“I think so. Try to.”
I notice his shoulders ease, tension release. “What happened to us?” he asks. “Was a time we were tighter than handcuffs. I didn’t see that breakup coming. That’s what hurt more than anything. Made me feel foolish after I’d gone out and bought you all those gifts.”
I shrug. “Don’t know. I’m going away. You’re gonna be here. Got scared. Scared of getting hurt. Figured things would happen, so…”
“You plus me equals better math. What you always say, YaYa. I was down with that.”
YaYa.
That warms my insides.
“Was?” I ask.
“Still am.”
We sit in silence for a bit.
Think about everything that’s happened.
Where we’ve been.
What we’ve gone through.
Where we’d like to go.
At least, that’s the things I think about.
“Wish I could erase the past few days,” Donnell says.
I take both of Donnell’s hands in mine. “I want to be with you again. I want to be your girl. Matter of fact, I don’t feel like I ever stopped being your girl.” JaMarcus is evidence of this. As much can be said about what didn’t happen with him as what did.
“Kenya—”
I cut him off. Come at him the same way he’s come at me in the past.
“Don’t complicate it.” Squeeze. “A simple yes or no, that’s all I’m looking for.” Squeeze. “And just so you know. I do hope for a yes.” Squeeze, squeeze.
Donnell shakes his head, sighs. “Kenya.”
“Donnell. A simple yes or no.”
“Yes.”
I release his hands. Kiss him. In the middle of Ruby Tuesday. I don’t even care. “All right, then. We’re together again. Where we belong.”
“Where we belong,” Donnell echoes.
But there’s one last piece of unfinished business.
“You like her?” I ask.
“Who?”
I hunch my eyes.
Realization comes to Donnell’s face.
“It’s not about like,” he says.
“Oh?”
“Need.”
“Need?”
“Hate to admit it. I’m ashamed of myself. But yeah, Kenya, I needed what she gave me.”
I furrow my brow. “I’m not following. What you mean?”
Donnell swallows. “Melyssa’s about one thing. Everybody knows that. I was torn up over you. I wasn’t thinking correctly. She came at me, and I fell for it. I feel terrible. And I’m not just saying that. I felt terrible right after. I wasn’t very nice to her. Even though she’s…Well, even she deserved better.”
He says more, but I don’t hear it.
My heart starts to pound with the force of a sledgehammer.
Hands are clammy all of a sudden.
Throat is dry as old newspaper.
I can feel an ache tapping at my temples. Soon the taps will be a migraine.
I’ll be dry swallowing one of Mama’s Maxalt tablets.
Donnell notices the physical something that’s happening to me. “Kenya, are you all right?”
“Are you saying you had sex with Melyssa?”
Donnell frowns. “Didn’t you know?”
I drop my head, let the male lead in this born-again soap opera of a relationship know that I didn’t.
Chapter 8
Eric
I had front row seats to a local production of Diary of a Mad Black Woman, starring my sister, Kenya.
“This is ridiculous!” she yelled. “Why do I have to drive them?”
We were in the kitchen. Kenya, me and Mama. A meeting of the Poseys. Our kitchen table was like the conference table in the office of some Fortune 500 company. Mama was CEO. And if she didn’t like our contributions to the discussion, she took on the responsibilities of vice president, COO, Chairman of the board, majority shareholder and office headquarters’ head janitor.
A democracy quickly became a dictatorship.
Mama hadn’t answered Kenya’s question.
That wasn’t a good thing.
Meant the dynamics of the discussion were shifting.
Kenya was Condoleeza Rice, in a tête-à-tête with bin Laden, Castro and Kim Jong-il.
Mama was loving. But tough.
When it was all said and done, it wasn’t smart to test her. Kenya was toeing the line. I felt responsible, so I attempted to save her. Safety be damned, I was going in.
“This conversation would probably be a whole lot more productive if we had some fried chicken and macaroni and cheese in us,” I said.
“You trying to give me work, boy?” Mama asked.
Boy. When Mama called me boy, trouble was afoot.
