The Ex Factor: A Novel

by Whitaker, Tu-Shonda

  “Why would you do that, Imani?”

  “Do what?”

  “Break Kree.”

  “I didn't break Kree and why you in my business?”

  “I love Kree.”

  “You have a father.”

  “I don't like Walik! You're the one who likes Walik, not me!” Jamal yelled. “Call Kree, Imani, please. I just wanna say good-bye.”

  Imani got off the couch and walked into her bedroom. She was sick of Jamal. He followed behind her. “Please…”

  “I'ma smack the shit outta you!”

  “I can't believe this!” Jamal started to cry and stomp. “I loved Kree, he was my daddy. He said I was his boy and that we could do some things! How could he just leave me!”

  “Jamal, you have your Pa-pa Red.”

  “Red makes me sick!” Jamal kicked over the chair in Imani's room. “I've been waiting by this stupid window”—he pounded his fist—“saving this stupid candy”—he emptied his pockets and crushed his candy with his feet—“and all this time he wasn't coming back! I'm mad, Imani!” His tears started flying everywhere. “I'm so mad! Kree was my dad and he just left me.”

  Imani couldn't believe it. What the hell was she supposed to say? “Jamal…I-I didn't think you cared whether he said goodbye or not. I thought you would just get over it. I mean, you got me, and all I had was my mother.”

  “Is that what your daddy did, Imani, he just left you?” Jamal asked.

  “Yeah, Jamal.” Imani wiped her eyes. “I guess he did.”

  (Monica)

  “I'M GETTING READY to leave for work, baby,” Sharief said to Monica, kissing her on the forehead. “What time are you leaving?”

  “In a minute. I'ma get up now.” She stretched. “Have the kids left for school?”

  “Yeah, I saw them off a little while ago. All right, I have to work a little late today. So I'll call you.” He kissed her again and left. As Monica heard the front door close, she turned over in bed and called out sick. She'd plan to call out since last night, she just didn't want Sharief to know she'd be home. Lately money had been extremely tight, and she didn't want to hear him complaining.

  First I'm going food shopping, Monica thought, and then I'ma come home and sit my fat ass on the couch and watch the soaps all day. She dressed and headed for downtown Brooklyn. She went to Key Food first and brought three bags of snacks. She couldn't wait to get home. All she could think of was a day alone. For a moment she thought about Sharief, so she called the station to see if he wanted something to eat for later.

  “Detective Winston, please.”

  “Detective Winston is not here.”

  “Will he be back… this is his-his-his fiancée.” Monica figured that fiancée had a better ring to it than girlfriend.

  “Ma'am, you need to speak with the detective about that. I have no idea when he'll be back.”

  Monica could tell the officer was getting agitated. “Just one more thing. Can you please tell me the last time he was at work?”

  “Almost a month ago, ma'am. Now I really need to go.”

  Monica stood still for a moment. Trying to think of what was going on in her life a month ago. She couldn't put her finger on it… for some reason she felt like she'd been fat, broke, and pregnant forever.

  Monica jumped in the car and drove home. She tried her best not to think much because she knew it would only make her head pound. She opened her front door with grocery bags in her arms and there was Sharief, lying on the couch. His feet were stretched over the arm with a beer in his hand and two empty bottles on the floor. He gave Monica a crooked smile as she stood in front of him. She placed her hand on the side of her protruding stomach. “What the hell are you doing here? I thought you were at work.”

  “Naw,” he said.

  Monica could tell he was half drunk. She ran her hands over her eight-month belly. “Why not?”

  “I decided to take the day off so I came back home.”

  “And how many days have you been leaving and coming back home?”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” He took a sip of his beer.

  “I called the station and they told me you hadn't been to work in a month, so why are you lying?”

  “ 'Cause I knew this is how you would act.”

  “Don't put the shit off on me!” she screamed.

  “See.” He sat up. “Look at you. Do you know how hard it is for a black man—”

  “Save that bullshit! Why aren't you at work and where have you been?”

  “I been coming home every day. You know Celeste pressed charges on me.”

