Seeking Sarah

by ReShonda Tate Billingsley

  She froze when she saw me.

  “Wh-what are you doing here?” she said.

  “Umm, no. I think I should ask you the same question,” I said.

  “I . . . I . . .”

  My eyes went to the duffel bag.

  “You know someone over here?” I asked.

  Symone’s eyes shifted away from me and my radar went into overdrive.

  Y’all gon’ get enough of letting these good men get away.

  “Are you here to see Trent?” I asked when she didn’t answer.

  She paused, looked upstairs toward his apartment, then finally, with an unbridled cockiness, said, “I am. I’ve been here all night. I was gonna go home and get dressed but my meeting got pushed up so I turned around to come back here and get dressed.”

  I was speechless. Symone, one of my closest friends, was sleeping with my man? “What the hell is going on?” I asked.

  She folded her arms, her stance turning defiant. “Look, don’t get mad at me. You broke up with him. And he still wanted to make it work. Even when I told him you moved on and to give us a shot, he wanted one more chance with you. That’s why he came to see you. Guess he needed to see for himself.”

  “Wow,” I said, too angry to cry. “So that means that you swoop in to pick up the pieces?”

  “Trent has been lonely since you bailed on him. And I, I mean I wasn’t trying to, it just happened.”

  I stood, staring at Symone in disbelief. “What just happened?”

  “Us.” She rolled her eyes, like I was the one in the wrong. “I don’t know why you’re tripping. You moved on from him.”

  My eyes went to her bag again. I recalled the giggling and how Trent didn’t want me to come over. Symone wasn’t slick. She’d come back to let me know that she’d been here.

  A part of me wanted to stomp back upstairs with her and get to the bottom of this. But I had had enough of the crazy-girlfriend role for today. Besides, this was the ultimate betrayal.

  “If it makes you feel better, he wouldn’t sleep with me until he was sure you didn’t want him.” She shrugged nonchalantly.

  I wanted so bad to slap that smirk off her face, grab her by her twenty-four-inch Malaysian yaky, and drag her across the parking lot. But I’d embarrassed myself enough for one day. “I hope you guys are happy. I hope he was worth our friendship.”

  “Friendship?” She laughed. “It was never that deep.”

  “Wow,” was all I could say.

  She glanced up at Trent’s apartment, then back at me. Her defiant stance softened. “Look, I really wasn’t trying—”

  I held up my hand to stop her lame excuse. “Save it. Do you. Just know, karma ain’t no joke.”

  I jumped in my car and sped off before she could see just how heartbroken I really was.

  CHAPTER 30

  * * *

  I never made it to my grandmother’s. I just couldn’t face her—or more questions. I’d gone home, grabbed some more clothes, and watered my ivies and was back on the road in thirty minutes.

  I’d talked to April (telling her everything about Trent and Symone and telling her to go get Penelope from Trent) and done four business calls, including one two-hour call with Nina J.’s management team on my drive back to Atlanta. I just needed to keep busy. But now that I was ten minutes away from home, I had no one left to call and the tears that I had been fighting back finally surfaced.

  I cried for my relationships—with my mother and with Trent. I cried because I’d wondered if everyone was right. This quest for revenge was costing me more than I ever imagined. And had I driven Trent into another woman’s arms?

  No. I shook that thought off. Trent was a grown man. His actions should never be a reaction to mine.

  My phone rang and I saw Alex’s number pop up on the screen. I answered only because I needed the distraction.

  “Hey, Mona. I think I left my literature textbook over there,” he said. “Can you check on your coffee table?”

  “I’m not home, but I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”

  A beat hung in the air.

  “What’s wrong?” Of course, he could tell something was wrong. Alex was intuitive.

  Still, I said, “Nothing.”

  “Come on, Mona. I can tell something is wrong. Stop shutting me out. Let me be there for you. As a friend.” The concern in his voice warmed my heart.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” I repeated.

  “How far are you from home?”