“No, ma’am…I…I…I can cook it.”
I’d never so much as boiled an egg. A slight problem.
“Eric, quiet,” Mama said. “This has nothing to do with you anyway. I’m talking to your sister.” She gave me her dictator smile. “But go ahead and get cooking. Fried chicken and mac and cheese sounds wonderful.”
They were arguing over a ride for me.
I thought that made me relevant to the conversation. But I wasn’t about to point that out to OMama bin Laden.
“Of course a bowl of Frosted Flakes would hit the spot, too,” I suggested.
Mama actually smiled. “Thought so. You know where the bowls are. Frosted Flakes are in the cabinet over the sink. Milk is in the fridge.”
That was a dismissal.
Kenya was in it up to her neck, and there wasn’t anything I could do for her.
She knew it, too.
“I’m just saying, Mama…” she said.
That weak defense made me wince.
I busied myself preparing my meal. Got the bowl from one cabinet. Got the cereal from the other, over the sink as Mama had said. A quart of milk from the fridge. Big spoon from a drawer. I was tempted to get a pan and some Crisco. Fry my cereal. Anything to keep busy and stay out of this particular family business.
Mama turned her attention back on Kenya. “My eyesight must be getting bad, Kenya.”
Kenya frowned. “What are you talking about? Your eyesight is perfect.”
“Can’t be.” Mama shook her head. Her acting skills rivaled Angela Bassett’s. “I could have sworn my name was on the check that was used to purchase your car. But I must’ve looked at it wrong.”
“That’s dirty, Mama,” Kenya muttered. “I can’t believe you would stoop to that. The car was a gift. You gave it to me out of love. I didn’t know there were conditions involved.”
“And your brother needs a ride,” Mama said. “But you’re acting real roach, young lady. Everything’s a one-way street with you. You probably don’t remember the commercials for those old Roach Motels. ‘Roaches come in, but they don’t come out.’”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Kenya said. “I don’t think you even do.” She smirked. “This whole conversation is buffoonery.”
I groaned. Closed my eyes. Prayed.
And dropped the cereal bowl.
“Eric,” Mama said.
“Yes, Mama?”
“Excuse yourself.”
“I was gonna fix this cereal…. I’m hungry.”
Mama’s gaze was trained on Kenya. She kept it there. Didn’t take her eyes off my sister as she reached in her pocket and pulled out a ten-dollar bill. Didn’t take her eyes off my sister as she stretched her hand in my direction. “Take this and get yourself something out, Eric. And go now. Don’t want you here for this.”
I scurried over, hand outstretched.
Kenya bumped me at the last moment, moved over to Mama, plastered on the biggest smile. “You mind if I take that for gas?” Mama didn’t reply. “For when I drive my brother wherever he needs to go.”
Kenya said “wherever” with boldface and italics.
She knew the deal, finally. Was kissing some major butt.
“You woul
dn’t care to discuss my buffoonery?” Mama asked.
Kenya shook her head vigorously.
I imagined her mouth was Sahara dry.
Hollywood, Mama’s boyfriend, stepped in then. He had a habit of coming in on the tail end of our knock-down-drag-outs. If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was planned.
“What all going on in here?” he asked.
Mama still had her eyes trained on Kenya. “My chile is about to go get five dollars’ worth of gas for her car. Then she’s gonna bring me back my change and drive her brother wherever he needs to go.”
“Five dollars!” Kenya protested. “That ain’t gonna get me—”
I bumped Kenya out of the way, carefully took the money from Mama’s fingertips and then ushered my sister out of the kitchen by her elbow.
“I’m not in the mood for all this, Eric,” she muttered.
“I just saved you. Hope you recognize that.”
She looked back toward the kitchen, saw Mama at the table, cracking her knuckles like a mixed martial arts fighter. Kenya shuddered. “True dat. True dat.”
“Just ’cause you’re leaving doesn’t mean you lose your mind. You won’t even make it to Georgia if you keep up like this. Are you crazy?”
