Adore: A Special Event (BOOK 4 VOL. 1) || PRN

3

April 9, 1997
Chicago, Illinois

Roaming around the bedroom, I whine out each and every one of my complaints. My emotional state in response to my overwhelming stress has kicked itself up a notch. My loss of appetite is reverting as I struggle not to snack on everything in sight. Something new stacks on top of another factor of life every day. I've set my developing modeling agency to the side to plan this wedding. I've set my every interests to the side to plan the lion's share of this wedding. A little assistance as I can get, I'm hyper-fixated as my husband's turned his Paisley Park employees into my personal assistants. That's why I feel like I can eat ten hot dogs right now. I'm losing it.

"I really, really want some pie. I'm talking so bad that if I don't get some in the next fifteen, I will burn this motherfucker to the ground."

Nobody is around to hear me go on and on. Mike was kind enough to take the trip five minutes ago but the way traffic has been as they rework the main city streets is sabotaging me. So, to occupy myself, I fall to the ground and rummage through my photo albums and memory boxes in search pictures I'd like to be in the program. I don't want a forced photoshoot, nothing too planned in the name of aesthetics. Finally seemingly over that kind of shit or too dazed to care, He hasn't forced it on me like I know his past self would. He's letting me do my thing and I appreciate that.

"Is that a wig?" Startled, I flinch at his sudden appearance. We need to buy him a bell. "Uhm..." Nodding up at him as he stands over me, I confirm that the large red mop of spiral curls in the photo was in fact my hair. "When did you dye your hair that bright?"

I giggle at the bittersweet memories of my past life in New York City. Only there would I have dyed my hair such a shade of red. Janet's recently gone a shade or two brighter. She looks great.

"Honey did it." I shrug with smile on my soft, reminiscing face. "She dyed everybody's hair that day."

He squints down to my level asking, "Everybody's?"

"Not everybody's, but DeVante and I's." I say in an awkward tone as I'm afraid of his possible reaction. He only nods in return. "It's cute isn't it?" My smile remains genuine as I focus on the picture of myself.

His pursed lips grow a field of anxiety behind my ribcage. He hums through the emotionless expression he held on his face. "Mhm."

Clearing my throat, I flip to the next page of the photo album without addressing it any more than what has already been said. As if God didn't want me to have any breaks, the picture directly underneath features a honey-blonde version of myself in a dress that explains exactly why I was taking a pregnancy test once a week after a certain point in my life.

He jokes from over my shoulder, "Oh, so you were just acting a damn fool, huh?" Embarrassed as if I'd actually done something wrong, I turn the page again. "It's cool. Don't get embarrassed now," he laughs. "Somebody wasn't doin' somethin' right no way. In a dress like that, you're not even supposed to make it to the party."

"Look, spare me the what if's. Okay?"

Laughing in defeat, he sits down next to me without a rebuttal.

Uncrossing my legs, I sprawl out to create the space for him to rummage through the memories with me. All I can do is smile because whenever he looks at me.

"Uhn uhn!" His snort is cut short by the loud, long-winded laugh he belts out as he lifts a polaroid to his face. "No way you still got one of these!" He twirls the photo in his fingers to show me what's got him all riled up. A perfect shot of me, Coke, and everyone's favorite stuffed penguin, a prop that spread around like wildfire during the recording of what became Sign O' The Times.