by Nikki Woods
“What are you going to do today?” Keela asked.
“Go back to bed, get another couple of hours. Then I need to go to the grocery store.”
“Me too. I’m having cravings for foods that I’ve never even eaten before. How do you explain that? I actually was dipping my pepperoni pizza in maple syrup the other day. Some of my cousins down south used to do it when we were little.” Keela laughed at the grimace on my face. “Don’t sleep on the pizza and syrup combo, it was pretty good. I’ll spare you the rest of my cravings. I’m going to take a quick a shower, then I’ll be out of your hair.”
“You’re welcome to stay as long as you want.”
“No offense, but the bed in your guest room is not all that comfortable. I want to curl up in my own bed. Plus, I have to prepare lesson plans and all that good stuff. Did you decide if you’re gonna go into work tomorrow?”
I sighed and wiped off the table. “I’ll be bored if I stay at home all day. I have a huge opportunity with Scooby, and I’m not going to blow it.”
We headed up the stairs together; and as I lay in bed, I heard Keela taking a shower and tidying up the room. When I woke up, she was gone.
* * *
Three hours later, my cart was already half full when I rounded the corner and headed toward the fresh produce aisle. The Co-op was busy for a Sunday afternoon; I suspected people were getting ready for Christmas dinner. Shelves were being stocked, then restocked. Sales papers littered the floor and over-sized signs trimmed with cheap garland advertising the store’s famous “ten for ten” sale hung in every aisle.
Juan, the twenty-something Hispanic produce manager, arranged first the watermelons, then the cantaloupes before looking up, smiling when he spotted me. His dark hair was moussed off his face and his goatee needed a trim.
“Ready for the holidays?” he asked when I got closer, wiping his hands on his dirt streaked khakis.
“Nope,” I said. “They always seem to sneak up on me. You?”
“Same.” He worked at scraping some of the dirt from under his fingernails, then pointed at the oranges. “We got in a shipment of Valencia oranges—sweet for this time of year. And we got those bags of ready-made salad on sale. Buy one, get one free.”
I smiled, tossing a few oranges in a plastic bag. When he smiled back, it was a different kind of smile, his eyes warmed with interest.
“Are you trying to tell me I need to be on a diet, Juan?” I teased, laughing when a deep blush stained Juan’s neck and cheeks.
“Oh no, I didn’t mean to imply that at all. You know you’re a beautiful woman.” He nodded with appreciation. “Everything’s right where it’s supposed to be.” At my raised eyebrows, he began sputtering, “Well-well-well,” then waved his hand. “You know what I mean.”
“I know, Juan, I was just teasing you. Thanks for your help.” He waved again, turning his attention back to the melons.
I wheeled my cart past the meat department, picking up two packs of frozen chicken breasts when I spotted an acquaintance with her two children in tow. All three were going in different directions, a mess of arms and legs. I ducked in the cereal aisle so she wouldn’t stop me for conversation.
Apple Jacks or Frosted Flakes? It had become quite the deliberation when a hand settled on my shoulder and squeezed gently. I turned and found my self face-to-face with Randy. I couldn’t catch a break.
He grinned, looking like two shots of tequila poured into a faded pair of Levis—all warm and golden brown—begging you to take a sip, but coming back to haunt you if you drank too much. Right now, I felt as though I had swallowed the whole bottle.
“Randy,” I said, exasperation sharpening my tone as he placed a cool kiss on my cheek.
He said, “I didn’t know you were back in town.” His gaze traveled up and down my frame —inhaling the fitted baby-girl shirt and hip-hugging sweats beneath my leather bomber—before looking me square in the eye and whistling softly. “I’d almost forgotten how fine you are.”
“Give me a break, Randy, I’ve been gone less than a week. Your memory is not that bad.”I stepped to the side of the aisle, scooting my cart over to allow an old lady enough room to get her cart and cane around me.
