Wrath of a Side Chick 2: A Chicago Hood Drama (Side Chick's Wrath)

by Tamicka Higgins

  Trina parked out front and let herself into her mother’s Cape Cod-style home. Inside, the first room was mainly for show, as it was filled with different pieces of furniture and ornaments that her mother, Sandra, had gotten along the way from various deceased relatives. Just beyond the front room, or the foyer, was the family room, which was connected with a dining area and the kitchen. There, Trina found her mother chilling on the couch. Dressed in a teal pantsuit with her long legs stretched out in front of her and her short, pixie haircut looking flawless, Sandra looked at her daughter. “Well, don’t you look nice,” she said.

  “Hi Mama,” Trina said. “Just thought I’d stop by and see what’s up with you since I had some time to kill.” She headed over to the couch and sat down.

  Having worked in various public school systems throughout her career as a guidance counselor, Sandra prided herself in being able to pick up on when something wasn’t right. Since Trina was basically her “sweetest” daughter of the three, she could really see when something serious was written on her face. “What’s wrong, Trina?” she asked. “Come on, spill. I can tell something is up.”

  “Naw, Mama,” Trina said. “Just this job is all, and Breon.”

  Somewhat missing her younger years when she was known for being “Foxy” in the hood, Sandra quickly turned the television down. “Uh oh,” she said, shaking her head. “I remember going through this. A couple times, actually. Sometimes with the same damn nigga, but that’s a whole ‘nother story. Let me hear.”

  Trina went over quickly how she felt somewhat invisible at her job, as she’d noticed different white coworkers move up when she wasn’t able to even get much of a hello, let alone a consideration for the job. Sandra reminded her how she’d told Trina that she should consider going to college so at least she would have something to bring to the table at any job she had. Trina was resistant to the idea, as she wasn’t all that much into the entire educational thing. “I know, Mama,” she said. “I know.”

  “Well, just think about that some more,” Sandra said. “I know you don’t wanna go, but then you might not ever get the chance to move up anywhere, especially nowadays where these companies are wanting people that can do this and have this and, shit, even speak fuckin’ Spanish.” Sandra shook her head as she thought back to when she’d first become working age. Sure, Chicago had always been a city with plenty of different immigrants, but speaking any of their languages was something you would have never been asked to do to get a job.

  “And what about Breon?” Sandra asked, smiling. “You ain’t go and spoil it, did you?”

  “Spoil what?” Trina asked. She watched as her mother held up her left hand, using her right to point at the ring finger.

  “You know, Trina. Don’t play dumb.”

  Trina smiled and rolled her eyes, slamming her hands into her knees. “Oh my God, Monique told you?” she asked her mother.

  “Well, duh,” Sandra said, laughing. “You know your sister can’t hold water. I was quiet about it yesterday at church, ‘cause, you know, I ain’t want people to know y’all already live together. Then when we went out to eat, we was so busy talkin’ about everything else that I forgot. So, you are going to let your mama plan your wedding for you, aren’t you?”

  Trina looked at her mother, shaking her head. “Mama, I don’t even know if he’s going to propose yet,” she said. “I mean, we are planning to go down to Gatlinburg for our anniversary and stuff.”

  “Well, well, well,” Sandra said, clapping her hands together. “And your sister said that she seen him coming out of the jewelry store at the mall. Shoot, I wouldn’t be surprised if your sister don’t talk her way into that jewelry store and find out just exactly what Breon was up in there doing.”

  “Mama, I don’t know if he’s going to propose or not,” Trina said. “And that’s why I feel a little guilty ‘cause I kinda feel like he might be messin’ around with somebody.”

  “Oh really?” Sandra asked. “And what makes you say that?”

  Trina filled her mother in on the entire story about how Breon had left out the fact that he’d visited his Aunt Silvia yesterday. Sandra thought about it, trying to think of the most constructive advice she could give her daughter. She put her hand on Trina’s knee after hearing the story.