  “About ten minutes.”

  “I’m going to meet you at your house.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “Alex, you don’t have to—”

  “I’ll be there in thirty minutes. I’m bringing Ben & Jerry’s. You know we have to support them because they’re down with the cause.”

  For the first time since I’d found out my fiancé was screwing my friend, I smiled. Maybe Alex’s company would be just the distraction I needed.

  “Okay. See you soon.”

  THIRTY MINUTES LATER WE were sitting on my sofa, a bowl of Chunky Monkey in front of us.

  “Okay, tell me what he did and who I need to go beat up.”

  I chuckled, then just decided to come clean. “I just found out my ex and one of my friends slept together.”

  Without missing a beat, he added, “Then obviously, she wasn’t your friend.”

  “You’re right about that. The bad part is I’ve known that all along.” I dipped the spoon into the ice cream, grabbed a heaping spoonful, then slid it into my mouth.

  “Yeah, you shouldn’t waste time with people that mean you no good. My mom always says that.”

  Any good feelings I had morphed into anger at the mention of my mother’s name.

  Still, I managed a smile and said, “You two seem to get along really well.”

  “We do.”

  “What kind of mother was she when you were growing up?” I asked. Partly to dig for information and partly because I needed to understand why she shifted from not wanting a family, to blending into someone else’s, to creating a new one.

  A nostalgic expression crossed his face. “She’s been the best. She never made me feel like a stepchild. I took my real mother’s death really hard and I wasn’t the best when my dad married Sarah, but she never turned her back on me. She loved me through my rebellion.”

  She never turned her back.

  I contemplated just telling him everything right there, busting this illusion he had of his “mother.” Ultimately, I decided against it. Instead I just said, “So where did you say she was from?”

  He paused like he was thinking. “I think she’s from Atlanta. Both her parents are dead and she’s an only child who grew up in foster care. So we’re really her only family.”

  At least she didn’t lie about her parents being dead, I thought.

  “All I know is I was a handful as a teenager and I gave my dad grief. Having Mom around grounded me. It made me feel like part of a family. Then Sunny came along and she was just the light of everyone’s lives.”

  I struggled to maintain my composure. The pain in my heart was palpable. “Yeah, your mom seems really loving with Sunny.”

  “That’s the understatement of the decade. That’s her little princess. She loved me, but something about having a daughter made her feel complete.”

  That made my blood boil. Just that easy, she’d found another little princess.

  My phone rang. Again. This had to be Trent’s thirtieth time calling me since I’d left Raleigh. April had called him and cursed him out. Apparently, Symone hadn’t even told him that she’d bumped into me.

  I picked up my phone and pressed IGNORE. I made a mental note to block his number, but the phone rang again.

  “Is that him?” Alex said when I didn’t answer. “Your ex?”

  “Yes. He’s been calling like crazy.”

  “You know what? You should answer, tell him off, and tell him to leave you alone,” Alex said.

  I did
n’t want to hear anything Trent had to say because if he tried to blame me, this was not going to be pretty. But when my phone rang again, I knew Trent wasn’t giving up. I snatched up the phone and pressed ACCEPT.

  “What do you want?” I snapped. “Why aren’t you off screwing Symone?”

  “I’m so glad you picked up,” he said, his voice filling with relief. “I can explain.”

  “Oh, this is explainable?”

  “Yes,” he began.

  “Did you or did you not have sex with Symone?”

  “I-I . . .”

  “Yes or no. That’s the only answer.” My voice was calm now.

  He sighed, then said, “Yes, but—”

  “I’m not interested in hearing anything else you have to say. Lose my number, Trent.” I slammed the phone back down and turned off the ringer.

  Alex gave me a comforting smile. “Good. Do you know his number by heart?”

  I shrugged, trying my best to mask the pain. “Who knows any number by heart?” I said.

  Alex took my phone. I watched as he opened the contact info on Trent’s number and pressed BLOCK, then DELETE.