She smiled. “Thanks, baby,” she said, whistling slightly through the toothless gap in the front of her mouth. She reached for a box of Grape-Nuts cereal, the stretch causing her skirt to rise above her rolled-down knee-highs. I crossed to the other side and pulled the box down for her. It was more than my being helpful, I was trying to put some space between Randy and me. She mumbled her thanks again, and continued pushing her cart up the aisle. A heartbeat passed before he grabbed my hand and pulled me so I was standing next to him.
Not wanting to make a scene, I discreetly yanked my hand away. But that didn’t stop me from being rude. “What?” When he didn’t answer fast enough—just leaned against his cart, head cocked sideways, grinning—I continued, “Look, I don’t have time for this, Randy. I’ve got things to do and as I’ve heard, you’ve been quite busy yourself, so let’s not continue to waste each other’s time.”
I left Randy standing there with his mouth hanging open. Moving through the self-checkout lane at the speed of light, my hands trembled with rage. I fumed as I stuffed my groceries in the bags. I fumed as I shoved my cart out to my car, and I fumed some more when I spied Randy leaning against it, his arms casually crossed in front of him.
“Damn, Randy, what do you want?” I snapped through clenched teeth, my face creased in a frown as I unlocked my trunk and started tossing the bags every which way.
“It seems like you’re really not all that happy to see me. What’s up with that?”
“Nothing’s up. You spoke. I spoke. What else is there to do?”
“There’s tension. I don’t want it to be like this every time we see each other. I’m sorry things didn’t work out, but can't we move on and be friends?”
“Why would I want to maintain contact with you—friends or whatever?”
“Why wouldn’t you?” he countered.
I slammed the trunk shut and pushed the cart into the holding area. “Because you’re a jerk,” I said matter-of-factly. He blinked in surprise and his mouth snapped shut. “Look, Randy, let’s just cut to the chase. It’s bad enough that you were messing around with your ex-girlfriend; but no, you had to go and sleep with my best friend, too.” This time he couldn’t keep his mouth from falling open. “Yeah, I found out about that. Did you really think you and Essence could keep this little secret tucked between you forever?”
Randy followed me to the door. “Essence told you?”
“I wouldn’t say she told me—more like she was forced to admit it. I may never have found out if some other events hadn’t come to light. Besides, you’re not the only boyfriend that Essence has helped herself to. But it’s all good. Our relationship was over before I found out this little tidbit, so I’m not trippin’. I just don’t want you to be under any misconceptions that we’re going to end up all buddy-buddy.”
Randy shrugged. “I was just doing what comes naturally to a man. You can’t expect me to pass up on something that was practically thrown at me.”
“Actually, call me crazy, but as my boyfriend—I did expect you to pass up on it. But I guess we have different ideas of what a relationship should be. The fact that you think a man is just following his natural urges when he cheats is plain crazy. Ludicrous. Pathetic. Insane.” I rolled my hand as if I could continue forever.
“I get your point,” Randy inserted. “But I don’t think you get mine.”
“I don’t want to get your point. What’s done, is done. I’ve learned my lesson. I’m just glad you didn’t waste too much of my time.” I slid into the front seat of my car and backed up, praying that I’d snare Randy with my left bumper, but he was already heading to his car—and already waving at some other woman. I took a deep breath and exhaled the negative emotions, released them into the atmosphere.
Randy was not worth the stress
The house was quiet and the evening sun bathed the small office I had fashioned out of a corner in the guest bedroom in a golden glow. I’d spent the past two hours whipping up dinner. A mixture of finely chopped onions, green peppers and scallions simmered with diced tomatoes, ground beef and Italian sausage, now sat, just begging to be tossed with rotini pasta. Add a salad, and dinner was done.
That was for later, now it was time to get down to business. I was not going to allow tragedy, cheating boyfriends, or triflin’ best friends to throw me off schedule. I was not going to block my blessings.
Sorting through the mail was at the top of the agenda, picking out the Christmas cards, setting them to the side, tossing the junk flyers, and organizing bills. E-mail was next. Jonetta had sent a list of things that needed to be done, all of which could be taken care of tomorrow. My reply included instructions to set up a phone conference with Mr. Mansini for ten o’clock in the morning and to start formatting the outline for Scooby’s proposal so I could input information as I got it. I ran my naked toes back and forth over the fuzzy, round rug and winced when I snagged a rough piece of skin; definitely time for a pedicure.