  “Well,” Sandra said. “Trina, you’re gonna believe what you want to believe, but let me tell you this. If he really is messing around with some other woman, which I’m not saying he is or if he isn’t ‘cause I really don’t know and it’s not my place, you will find out sooner rather than later. Just keep your ears open, but you don’t have to go looking for stuff. Let me tell you, because when you go looking for stuff, like what you did, you just might find something. I’m not gonna say that’s not possible. But what I will say is that when you go looking for something, sometimes you make a fuss over something that you misunderstood and wind up pushing the guy away. Of course, I won’t ever admit to saying anything like this out in public, so don’t bring this up or I’ll just deny it, ’cause Lord knows that wasn’t the case with your daddy.” Sandra rolled her eyes as she shook her head.

  Trina giggled, finding it humorous at times how her mother wouldn’t let go of what happened between her and her father. Nonetheless, Trina was used to it at this point; she knew that it was time to steer the conversation in a different direction, as to not allow her mother’s rage to boil over the pleasant conversation they’d been having just then.

  “Yeah,” Trina said. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I was just over-exaggerating about all that. But yeah, that’s what Monique said. She said she saw him coming out of the jewelry store at the mall. And we are planning on going down to Gatlinburg for our anniversary right before Christmas.”

  “Yeah, that will be nice,” Sandra said. “Sounds real romantic and everything. But, you already know what I’m about to ask you, right? Don’t you, Trina?”

  “No, what?” Trina asked, a little confused.

  “Let’s say that Breon is indeed going to ask you to marry him,” Sandra said, in a very hypothetical tone. “Let’s just say all of this does happen, even though the young man hasn’t said a damn word to me yet. So, like I said, let’s say it does happen. Are you sure that you really want to be his wife?”

  Trina leaned back. “Now, Mama,” she said. “I thought that you liked Breon.”

  “Oh calm down, Trina,” Sandra said, swatting her arm. “You know I like Breon. I’ve always liked Breon, as Breon has never done a thing to me or to you, that I know of,” she squinted, “so, therefore, I don’t have a reason to not like him. Whether or not I like him doesn’t change the question, though. You sure you ready to be his wife if he does ask you? Are you even sure that he’s ready to be a husband? I mean, the two of you are young and whatnot, and I know, I know, I can’t talk ‘cause I married your father when I was young. But still, wasn’t you saying that he was out hustling in the streets when you first met that boy? Don’t lie to me either, Trina, ‘cause you know I still got the hookup in some parts of Chicago, so don’t think I can’t call around and get some of the low-down dirt on the boy.”

  “Mama, stop,” Trina said, laughing and covering her mouth. “You are a school counselor. Don’t be try’na act all hard.”

  “Whatever,” Sandra said. “So, I’m listening.”

  “He stopped with all that, Mama,” Trina said, in a tone that could only reassure her mother that Breon was on the right track. “It wasn’t like he was making a career out of it or anything like that. He never got caught up in nothin’ that I know of.”

  “And you sure he ain’t got no baby mamas in the closet?” Sandra asked. “You know how some of these young men are.” She paused. “Oh, I just wish you’d go to college, Trina. You could earn a lot more money, get you some skills together, and maybe even meet you a nice young man who’s trying to be a professional and stuff.”

  “Mama, Breon is saving to open his own business,” Trina said.

  “I know, I know,
” Sandra said. “That’s good. If you feel like he’s really done with that life and you’re ready to take that risk, then go ahead. I really can’t stop you. You know you getting married first will drive your sisters mad.”

  “I know,” Trina said, giggling like a school girl. “Who do you think will be madder?”

  Just as Sandra had grabbed her chin and looked up to the ceiling to think, they heard keys jingling just outside of the front door. Sandra leaned over and looked toward the door. In came Monique.

  “Oh, it’s you,” Sandra said. “What you doin’ over here?”

  “Dang, Mama,” Monique said, marching into the family room. “I can’t just come over to visit? Can I just do that?”