  Deleting Trent’s number was so final. Of course, it would be easy to get it back, but just the move should give me some type of closure. At least I hoped it would.

  Alex leaned in and gathered up our empty ice cream containers and spoons. “I’m going to let you get some rest. Plus, I need to get to work. But I’m going to check on you later. If you need me, I’ll drop everything and get right back over here.”

  My hand went to his cheek. “You really are a sweetheart. And Kara is a fool to let you get away.”

  He looked away, but not before I saw a twinkle in his eyes.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I . . . well, maybe I shouldn’t say anything since, you know, you just caught your ex.”

  I playfully pushed his shoulder. “Boy, you’d better tell me.”

  His grin was wide as he said, “You were right about Kara hating to see us together. She called and told me how much she missed me and I went by her place and well . . .” He looked away as his grin grew even wider.

  “Shut the front door!” I exclaimed. “You two hooked up?”

  He nodded, his excitement mirroring a child on Christmas morning. “I mean, she tried to play it off that it didn’t mean anything, but she came to me.”

  “Oh, Alex, I’m so happy for you.”

  Alex smiled and squeezed my hand. “I’m so glad we’re friends.”

  “Me, too,” I said.

  I really was. Maybe now we could stay friends—at least until he found out I was his stepsister. I had no idea just how he would take that news.

  CHAPTER 31

  * * *

  I’d had enough. I’d lost my man and still hadn’t done what I’d come to Atlanta to do. That was going to change. Today.

  This wasn’t where or how I planned to have an in-depth conversation with my mother. But I couldn’t think of a better place—in front of people who admired her.

  I had come to the school like she requested, only I was a little later than I had planned. I had no idea I was going to walk into a crowded cafeteria.

  My mother and I spotted each other at the same time. She made a beeline in my direction, like she was trying to ward off any impending trouble.

  “B-Brooke. I thought you would be here earlier?”

  “I got tied up. I didn’t know if you’d still be here, and since I don’t have my own mother’s phone number . . .” I let my words trail off as I glanced around the room. “What’s this?”

  “A PTA meeting,” she replied. “I was hoping we would’ve had a chance to talk before this started . . .”

  Before she could finish, a woman with a head full of gray hair approached us.

  “Excuse me,” she said to me before turning to my mother. “Mrs. Ford, we really need to get started. The PTA president is ready.” She grabbed my mother’s hand to pull her away before she could say anything.

  My mother, in turn, grabbed my arm. “Please don’t leave,” she whispered. I didn’t respond as the woman dragged her to the stage.

  I sat through the God-awful, boring meeting for twenty minutes. My mother hadn’t taken her eyes off me. So I’m sure she’d seen me roll my eyes in disgust as the PTA president praised all of “the good work of their esteemed principal.” Finally, I’d had all that I could take. I felt like I was going to suffocate, so I stood, stepping over people as I scurried out of the room.

  I thought about acting a fool, calling my mother out in front of all these people, but it wasn’t even about that anymore. I just wanted to hear her out and put an end to this obsession. My heart couldn’t take any more heartbreak. I would just call her and meet somewhere to talk. I crossed over the two people next to me and left. I had just made it to the double doors when I heard, “Brooke.”

  I stopped and slowly turned toward the sound of my mother’s voice.

  I folded my arms and glared at her.

  “Obviously, you want to talk to me, so why do you keep running?”

  I let out a maniacal laugh. “It must be in my blood.”

  She looked down the hall. The gray-haired lady from earlier was peering down the hall. “Can we step in my office?” my mother said.

  I didn’t want to, but I needed to hear her excuse. I followed her down the hall and into her office.

  “First, let me say, I’m so sorry to hear about Jacob,” she said once we were inside her office. “He really was a good man, he just wasn’t the man for me.” She motioned for me to sit. When I refused, she sat behind her desk and continued talking.

