by Zuri Day
“I, uh, had dinner there, Mom,” Troy replied.
“Oh, yeah?” Gregory’s eyes twinkled over his glass of tea. “I thought it was breakfast.”
Troy fixed Gregory with a frown.
Michael delivered the knockout. “Perhaps it was both.”
“I don’t know why you boys think you can pull one over on your mother. I might have been born at night, but it wasn’t last night!” She turned to Troy. “So you took some hootchie to the Ritz-Carlton? Really, son, you must mind your reputation.”
“Mom, it wasn’t like that.”
“I agree,” Gregory said, reaching for more vegetables. “She didn’t look like a hootchie at all, Mom. In fact, she looked quite highbrow.”
“Do they even say ‘hootchie’ anymore?” Michael queried. “And do you really think we’d want their company? Mom, your sons may spread their share of love around, but we do so with class.”
Jackie crossed her arms as she fixed Michael with a look. “Whether you’re screwing these women in the hood or in the Hyatt, a ho is a ho.”
The response was threefold and simultaneous. “Mom!”
“That’s no way to speak about another woman, Mom,” Gregory gently admonished.
“I’m not talking about them, fool. I’m talking about you!”
Everyone laughed at this before Gregory continued. “How did I get in the hot seat? We were talking about Troy. He was the one coming from the bank of elevators and across the lobby. I was there to have breakfast!”
“Troy,” Jackie said, drawing out his name. “Is what your brother saying true? Was it like that?”
“Well,” he admitted, a bit sheepishly, “not exactly like that.”
“How was it exactly?” Gregory asked.
Troy saw his opening and didn’t hesitate. “Probably about how it was with you and the two women I saw on your arm last night!”
“Two?” Jackie exclaimed.
“Twins,” Troy added, ignoring Gregory’s warning scowl.
“What, we’re into threesomes now?” Jackie asked, her brow raised in mock indignation.
“Mom!” The more conservative of the three, Gregory’s skin warmed at the very thought of his mother’s suggestion. Not that he’d be beyond participating in such an act, but he’d surely not want to discuss it afterward with one Ms. Jackie Morgan. “It was Lori and Lisa. We met for dinner.”
“Oh, the Wilhoite children. I haven’t seen those girls in ages, except for Lori in that movie they showed on TV One. Neither one of them are married yet?” Gregory shook his head. “Lori would probably be very understanding of a doctor’s schedule,” Jackie went on, remembering how nice the girls always looked at Easter and Christmastime. “She’s probably quite busy herself, with her own acting career and all. She was always very respectable, a debutante. We’ve known her family for decades. Seems to me she’d make a suitable partner.”
“Funny you should say that, Mama,” Michael teased. “Lori and the M word came up in a conversation just the other day. Didn’t it, Gregory?”
“Don’t start,” Gregory warned. “Or else I’ll have to tell Mom about the chocolate cutie I found in your bed Friday night.”
This led to a rebuttal from Michael, laughter from Troy, clarifications from Gregory—basically three grown men all talking at once.
Jackie listened to the ruckus for a moment, secretly glad for the cacophony of sound that filled the home that was sometimes all too quiet. She looked at her boys-turned-men and marveled at how fast the time had gone by. She thought of her late husband and their father, Sam, and how proud he’d be of them. Insisting that they break bread together once a month was her way of maintaining the closeness they’d shared growing up and keeping the family intact. What a legacy he’d left. One that won’t continue if these boys of mine don’t stop their whorish ways!
“All right, boys, that’s enough. Now, listen. I know that you all are grown, and that what you do in your private lives is really none of my business. But none of us are getting any younger. Michael, soon you’ll be thirty-two years old. Gregory, you’re already twenty-nine, and Troy, you’re just a year behind him. By the time your dad and I were your ages, our family was complete.” Her voice softened as she looked around the table. “I loved being married to your father. Being single is great, but it is nothing compared to life with the right partner beside you. You don’t want to be too old to play catch with your sons or swing your daughters in the air. And once they reach high school age, you don’t want their friends asking if you’re the grandfather. I’m tired of being the only female in this family. It’s time for some in-laws and grandchildren. So, Michael . . . you need to get on it!”