  “That was months ago. You told me that she hasn't been in court. And you said that the same lawyer I spent all my money on promised the case would be thrown out.”

  “Well, when you're black man in the police force—”

  “I don't wanna hear no shit about you being black, save that. What the hell is going on that you aren't working? We need money, Sharief. I'm a nurse and I only make so much money— not enough to support five people. Now, you better talk and talk quick because I can't take it and I need to know something!”

  “My captain suspended me.”

  “Suspended you?” Monica was stunned. “What happened to desk duty?”

  “My captain didn't find me fit, so he suspended me.”

  “But you said that since he called in a favor for you, he wouldn't suspend you.”

  “Well he did.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he did!” Sharief snapped. “Shit!”

  “But you said desk duty,” Monica pressed.

  “Look, I was already on desk duty.”

  “Why?”

  “A few months ago I was making an arrest and accidentally shot the guy.”

  “So what, you're a cop, y'all are always accidentally shooting somebody.”

  “They accused me of being drunk when I did it. But I wasn't. Come on, baby, I don't even drink like that. So when I went to report to work a month ago, my captain announced that I had to leave, that administration made a decision to suspend me without pay, pending Celeste's charges.”

  Monica looked around her house, her eyes darting from one piece of furniture to the next. “I'm having a baby, Sharief. I can't take care of you, my baby, and three other children.”

  “Oh, a niggah down on his luck and now he and his kids gotta step?”

  “I never said that. I just said that I can't do it all.”

  “Look.” Sharief walked up to Monica and placed his hand on her stomach. “It's gon' be all right, baby. Just trust me.”

  “I'm trying to.” Monica's eyes welled up with tears. “I really am trying to.”

  (Imani)

  “I'MA BEAT YOUR ass, Jamal!” was the routine statement that Imani had been screaming at her son all week. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” All week long Jamal had been in everything. From fighting the kids down the street to breaking things around the house. And Walik making promises every day and never keeping them was making the situation even worse.

  As Imani looked out the window she heard a knock on the door. She walked over and looked out the peephole. It was Walik. “What?” she said, snatching the door open.

  “Wassup?” Walik stepped inside. “I came by to see my son.” Imani looked at her watch. “It's ten o'clock in the morning on a Thursday. He's in school.”

  “Oh,” Walik said, sitting down on the couch. “I'll wait for him.”

  “That wasn't an invitation for you to come in,” she said sarcastically.

  “Whatever, yo.” Walik looked around the room. “So wassup? You can't never call a niggah?”

  “You keep waitin' for that phone call.” Imani rolled her eyes. “Anyway, when Jamal comes home from school maybe you can talk to him about the way he's been acting.”

  “Yo, he don't listen to me. His ass is spoiled.”

  “Why don't you take him out so y'all can get your hair braided together. He gets out of school at three. You can walk d
own and pick him up.”

  “What? Yo, I don't do that. When I get my hair braided that's my time.”

  “What about his time?”

  “I spend time with my son.”

  “When?”

  “When I spend time, shit. I'm here now.”

  “But why are you here? He's in school. You ain't come here to see him, you came here to beg for some pussy, which you ain't gettin'. You know what, just step.”

  “What, bitch?”

  Imani rubbed the temples of her forehead. “I tell you what.” She looked at Walik. “Be gone.”

  “You putting me out?” Walik couldn't believe it. “Ai'ight, it's good, I can check Shante anyway.”

  “Okay,” Imani said, holding the front door open. “You do that.”

  As soon as she slammed the door behind him her phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Ms. Imani Reid, please.”

  “Yes.”

  “Ms. Reid, this is Ms. Wilkerson. Jamal's teacher.”

  “Is everything okay?” Imani started to panic.

  “Well, no. I really need to see you. Jamal's being suspended from school for fighting. And for the past two weeks, he's been disrupting the entire class.”

  … … …

  I'MA BUST THIS li'l niggah's ass! were Imani's thoughts on her way to pick up Jamal. When the hell did he become a terror at school? A class clown, yeah. But a terror? Hell no.

