiered a week ago and its instant success made me feel almost like being an escaped convict again. Cameras were starting to appear everywhere we went, and I had interviews lined up all over the place. Angelo had already accepted another script on my behalf. He didn’t ask my opinion or anything. Since the directors didn’t want a reading I wasn’t sure if he’d paid them off or if they’d requested me. I’d had the script for a month and only half-assed studied my lines. That was pushing it with filming set to start in a day or two. It was whatever; they could fire me for all I cared. I thought I’d be flying around the world actually doin’ shit. Here I was still stuck up in my glass cage, Angelo’s little identity reassignment program sucked. Watching my sheeple be boring sheeple was slowly helping me get over the anger I felt every time I thought about it. Instead of stressin’ over movies and appearances I could be making sure Michelle was getting dealt with.

Yeah, but the sheeple’s asses are down there enjoying the beach while you up here.

“Jimmy One Side is the only person I got who’ll vouch for yous right now. We still need more of the family to speak up in your favor so she’ll forget about all this retribution foolishness.” Angelo sat across from me at our little dinner table, jabbing his fork in my direction to get his point across.

I hated that fork pointy shit; it made me feel like he was subliminally stabbing me every time he jabbed it into the air. “Why do y’all call him that anyway? Wait, I know. It’s because of those burgers that he makes at all the barbeques. They all charred black on one side and still mooing when you flip ’em over?” I giggled at my clever observation.

Every time we went over that fool’s house I had to make sure I ate beforehand because nothing that man cooked was edible. The macaroni and cheese would be crisp on top with half-cooked noodles halfway toward the bottom; fried chicken would be smellin’ all nice and when you bit into it, ugh. It’s a wonder he didn’t get married just so he’d have someone to cook for him.

The sound of Angelo’s fork clattering to the table made my laughter stop. I’d done gone and pissed him off again.

“No, lucky for yous they call him that because he only gots to hear one side of a story before he decides to body a man or not. The rest of the family ain’t been so keen on losing blood over . . .” His sentence trailed off as he sneered at me across the table and my appetite was immediately gone.

“Over what? Go ahead and say it, Angelo. It ain’t like I can’t figure the shit out. Over a black woman? Because aside from you and Mommy dearest I think eight-tenths of your family’s in the system, so I know they can’t have a problem with that part of my background.”

Sliding my chair out from the table I threw my napkin down on my plate. I’d barely touched my baked ziti and garlic sautéed zucchini I spent half the day making. Yep, I’d learned a thing or two up in the kitchen. Boy, if Mimi could see me now she’d cluck her tongue and ring a bell to get rid of the demon she’d say I was possessed with. The old me would have never stepped foot in a kitchen unless it was to fix myself a plate or look in the fridge. What else did I have to do with my time these days? Once we wrapped filming, if we weren’t at a club hosting an event, I was here online socializing and gossiping with Sir’Tavius pointing out who’s who. There was only so much of that I could do in one day. Sir’Tavius would then come by and force me into umpteen different outfits and show me what went with what so my look would “stay ahead of the game.”

Angelo refused to order out from Olive Garden or IHOP, even though they were still my favorite spots. If it wasn’t home cooked he’d scrunch his face up, calling it “overpriced airplane food.” The cooking network was my best friend and my ass was getting fluffier by the day. Angelo’s ungrateful behind was getting spoiled, too. I never got a “thank you” or “the food’s good,” nothing. Even now, he just sat there anxiously pushing food around on his plate, and when he wasn’t doing that he was air forking me to damn death.

I’d learned that you never got up from dinner without being excused. These folk took meals serious as all hell, and walking out in the middle was rude and beyond disrespectful. “I’m gonna take a walk; I need some fresh air, Angelo. We’ve been up under each other too much. I really just need to get up out of here for a few minutes.”

Rumors had started circulating within the family again about Angelo’s mom holding his half brother and sister Lania and Key’s death over my head and it was absolute bullshit. Angelo got all prune-faced when I asked for details about his last conversation with his mom. It couldn’t have been good if he’d actually refused to never speak to her again afterwards. It wasn’t my fault. It was Angelo’s decisions to solicit their help in dealing with Michelle and then Keyshawn being a typical man had to go get his dick caught up in the spokes of Michelle and Larissa’s love triangle. They got sloppy doing their part with Michelle, not me. Yeah, some fresh air would really do me good right now.

“And what if someone recognizes you? Been starin’ at that TV so long it’s done started to addle that brain of yours? You forgetting yous not a regular person anymore, huh? Come back here,” he shouted, kicking his chair from under him. He marched over and planted himself in front of me, blocking my path.

Angelo’s little temper tantrum didn’t mean shit to me. I was undersexed, under stress, and so over his ass at the moment I didn’t even care. His eyes were dark and turbulent like the underside of a thundercloud. They always got that way when he was excited or irritated, like right before we fucked or moments before he had to kill someone.

His voice was now cold and unemotional. “So, no talkin’, jus’ like that? We have a disagreement and this one needs to take a walk, huh?”

I ain’t pay him any mind. The only reaction he got from “this one” was an eye roll and a smirk.

I pulled the door closed behind me, tilting the brim of my fitted baseball hat so low it touched the frames of my sunglasses. It felt like I hadn’t been outside on my own in ages as I took in the sights and sounds of Miami nightlife like I was seeing it all for th