Something New | Taraji x Fantasia

Week One: Day 1 Press Tour

I'm nervous. Fidgeting with my nails that were freshly done, I look up in the mirror to see Fantasia silhouette pass by.

What you nervous about T? I hear her pacing back and forth and my heart is following its pattern. Releasing a sigh as she appears in the mirror, our eyes meet and I give her a half smile.

We have been in what seems like a cocoon since the wrap-up of the film. Turning myself to face her with my eyes still fixated on the cuticles that were untouched during my nail appointment.

What are people going to think about us? What will the cast say? What are we getting ourselves into? I look up not knowing what to expect from her.

What do you mean T? She leans her body against the door frame, amplifying the distance between us.

Feeling small and confused by the thoughts swirling around my head, nonstop. I try to focus on her voice but the thoughts are getting out of control. Picking at a hangnail that I wish would go away. My vision gets blurry and I feel gloom settling in the room.

T...T.. baby, Taraji! I hear her soft voice elevate snapping me out of the anxiety attack. My heart trying to slow down. I get up walking towards the door so I can lay down on the bed.

Taraji, I hear you, I do. We are in this together. As expected her arms are open waiting to console me, I lean in.

Where did you go? I called your name and you were not here.

While looking at her I hear my phone buzzing on the nightstand by the bed, I slip out of her arms expecting it to be the stylist and team.

Picking up the phone I see that it is my son, Marcell.

Hey baby! How are yo-

Mom, I'm at the airport. Can you have someone pick me up? His response dry and distant.

Baby, I can get you. Tell me whe- , again, interrupted.

Just send a car Mom, Taraji, just send a car. 

Stunned by the outcome of the phone call, I shake my head as if we were on a FaceTime call. I'll send a car, baby.

The phone call added to the thoughts already circling my mind. I stare at the phone in hand and it rings again with another phone call.

Hello.

We're at the door, you ready for the premiere tonight? Let us in.

Recognizing it's the stylist team along with hair and makeup. I drag my body from its somber state trying to make an effort to put on a face, stopped before I could walk out of the room.

Sit down, I'm commanded. I remember that I was not the only one in the room.

I watch her walk out and I take a seat on the edge of the bed. I pick up my phone to arrange to have my son picked up from the airport. Organizing the message, I send him the information of the car that will pick him up. My text is left on read, I scroll up looking at the message from the last time we spoke.

Marcell: I'm your living son mom. LIVING. You're always working, never any time for me. What do I have to do?!  Fu- Bruh, I hate you.

I hear the group of people approaching the bed room, instinctively I jump up heading into the bathroom closing the door behind me.

My phone hits the counter from the force of my hand and I stifle the scream of frustration with the rob sleeve. Too many emotions to handle at once.