Kenya’s eyes had a faraway look. “Got a lot on my mind, Eric. I was tripping.”
“Seriously. Pull yourself together, girl. It was almost Operation Iraqi Freedom Two up in there.”
“It is what it is. Where did you need to go?”
I smiled, popped my collar. “Got a double date with Benny. The girl I told you about. Endia. And Endia’s friend, Tanya.”
Kenya frowned. “Lovely. Teenage love.”
It didn’t sound sweet when she said it; I preferred Alicia Keys.
I was in the front seat next to Kenya. She hadn’t said much of anything to me. She hadn’t played the radio, hadn’t gotten any calls on her cell. She hadn’t made any, either. Ditto for text messages. That wasn’t typical for Kenya; her and Verizon Wireless were on a first-name basis. It looked to me as if she was suddenly living in a bubble. I kept glancing over at her, trying to get some kind of read. Nothing shone on her face. It was etched in stone. I was worried about her, but didn’t press.
Benny was in the backseat. My friend was the opposite of my sister. Giddy. Souped-up.
“You gotta love how things play out,” he said. “I’m a have a banger seated on either side of me, E.”
I turned sideways, shot him a glare. “One of those bangers is mine, Benny. And the other is my doing,” I reminded him.
“Small details, E. Very small details.”
“If you say so.”
“I say so. It doesn’t matter, though. Once I close the deal with shawty, I won’t be feeling any pain.”
“Talk like yourself, Benny.”
“I am, E. Hate it or love it, the underdog’s on top.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Hey, E?’
“What?”
“Shawty betta be thick.”
Kenya turned suddenly, glared at Benny. “Men. Must y’all all be dogs?”
Then she glared at me and repeated her refrain.
“Bow wow wow, yippee yo yippee yay.”
“You’re sickening, boy,” Kenya said.
“If I didn’t know better, Kenya, I’d think you had a scrush on me,” Benny said.
Kenya frowned. “Scrush?”
“A secret crush, shawty.”
I laughed.
Kenya didn’t.
I was glad she’d finally spoken, but something was bothering her.
Something more than having to chauffeur me and my friends was causing her angst.
Her eyes were moist.
Kenya, crying.
I couldn’t imagine that.
And worse, there was nothing I could do about it.
We’d made it to Endia’s house.
Endia’s house was medium to large, with a brick face and stucco siding, on a quiet, tree-lined street. But she was the story. When we pulled up she was waiting on her porch, looking beautiful and stylish. She wore a chiffon dress, accessorized with a leather belt, and suede ankle booties on her feet. I suddenly felt underdressed in my jeans and T-shirt. But I had swagger for days. I’d be okay.
Tanya stood beside Endia. I was pleasantly surprised. She was sweet, too.
Funky, in a fur-trimmed top and bottom, with knee-high boots.
Benny was in jeans and a T-shirt, as well. But missing my swag, no matter how hard he tried.
I was slightly worried how everything would play out.
“Damn, E. Never knew you had jungle fever. Ol’ girl is fine, though.”
That set me at ease. “Benny, the white girl is your date,” I said.
He hesitated. “Aight, aight. I can make that work.”
“You’re a fool. Don’t embarrass me. Don’t make me regret setting this up.”
“My name’s Ben…and I put work in.”
“Lawd, Lawd, Lawd. No rhyming, Benny. Please.”
Endia was making her way toward the car. The closer she got, the better she looked. I realized just how beautiful she was. Suddenly my palms were sweaty, mouth dry. No time to get nervous. No time to lose my swag. I quickly shook the feeling off. Damn! Endia really was fly. I got out to meet up with her.
We reached one another on the walkway, the halfway point between her house and Kenya’s Acura.
“This is my homegirl, Tanya,” she said.
I gave Endia a small hug, and then addressed her girlfriend.
“Nice to meet you, Tanya,” I said and shook her hand.
“You, too, E,” Tanya said.
That brought out a smile on my face. Endia had been talking about me, a very good sign.
Tanya craned her head, nodded over my shoulder. “That your boy?”