The phone rang. Swiveling the chair, I stretched across the desk and looked at the display. The area code was 876. Jamaica. Mama Grace’s attorney, Mr. Bartlett, wasted no time with formalities.
“I hate to disturb you on a Sunday, but you left the island without us talking about the plan of action for your grandmother’s estate. I can’t proceed without instruction from you.” He cleared his throat.
I leaned back in my chair. “Something urgent came up at work. Sorry, I wasn’t able to contact you before I left.”
“Returning to Jamaica anytime soon?”
“To be quite honest with you, Mr. Bartlett, Mama Grace’s decision to put me in charge of her estate was totally unexpected.”
Again, he cleared his throat. “I asked Grace to relay her wishes to you beforehand so that you would be better prepared. She was categorically against it. I know it’s a difficult position to be in, but a decision needs to be made so we can move forward. If no one contests the will, I’d like things to be in place by the end of January.”
I sat forward, my heart quickening. “You think somebody’s planning on contesting the will?”
“Even if they do, they won’t win.” Pages flipped. “How about we touch base tomorrow evening, around six? You can give me your decision then.”
A day to make a major life decision? I made a notation on my desk calendar. “Do you think it would be possible to oversee the estate from here?”
He hesitated; I could see his eyes squinting behind those wire-rimmed spectacles. “I think it would be possible, but I think it would undermine the spirit of what your grandmother had envisioned. And I think it would be stressful for you. Overseeing an estate this size brings a lot of responsibility and social commitment. It will be important for the people to feel that you’re part of the community.” Once again, he cleared his throat. “But of course, that’s your decision.”
“Of course,” I echoed, then clicked off. I stared out the window. Everything was so upside down, confusing. I had a blossoming career here, but a golden opportunity there. Neither one outweighed the other. I just wanted to do the right thing.
Opening my address book, I searched with an index finger for a number. Punching the ten digits, the phone rang once, twice, three times before Bianca answered.
“Well, it’s about damn time you called,” she said.
I smiled. “Are you busy?”
“I’m trying to finish up my Christmas shopping, but I end up buying more stuff for me.
I’m on my way home from the store now.” Horns honked and Bianca swore under her breath. “ Sorry.”
“I just got off the phone with Mama Grace’s attorney. He wanted to know when I was going to come back to Jamaica?”
“What’d you tell him?”
“Same thing I’ve told everyone else. I think my biggest problem is I don’t know how to let go of everything that I’ve established here to move to Jamaica and start all over.”
“But you wouldn’t really be starting over. You’d have a job, a house, your family’s here, and it sounds like running the estate will be flexible enough for you to travel to Chicago whenever you want. Is whatever you have there worth letting go of what Mama Grace had been planning for many years, something she could only trust to you?” Bianca inhaled. “Plus there’s Damon to consider.”
I clenched my teeth. “He has nothing to do with this.”
Bianca laughed. “I saw your eyes light up whenever he walked into the room. I saw the way he held your hand at Mama Grace’s funeral. You can’t fool me. You guys have the kind of love that only comes once in a lifetime.”
“Not anymore,” I said. “If I do come back to Jamaica, it will be for Mama Grace, not for Damon.”
“Tell yourself whatever you like. I, for one, am hoping that you decide Jamaica is where you want to be.”
“For purely selfish reasons, huh?”
“Yep,” she replied. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas to you, too.” I hung up and leaned back in the chair, lacing my fingers behind my head. I felt the tug of a migraine and moved my fingers to my temples, massaging gently. It eased the tension a bit, but not enough. Cocoa trotted into the room and nudged me with her nose. When that didn’t move me, a more vigorous scratch with her paw followed.