“Whoa, why me?”
“’Cause you’re the oldest,” Gregory and Troy replied simultaneously.
“What about you, Mom?” Troy asked, wiping his mouth with a napkin as he leaned back in his chair. “Did you use those digits I slipped you and call Robert?”
Jackie gave Troy a playful slap on the arm. “I’m not like these forward girls these days. What would it look like for me to be calling up your superior?”
“Not superior, Ma. When his type of expertise is needed, he works for me. As I told you before, Robert retired from the police force after thirty-five years of service. He’s a good man, respectable, and when I told him about you, he sounded interested.” Jackie tsked, but her eyes showed a bit of a sparkle. “You’re too young to be spending so much time in this house, watching those beautiful sunsets alone.”
“I tell you what. You all gather dates to invite to our dinner next month, and I’ll think about having a date of my own.”
After that, the dinner conversation turned to what was happening in their professional lives, a topic that continued when Gregory and Michael later walked to their cars.
“I’m a bit curious as to how Shayna is doing,” Gregory said to Michael. “Still no word?”
“Not directly. She texted me a message earlier that she was okay, but I haven’t talked to her. I’ll call her now.” Michael retrieved his phone from his pocket and dialed Shayna’s number. He was surprised when a male voice answered, so much so that he checked the face of his phone to make sure he’d dialed correctly. He had. “Uh, yes. I’m trying to reach Shayna Washington.”
“Who’s calling?” the gruff voice demanded.
“A business partner,” was Michael’s somewhat noncommittal reply, delivered in a voice that was especially calm considering the way his mind raced. Who is this guy? Why is he answering Shayna’s phone? And the most important question. What business is it of mine as to either who or why?
“Shayna’s, uh, a little busy with her man right now.” A pause and then, “Is there a message?”
Michael frowned. Jarrell? Naw, couldn’t be. “No, no message.” He hung up the phone, his mind in a whirlwind. Surely Shayna wouldn’t be with the very man who’d attacked her on Friday. Two days ago. But if not that knucklehead, who was answering her phone? And what was this distinctly uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach? He called Shayna’s phone again. When it went straight to voice mail, his concern increased.
“What’s the matter?” Gregory asked.
“A man just answered Shayna’s phone.”
Gregory raised a brow. “Is that a problem?”
Michael was already heading to his car. “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”
“Michael!”
Too late. Michael had already reached his car and had started it up. As Michael accelerated out of the parking structure, Gregory hurried to his car, pulling out his phone and calling his headstrong older brother as he walked.
11
Shayna hurried from the bathroom to the living room, sure she’d heard her phone ring. She walked in to find it in Jarrell’s hand. “Who was that?” she asked, rushing over to take her phone.
“Wrong number,” Jarrell easily lied, holding the phone just out of Shayna’s reach.
“Give me the phone
, Jay!”
A sound from the other side of the living room wall reminded both Jarrell and Shayna that they were not alone. Shayna guessed that that was the point. Talisha hadn’t been at all happy with the idea of Jarrell coming over, but neither she nor Cameron would hear of Shayna going anywhere to meet him. It was enough that Shayna had given in to her mother’s pleading and saw him at all. Let it be said that Beverly Powell was nothing if not persuasive. By the time she’d talked to Shayna, Jarrell had already given her and his brother, Larsen, his side of the story. He’d only wanted to talk to her. He loved her, and just wanted them to be the family they’d always talked about since being sixteen years old. Please, Shayna thought indignantly, tell that to someone who doesn’t have cracked ribs. A point that she hadn’t even bothered divulging to her mother. Given the history, Beverly would have undoubtedly found a way for even that to be Shayna’s fault.