  Sandra looked her daughter up and down, then looked over at Trina and saw that she also had a confused look on her face. There Monique stood, plump with a shape, dressed in the tightest black skirt that she could have possibly found in all of Chicago. She stood on top of 5-inch white pumps with her legs bare and oiled up like a ham. Her chest was practically popping out of her black button up shirt, so much cleavage showing that she could set a pencil down the crack. It was obvious that she was wearing a waist trimmer, judging by how deep in her waist bent. There then was the makeup. Monique had obviously spent some time making herself up to be colorful. Her hair was its usual—long, black, and luscious.

  “Lord have mercy,” Sandra said, her head leaning onto the back of the couch. “Where in the hell are you going? You know yesterday was Sunday, don’t you, girl?”

  Monique smiled and rolled her eyes. “Oh stop it, Mama,” she said, marching into the kitchen. “Y’all know y’all just jealous. Hi, Trina.”

  “Hi…Monique,” Trina said, at a loss for words. She and her mother had both allowed their eyes to follow Monique until she disappeared into the kitchen.

  “I don’t know where I went wrong with that girl,” Sandra said to herself, shaking her head. “I don’t remember dropping her that many times to where she’d come out like that.”

  Monique stepped back into the room, sipping a cup of tea. “Huh, Mama?”

  “Where are you going looking like that, Monique?” Sandra came out and asked. “I’m…” she took a moment to look for the right word, “concerned.”

  Monique turned her head sharply then ran her fingers through her hair. “Oh, Mama, there you go,” she said.

  Monique explained how she was going on a date with a guy she’d met at a bar. Quickly, Sandra scolded her daughter on the dangers of going out with men you meet at a bar. She warned about how you really don’t know their background or anything about them. Monique snapped back, saying that was the exact reason she was going to meet him at a Denny’s over in Gary. Sandra just about had a stroke. The thought of her daughter going to meet a man she’d met at a bar in a Denny’s in Gary was just too much. Just as Trina was about to ask more about this guy, there were keys jiggling at the front door again. All three of them looked at the door until in came Tamar.

  “Oh God,” Monique said. “I can’t ever come over here without you comin’ over here. My God, why me?”

  Tamar slammed the door. Dressed in a flowing white dress, and walking in white heels, she slid out of her brown fox fur coat and pranced into the family room. She looked around and greeted everyone. “Hi, Mama. Hi, Trina. Hi…” she looked her sister up and down. “Shaniqua.”

  Monique put her hand on her hip and looked Tamar up and down. “And who are you supposed to be tonight?” she asked. “A busted version of Ciara?”

  Tamar looked at her sister with scolding eyes. “I would say what I really want to say, but then I’d be wrong,” she said, looking away and throwing shade by the look on her face. “But thot lives matter, I guess.”

  “Tamar!” Sandra said. “Be nice to your sister.”

  “What are we?” Tamar asked. “Like fifteen? Anyway, Mama, I came by to see what you were up to.”

  “What am I?” Sandra said. “In need of assisted living? All of you all coming by to see me. Monique, what did you really come here for?”

  Monique turned side to side as she stood just outside of the kitchen door. “Well,” she said hesitantly. “I was wondering if I could borrow some of your jewelry.”

  “Do what?” Sandra asked. She then looked at Trina. “No, she didn’t say that she wants to borrow some of my jewelry? My jewelry so she can go meet some nigga over in Gary, Indiana?”

  “Gary, Indiana?” Tamar asked, shocked. She turned and looked at Monique. “What in the hell could you be going over there for?” Tamar turned and looked at her mother. “Heck,” she added, correcting herself.

  “To see this guy I met,” Monique said, confidently. “And I want to make sure I look as good as I can.”

  “Hmm,” Tamar said, snickering under her breath. “Well, there’s somebody for everybody. Anyway, I’m just stopping by because I actually need to use some of your jewelry for a real event. I’m going to this art gallery downtown, and Mama, you have that necklace that you know would go so right with this dress.”

  “Hold up, Vanna White,” Monique said. “I was trying to borrow that necklace. And I got here first. Since you making all that money now being Miss Fashion Icon and stuff then maybe you should go buy your own since you got the money.”