I looked back. Benny was still seated in the back of Kenya’s Acura. He sat reclined, one arm up on the rest, nodding his head and licking his lips. That was his cool pose. I was more disturbed by it than I could ever convey in words.
I turned back to Tanya, a sheepish smile on my face. “He’s…”
“Cute,” she finished.
“Say what?”
“He’s cute,” Tanya repeated. “I was worried. But it looks like things will work out.”
“You wear contacts?” I asked.
She frowned. “No. Why?”
Cute.
Benny.
I couldn’t form my mouth to say another word.
Instead, I just ushered the girls to Kenya’s car.
I introduced Kenya to the girls, hoping the infusion of femininity in the car would move my sister out of her deep funk. Kenya gave Endia and Tanya a quick nod, but remained silent. Then I introduced Benny to the girls. Shockingly, Mr. Big Stuff was silent, too. Mouth suddenly wouldn’t work.
Cute and mute.
Fiasco wasn’t the only one with skills. I could rhyme, too.
“Where to?” Kenya asked.
If I hadn’t been in the front seat, I wouldn’t’ve heard her. She spoke in barely a whisper. Didn’t seem to have the energy to even drive.
“You sure you’re okay?” I asked.
“Just great,” she said and pulled away from the curb.
Chapter 9
Kenya
I don’t even know how I got here, standing outside my homegirl Lark’s apartment.
It’s rare for me to come by her place, even though she lives just four blocks from where I do. There’s too much drama for me over this way, though. Lark lives on the third floor. And you’ve gotta hoof it up the stairs. Elevator’s a death trap. And her stairwell’s busier than a lot of dance clubs. A good-looking girl like myself is gonna get hit up on every level. First floor, bunch of wannabe thugs with no hair on their chests, dribbling one basketball between them, the ball damn near flat. Second floor, the building bum, vagrant, whatever you want to call him. You can’t tell the dude he ain’t fine. He tries game on every lady that pas
ses by. His name is Two Cups. They call him that ’cause he keeps two beggar cups in front of him on the landing. Cups are filled with dirty pennies. Most of the people in the building are only a paycheck away from needing beggar cups themselves. Third floor, a Reggie Bush-looking dude with a red bandana tucked in the back pocket of his baggy jeans. A real thug, unlike the wannabes on the first floor.
No, thank you.
I ain’t trying to be with a dude rocking colors, or any of them for that matter.
I know about all of these characters from the few times I’ve been here before. The faces never change, and neither do their positions in the building. I’m sure they approached me today. But I don’t remember ’em. Just know I’m outside Lark’s door. I must’ve gotten here by osmosis. Things are that bad for me.
I knock.
The door pops open; chain isn’t released, though.
Lark peeks her head out. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve got issues,” I say.
“This is true. Been that way a long time. This warranted a visit?”
“Lark, please.”
Her voice softens. “Why didn’t you call?”
I frown. Eye her. The friendship that usually exists between us isn’t present. She hasn’t said my name once. Talking to me like I’m trying to palm off Watchtowers on her or something. Like I’m trying to sell her something she isn’t buying.
“My bad, Lark,” I say. “I didn’t mean to bother you. I’ll go.”
I turn to leave, hear the chain release and the door open, quick footsteps, then feel Lark’s hand on my shoulder. I don’t turn to face her. Don’t want her to see the start of tears forming in my eyes or the tremble of my jaw. “Whoa, whoa,” Lark says. “Holeup, Ken.”
“Wassup.” I’m emotional. My feelings are hurt.
“I’ll meet you downstairs in a minute.”
“Don’t worry about it, Lark. I’m kewl.”
Kewl.
“Come on, Ken. I’m sorry. You caught me off guard. I’ll be down in a minute.”
I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. Take a deep breath. “Okay. Thanks.”
“What are friends for?”
“The tough moments.”
“Exactly.”
“Eric’s little girlfriend is fly,” I say.
“Shuuuuuut up!” Lark shouts. “He’s got a girlfriend?”
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