  “Ms. Reid,” Jamal's teacher said. “Lately Jamal's been out of control.”

  Imani did her best to control her anger and embarrassment.

  “While Jamal is a good child,” the teacher continued, “he seems to be having trouble with listening, which seems to affect his behavior. Is there anything going on at home?”

  I wanna fight this bitch, Imani thought, I really do. “Excuse me?”

  The teacher went on, “He's not doing well with following directions and the fighting must stop. We will not tolerate that here. Please talk to him. He can come back in two days.”

  … … …

  “GO TO YOUR room, Jamal!” Imani screamed at him as soon as they got home. “Go to your damn room!” Imani picked up the phone and called Monica on her cell phone. “Monica.”

  “Yes, Imani. I just got off work,” Monica said, sounding annoyed.

  Imani started crying. “I don't know what to do with Jamal. Every day it's something different with him. Today he got suspended from school.”

  “What? Why?”

  “For fighting.”

  “My nephew Jamal?” Monica couldn't believe it. “Are you sure?”

  “Oh, Monica, please, I just went and picked him up.”

  “What about your new boyfriend, Kree? You said that Jamal loves him. Maybe you should have him talk to Jamal and see what's going on.”

  “I wish I could,” Imani snapped. “I don't go with him anymore.”

  “I thought Jamal really liked him.”

  “So what? Jamal'll like the next man.”

  “Well, just how many men do you plan on introducing him to? What the hell is wrong with you? You don't just up and introduce your son to man after man and think that he should just deal with it when you break up. Stop it and stop it right now. You know what we went through. I will not have my nephew going through that shit. It's hard enough not having his real father; don't take every man that he loves and trusts away. Get your shit together, Imani. I have enough problems of my own, believe me.”

  “Humph, speaking of your problems, how's Raven Symone and the Olsen twins?”

  “Getting on my fuckin' nerves. I can't stand it. My house is never clean. All they do is argue and fight. All I hear all night is, Leave me alone, don't copy me. I'm telling, and get outta my room.”

  “Whose room?”

  “Nobody's room, how about that's my fuckin' office and your room is in New Jersey. I'm sick of 'em!”

  “Well, what I wanna know is why do you sound like a single parent? Hell, you got ole boy there, shit. You snuck Celeste for his ass, make good use of 'im.”

  “I don't even want to discuss that.”

  “Me either, because every time I think about it, I get pissed off.”

  “I have to go.”

  “I'm sure you do. Bye.” Imani held the phone in her hand. She looked toward Jamal's room and shook her head. Fuck it, she thought, what's the worst that can happen? Imani dialed Kree's number and a soft female voice with a Puerto Rican accent answered on the first ring.

  Oh hell no, Imani thought as her throat filled with an iron fist. Instantly her stomach started doing back flips and she felt sick. Imani thought about hanging up but she couldn't bring herself to do it, so instead she bit her bottom lip, took a deep breath, and said, “Why the fuck is you answering Kree's phone?!”

  “Who is this?!” the soft Puerto Rican voice suddenly became harsh.

  “Why bitch? This ain't yo' phone! Now put Kree on the line!” “Quién es ése?” Imani could hear Kree speaking Spanish in the background.

  “Kree,” the girl shouted in Spanish, “no sé quien es, pero ella quemará si yo cojo esta perra …”

  “Oh hold it,” Imani snarled, “you talkin' a whole lotta ying-yang trick.” Imani was pissed that she didn't understand what the girl had said about her. “If you so bad, why don't you speak English, fuckin' lifeboat refugee! Go win a green card lottery or some shit. Translate that, bitch! Dumb-ass plaintain banana speakin' ho!”

  “Oh you done lost every bit of your little-ass mind?!” Kree laughed in disbelief. “You loco, Mami?”

  “Oh you just screwin' anything movin', huh?”

  “Why? You jealous 'cause she don't need no help speaking Spanish?” Kree said sarcastically, as he moved his mouth from the receiver and began speaking Spanish and laughing with the girl in the background.