She snatched the phone from Jarrell. The last call displayed was her mother’s, from a half hour ago, the call that had landed Shayna in the predicament that she was in now. What kind of mother did that? What kind of mother tried to talk her daughter back into seeing a man who cheated on her? One who was married to the ex-boyfriend’s brother maybe, who’d always tried to be less of a mother and more like a friend—even the competition on occasion. She eyed Jarrell before crossing over to the bar counter separating the kitchen from the living/dining area. After leaning against it and crossing her arms, she spoke. “You put my mother in the middle of this, knowing she’d bug me even more than you. That is the only reason that you’re over here, so I can try and keep peace in the family. So I’m asking for the last time. What. Do. You. Want?”
“I told you,” Jarrell said, as he began to cross the room. When he saw her tense up, he threw his hands up in an exasperated gesture and sat on the couch instead. “I came over to apologize. I can’t believe I put my hands on you, Shayna. You know the last thing I would ever want to do is hurt you. I was just so frustrated the other night that I saw you and, I don’t know . . . I just snapped.”
“You may not have meant to hurt me, Jay. But you have, more than once.”
“What? I’ve never before laid a hand on you.”
“There’s more than one type of pain, Jay.”
“I know, because you’ve hurt me too. But I’m not trying to make excuses, Shayna. I’m so sorry for grabbing you the other night.”
“You’ve already said that, Jay, on Friday night; left a few messages, remember?”
“I didn’t know if you’d gotten them.”
“I got them.”
Jarrell smiled, revealing a dimple that used to melt her heart. “Do you forgive me, baby?”
Instead of answering, Shayna stood straight and crossed her arms, glaring at Jarrell through narrowed eyes. Her roommate was right. No matter how much her own mother had encouraged it, Shayna had been crazy to agree to see Jarrell, to “hear him out” as her mother had suggested. She wasn’t afraid of him, just done with him. As it was, Talisha had refused to leave the condo as long as Jarrell was there. She and Cameron were holed up in her bedroom—ears to the door, fists at the ready, Shayna presumed—prepared to roll gangsta into the living room at the first sign of trouble. Talisha had even threatened to call Shayna’s mother and give her a piece of her mind. Even though that was probably the right thing to do, Shayna had talked her best friend out of it. Nobody understood why Shayna protected the woman who seemed not to protect her, why she did whatever Beverly Powell asked in order to get what always seemed lacking: acceptance.
“What you really want to know, and why you enlisted my mother’s help in listening to you, is if I called the cops. The answer is no—not yet.”
“Why would you call the cops?”
“Look at me!” Shayna hadn’t told Jarrell about her cracked ribs, but her face was enough to show that she’d been assaulted.
“I called your mother because I couldn’t reach you, because I’d combed the streets after you ran away and when I couldn’t find you, had stayed near your car for another hour. I was going crazy with worry, Shayna.”
“You were going crazy all right. I’ve got the bruises to prove it.”
“You hurt yourself trying to get away from me, Shayna. I just wanted to talk.”
“I’ve told you a hundred times already, Jay. There’s nothing left for us to talk about. I told Mom that as well. Neither one of you are listening.”
“Beverly knows how I feel about you. How much I love you, that’s all. She wants all of us to stay a family. Her and my brother and—me and you.”
Shayna knew that both Jarrell’s and her mother’s motives had nothing to do with her well-being, and everything to do with their own selfish agendas. Being known as an abuser might sully Jarrell’s long-term aspirations, the ones he’d shared with her from the time they were children, while her mother . . . Shayna shook her head to break the thought. She didn’t want to think about Beverly Powell’s twisted motives right about now.
“Jay, I don’t know any better way to say it. I need a break.” And not in my ribs.
“Please tell me that you forgive me, Shayna. And that we can just, you know, put this behind us.”
“Whether or not I forgive you isn’t important, Jarrell. What I need you to do is to understand that right now what I want is space.”
“How long have we known each other, Shayna? Can’t we at least be friends?”
“You’ve said what you came to say, Jay. Now you need to leave. I have things to do.”
“Okay, I’ll leave. But you’re sure you’re all right?”