  “I had a tumultuous childhood and when I was twenty, I got caught up in some trouble. I stole his wallet from his car when he ran into the grocery store and I used his credit cards. When I was eventually caught, instead of pressing charges, your father agreed to let me volunteer at a youth center he worked at. I was just a young woman and I felt indebted. And before I knew it, we were in a relationship. I wanted to be a dancer. That’s all I wanted. I didn’t want to be a wife or a mother.”

  “Oh, it’s obvious you didn’t want to be a mother,” I spat.

  “But that’s all Jacob talked about,” she continued, ignoring my interruption.

  She kept talking as if I hadn’t said anything and she had been wanting to get this story off her chest for years.

  “Your father gave me hope of a better life. He gave me a better life, a life I had never known. We married a year after meeting, and a year later, you were born. I assumed the motherly urge would kick in automatically. And the day you were born and they put you on my chest, I waited for the instinct to engulf me. I wanted to enjoy gazing at you for hours at a stretch. I wanted to feel that instant bond.” She inhaled, exhaled, then wiped her tears. “But nothing happened. There was no overwhelming urge to nurture or protect. For the longest, I had mixed guilt and distress. I felt I didn’t have the genetic equipment necessary to cope with motherhood. I was totally unprepared for the relentlessness of looking after babies. Eventually, I decided that I was just lacking that maternal gene.”

  “Cry me a river,” I said, unmoved by her soliloquy. “Every day some woman doesn’t plan to get pregnant and she does and she deals with it.”

  “The only reason I married your father was because we thought he couldn’t have kids,” she said matter-of-factly. “And then out of the blue, I ended up pregnant. I was mortified.”

  She had no idea how much her words were piercing me. But I refused to show it.

  “Jacob saw it as a miracle.” Nostalgia had taken over. She spoke my father’s name with a fondness that contradicted her actions. And then, she added, “And I saw it as the end.”

  “At least my daddy loved me,” I said, my voice shaking.

  “I loved you, too,” she replied. “I just didn’t know how to be a good mother. I grew up not being wanted by either drug-addicted parent and I spent a large amount of my life bouncing around from
house to house trying not to overstay my welcome and not be the burden both of my parents saw me as. So I didn’t want children out of fear that I’d be the same way to my children, who didn’t ask for that life. And then I had you and I had massive reservations toward being the mother you needed.”

  “You figure it out,” I said, slamming my hand on her desk. “You don’t leave.”

  Sadness swept over her. “My mother didn’t love me. She told me as much. It is an extremely lonely feeling to be unloved by a parent,” she continued. “Especially your mother, and for most of my life I kept that secret from nearly everyone I knew. I didn’t want you to feel that. And then,” she paused, “on top of that, I felt suffocated. I felt obligated to your father. I didn’t love him like I should’ve. I was incapable of that type of love.”

  I rolled my eyes at her words. She didn’t seem fazed as she continued. “When I started feeling resentment at you, at Jacob, at his mother who was always around, I just wanted out.”

  “So you decided to just up and leave?”

  “I wasn’t thinking clearly. I just needed to get out because I was dying. I had every intention of coming back.”

  “Whatever,” I said.

  She stood, then stepped around the desk, coming closer like she desperately wanted me to believe her.

  “I did plan to come back. And then I moved to New York. And I got the backup dancing gig with Mariah and I had never been happier. And then, when I finally came back and tried to see you, Jacob wouldn’t let me. He said as far as he was concerned, I was dead to the both of you.”

  More tears fell and this time, I didn’t wipe them away. “So you just gave up. You didn’t think your child was worth fighting for?”

  “Your father told me that you were happy and that you had moved on and my return would only disrupt that.”

  “I wasn’t happy,” I said. “I was dying inside.”

  She lowered her head in shame.

  “You convinced yourself that I was happy,” I said. “That I was better off, but it was only to ease your guilt. All of which I think is a lie anyway because then you came to Atlanta and started the family you say you didn’t want.”