  “Kree!” Imani screamed. “I know you not talking about me!”

  “What, no hablo Español ?”

  “You know what, fuck you, Kree!”

  “Ai'ight peace.” Kree hung up.

  Immediately Imani started to cry. After a few moments of feeling sorry for herself, the phone rang. “Yeah,” she sniffed.

  “Yeah, look, whatever man,” Kree said defensively. “Wassup, what is it, and get to the point. I got shit to do. I brought some new sneakers and I need to lace 'em, so don't keep me on the line with you breathing in my ear and shit too long, 'cause in a few minutes I'ma hang up on you.”

  “Kree—”

  “And skip all the hood-rat dramatics too, ma, get to the point.”

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Imani asked, taken aback, “Your dick grew or some shit?”

  “You got five seconds and you've already used up two.”

  “You know what?” Imani took a deep breath. “Look, this is not about me, this is about my son.”

  “Wassup with my li'l man?” Kree asked seriously. “He ai'ight?”

  “No. He's been crying for you. He's acting up in school and all kinds of shit and he got suspended today.”

  “Where's his father—the one that's going to be around for twelve more years?”

  “Look, he keeps making him promises that he never keeps. Jamal loves you—he don't give a fuck about Walik—but you… he needs you.”

  “You know I'll do anything for Jamal. He has nothing to do with this bullshit.”

  “Well… can you come see him? Please, he needs you.” Imani took a deep breath. “I know you're not his father. I know that. And if you don't want to be bothered, I understand. But I'm asking you, please, to come and see my son.” Her throat welled up with tears and she started to cry uncontrollably. “I feel helpless, like I'm a horrible mother who can't control her son.”

  “I wouldn't say all that.”

  “Kree, all Jamal's life I've been running the streets, smoking weed, hanging out, and treating my son like he's a grown-ass man and not a little boy. But he is, he's only six years old and he doesn't understand that I've made bad choices, which seem
to be fucking up his life. I'm begging you and I've never begged a niggah before. Please come see my baby. I know you may not want to see me. I can go in the other room when you come, but please. And I know I have a lot of shit I need to get together… and I will be…but for now it's about Jamal. Please.”

  “I'll see what I can do.”

  … … …

  KREE STOOD IN front of Imani's apartment door, hoping his dick wouldn't rise when he saw her, but as soon as she opened the door, he knew that his dick staying soft would be a difficult task. She wore a pair of tight jeans, and a blue T-shirt with a picture of Angela Davis with her Afro outlined in rhinestones.

  When Imani looked at Kree, her nipples instantly became hard. He looked thuggishly exquisite in his gray sweat pants, matching hoody, black goose-down vest, and Tims. His hair was braided straight to the back and the scent of his Dolce & Gabbana cologne filled Imani's nose. Kree walked in and frowned when he looked at Imani. He started walking close to her until he backed her into a corner. “Let me hit you with this real quick,” his warm breath blew like a summer breeze across her face. “Don't you ever in your short-ass life call my sister a fuckin' lifeboat refugee, 'cause I promised her that the next time, I would let her left-hook the shit outta you! Now”—he took a step back—“where's my man at?”

  Although Kree had just went off on her, all Imani could concentrate on was that he said the girl was his sister—she couldn't care less about anything else he'd said. Imani did all she could to keep from smiling. “Damn, hello to you too.”

  “Don't be smiling at me and shit.” Kree smirked. “Where is Jamal?”

  “In his room.”

  Kree knocked on Jamal's room door and slightly pushed it open. When Jamal turned around and saw Kree's face, his eyes lit up. “Kree! Imani didn't break you! I'm glad you came back! Kree! Yeah, Imani! Kree is here!”

  “I'm sorry I stayed away from you so long, man. I'ma have to do better with that. But check it, what's this I hear about you acting up in school?” Kree said sternly.

  Jamal held his head down. “I got suspended for punching Jahaad King. He makes me sick.”

  “Yo, you know it's a punk move to be fighting and messing up in school, right?”