  “Well, maybe you’d have the money too,” Tamar said, her hand on her waist as she walked toward Monique, “if you weren’t so buy chasing men that are meeting you in Gary, Indiana. Girl, you crazy if you thought Mama was gon’ let your ghetto ass borrow any of her jewelry to go over there and meet some man you probably don’t know.” She looked her sister up and down. “Plus, it looks like the jewelry might fall in somewhere and get…” she swallowed, “lost.”

  Monique balled her fists up and stepped forward. Tamar looked at her youngest sister and held her chin high as she stepped forward. “Girl, you ain’t got the nerve,” she said, softly.

  “Girls, stop it!” Sandra yelled, standing up. “Every time you come over here, you start to get into it over something.”

  “Mama, I’m tired of her looking down on me,” Monique said.

  Tamar looked away, her tall, thin body looking very model-like as she stood. “Well, maybe you ought to get up,” she said. “You can’t be mad that I did something with myself… That I’m walking around looking like a lady.”

  “Yeah,” Monique said. “More like a madam at one of them hoe houses.”

  Tamar was ultimately insulted by such an insinuation. She trusted that whatever she wore always made her look respectable. She quickly reached out and pushed her younger sister. Before anyone in the room knew it, Monique had pushed back. Monique had the weight advantage over her older sister, however, Tamar had the agility compared to Monique. Because Tamar was slimmer and more in shape, from the yoga classes and such, she could move quicker and regained her balance. Tamar pulled Monique’s hair. Monique pushed her away and grabbed her arm, pulling her down and starting to hit her in her head. Tamar’s long arms reached up Monique’s back and grabbed her hair, causing Monique to fall back. Sandra quickly stepped over, with the assistance of Trina, and stopped Monique and Tamar’s fighting. She told them that they were too old to be fighting like this, especially in the house.

  “And neither one of you can use my jewelry,” Sandra said once Monique and Tamar were several feet apart. “I want to make sure we keep it in good condition and not lost,” she looked at Tamar, knowing that she’d had a history of losing things that didn’t belong to her, “or stolen,” she added, referring to Monique going over into Gary. “From the sounds of it, we might be needing it for your sister Trina’s wedding.”

  Both Tamar and Monique scoffed as they pulled free from their mother’s grip. After both of them said whatever, they each went into their points of views on Trina getting married to Breon. Smiling and laughing, Sandra looked back at Trina. “See, what did I tell you?” she asked. “I told you that your sisters would be upset that you were getting married first. What did I tell you?”


  Monique and Tamar went back to arguing about this and that as Trina stood there, feeling as if she were zoning out. Even though her mother had given her comforting words in regards to Breon, she still couldn’t help feeling that something was off. As much as she didn’t want to believe it, there was something about her life at this very moment that was a little too smooth. Yes, she was often between her two sisters fighting. However, the last couple of days had been giving her a different vibe. It was as if something had changed with Breon when he’d gotten home on Friday night. And Trina just couldn’t figure out the change.

  CHAPTER 5

  When Breon walked out of Johnson & Pearl around 7:30, Fasil was walking at his side. Since there hadn’t been a lot of work coming into the facility tonight, Shoemaker went ahead and send those who wanted to go home early on their way. Those who wanted to stay could do some rearranging in various rooms, as well as some cleaning. Breon and Fasil decided to take the ticket out, quickly clocking out and heading out the door. As they stepped outside, a sharp wind picked up some snow and blew the ice-like flakes into their faces. Both of them turned their backs to the wind.

  “Fuck,” Breon said as the two of them pushed ahead and deeper into the parking lot. Once the wind stopped, he looked at Fasil. “What you on tonight?” he asked.

  Fasil pulled out his phone. “On break, I was talking to this chick here. Up on the north side. Says she’s from Colombia. Bogota.” He smiled and nodded. “She said I could come over tonight to keep her warm. You know she ain’t used to this cold Chicago weather.”

  “Hmm, hmm,” Breon said. “Nigga, you stay findin’ bitches on the internet, don’t you?”