“All right, let’s go out for a bit.” I grabbed the leash, my down-hooded coat and Timberland boots. We made a trek around the courtyard, long enough for Cocoa to work out some friskiness and to start my nose running. My immediate neighbor struggled to haul a suitcase through the front door while balancing her daughter on one hip.
“Hi, Kingston,” she called when she saw me, setting her daughter down, then poking her head back outside. “I was sorry to hear about your grandmother. The Townhouse Association sent out a notice.”
I unleashed Cocoa so she could prance freely in the small, gated yard. “I just got back yesterday so I’m still trying to settle in.”
“Teeka was at her daddy’s house all weekend so I’m pretty much doing the same thing—he don’t do a damn thing when he’s got her. She hasn’t had a bath all weekend and he didn’t feed my baby dinner,” she looked at her watch, “and it’s almost seven o’clock. Damn. So now I gotta try to throw something together.” Teeka wrapped her chubby arms around Sharneesha’s legs and began whimpering.
“Mama’s coming. I know you’re hungry,” she said, smoothing the little girl’s unkempt hair, then looked up at me. “I need to go find her something to eat.”
“Does Teeka like spaghetti?” I asked. “I just made a big pot and I can’t eat it all.” I leaned over the fence, speaking directly to Teeka. “Would you like to come over and eat spaghetti with me and Cocoa?”
Teeka looked up at her mother before nodding. “Can I feed Cocoa?” she asked before ducking her head behind her mother.
“You most certainly can, sweetheart.” I turned to Sharneesha. “Is it okay?”
She nodded gratefully. “We’d love to join you for dinner.”
“Great. Put your stuff down and come on over when you’re ready. All I have to do is warm up the spaghetti and toss the salad. I’ll leave the door open.”
“I’ll be just a sec,” she said before picking up Teeka and disappearing into her house.
I had just finished setting the table when Teeka’s head popped up around the corner.
Sharneesha was right behind her, panting from the climb up the stairs. “You don’t know how much I appreciate this.” Sharneesha could stand to lose about fifty pounds, but still had a pretty face, all the extra weight packaged well. Her hair was stylishly cut, spiky and short—so short a thought could comb through it, and her clothes were in line with the latest fashion; not the top of the line brands, but good knock-offs. A pair of cheap leather pumps stretched from wide feet. Teeka
’s hair had been combed into dozens of neat braids that fell around her face. Her almond shaped eyes set deep in her face and a dimple appeared when she smiled.
“It's no problem at all. I’m happy for the company. It gets lonely sometimes with just me and Cocoa.”
“Wow!” Sharneesha looked around. “You opted for the open floor plan. It works really well with your furniture.”
“I loved the airiness of it. It gave the illusion of space without me having to buy a bigger townhouse.”
“I feel ya’ on that. When I found out how much these places were worth, I almost fell out.” At the confused look on my face, Sharneesha explained. “Oh, I don’t own my place. I rent. I’m on Section 8 with the Chicago Housing Authority.” That meant she was paying little to nothing for a home worth more than two hundred-fifty thousand dollars. Tax-paying citizens were picking up the majority of the bill. Sharneesha said, “It’s a well guarded secret. How many people would buy a house in such an exclusive community if they knew they could be living next door to Section 8 tenants? They wouldn’t,” she answered, her eyes rolling with disgust. “ Like poor people aren’t deserving of a nice place to live.”
A blush of shame spread up my neck. I felt like a snob. “I guess people look at their house as an investment. They’d probably think that this would drag their property values down.”
“And how messed up is that,” Sharneesha commented under her breath, careful that her daughter didn’t hear her.
I agreed, adding, “That’s life.”
“Yeah, and life can be pretty messed up at times.”
Nodding—I was learning that lesson well—I transferred plates of steaming spaghetti to the table. We all sat down, Teeka perched on a stack of magazines so she could reach the table.
Her mother leaned over and cut her spaghetti. “Say your grace.”
The little girl folded her hands together and bowed her head. “God is great. God is good. Let us thank Him for our food. ‘Men.”
“Very good, Teeka,” I said, while Sharneesha tied a napkin around the little girl’s neck.