“I’m okay.” No thanks to you. Shayna walked to the door and opened it. “Good-bye, Jarrell.”
Jarrell took his time in rising from the couch. He walked over to the door, stopping directly in front of Shayna. “I’ll always love you. Remember that.”
Shayna stood back so she could open the door wider. Jarrell got the message. He left.
12
No sooner had she closed the door than Talisha came out of her bedroom. “Geez, I thought he’d never leave. Are you okay?” Shayna nodded, even though her insides were shaking. “That asshole has a lot of nerve,” Talisha continued, walking into the kitchen. “If you want me and Cameron to stay here this evening, you know, in case he comes back, we’ll do it.” A flash of light from the bar counter caught her eye. “Your phone, Shay,” she said, picking up the cell and walking into the living room.
“What?” Shayna reached for her phone. “Shoot, that was Michael.” Checking, she found that the sound had been turned down. “I didn’t turn the ringer off. I caught Jay with my phone. He must have turned it off.” She cleared the missed call and realized there had been two others. Michael. She hit redial.
Michael answered on the first ring. “Shayna.”
Shayna sensed a seriousness beneath Michael’s one-word greeting. “Sorry I missed your call, Michael. My ringer was off.”
“I heard you were busy.”
“Who told you that?” She flinched as the reflexive question was asked. There was only one answer—Jarrell—and only one way Michael would know that—if Jarrell had answered her phone. Shayna thought of possible answers and they were all terrifying: that Jarrell had identified himself as a friend (the least terrifying of choices), that he had identified himself as a boyfriend (which would be okay if not for the unacknowledged feelings she had for Michael), that he not only identified himself as Jarrell but also as her boyfriend (which would make her look like what she was not—a fool), or that he identified himself as the abusive ex-boyfriend who’d still been invited into her home (which would make her look not only like a fool, but a crazy one at that!). She opened her mouth. Words refused to come out. But knowing that being as quiet as the proverbial church mouse made her sound guilty at worst and stupid at best, she dug into her bag of tricks and pulled out some confidence. Clearing her throat, she spoke into the silence. “Why are you calling, Michael?”
“I saw my brother ear
lier. He asked about you.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, he wanted to know how you’re feeling. I told him that other than the message you sent last night and the quick text today, I hadn’t heard.”
Shayna carefully sat on one of three swivel-styled, bar-high chairs encased in soft, cream-colored leather. Her hand went to the bandage tightly wound around her torso as she looked out the patio glass of their second-story condo and peered at the barely discernible stars beyond a hazy sky. She’d always felt their place cozy, with its neutral-colored furniture, tan carpeting, and splashes of color through vases and art. But now, hearing Michael’s voice, she was reminded of his place and the understated yet obvious luxury of his paradise—the feel of the bamboo flooring beneath her bare feet, the way his high-count sheets had caressed her bare thighs. The memories were still so fresh it was as if she could smell his cologne. She subconsciously breathed in to try and catch the scent.
“Shayna.”
“I’m sorry, Michael. I was distracted by something outside.” And something within. “I still feel sore and honestly the binding is a bit uncomfortable. But I was afraid to unwrap it because I don’t want to do further damage. I have to get back in shape as soon as possible, hopefully in time for our next meet.”
“Didn’t you say that was in three weeks?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know about that, Shayna. Tell you what. Gregory is on his way over to my house. Why don’t you meet us there so that he can take a look at your bandages and make adjustments if necessary.”
“Sure, I can come over—oh, wait a minute.” Shayna looked down at what she was wearing, the baggy sweats that her roommates had provided, and wondered if she could dress herself in something a little more presentable—translated: sexier—for her visit with the doctor. Unfortunately, there was nothing sexy about the sound that tore from her lips when she reached up to try and remove her loose-fitting top.
“Something the matter?”
“No,” Shayna lied, trying to put her mask of bravery back into place. She bit down on her lip, taking a deep breath and standing still until the pain subsided. “I can be over there in about half an hour. Is that okay?”