Amaechi knew that, and it was as if he liked to fight with me to prove that he was the new man in our lives. Then his ex-wife passed, so his daughter, Nneka, came to live with us. She was a stuck-up brat who was two years younger than me and always had an issue with the girl in her father’s house who was getting her father full-time. Once she moved in, she made it her mission in life to prove to me that she was her father’s child and had his heart, not me.
“So, Tempest, what’s this news that you had to tell us?”
I inwardly shrank at my mother’s question and ignored the excitement in her eyes. This was supposed to have been the day that I finally told them about my engagement. Amaechi and Nneka always treated me like I was handicapped. They acted as if my scars made me less of a human being. When I didn’t have a date for prom, when years went by without me ever getting engaged, they seemed to gloat in my misery, so I had kept my relationship to myself, until the moment I finally found something real.
However, I had prematurely assumed that I could finally tell them about Derrick at this month’s family dinner since we were getting married.
I felt all three of them staring at me. I could feel the smirk laced on Nneka’s face, assuming that whatever I had to say was minuscule compared to her perfect, exciting life of marriage to a handsome man, vacations, and other fabulousness.
“Tempest?” I hated the sound of Amaechi’s voice. It was always laced with so much condescending judgment.
“I’m…” I cleared my throat, attempting to think of a lie quickly, in order to keep them from making me feel like the insecure girl they always made me feel like. “I’m getting married.”
“What?!” my mother squealed, clasping her hands together with a smile.
“To who?” Nneka asked, not even attempting to hide her shock.
I narrowed my eyes at her, forcing myself to lie again. “His name is Derrick.”
“I didn’t even know you were seeing someone,” Nneka kept at it.
Turning my lips up, I spat, “Why would I tell you that?”
Besides hating Nneka and Amaechi, I was never comfortable introducing them to Derrick. I knew they would be able to sniff out that we weren’t really in love. I refused to give Nneka and Amaechi that satisfaction.
“Girls, don’t start,” my mother hurriedly hushed us. Then she turned towards me with a loving, wide smile. “Let me see the ring.”
Forcing myself to keep this charade going, I slipped the ring from the Gucci purse hooked onto my chair and slid it on my finger. The diamonds in the two-carat halo engagement ring sparkled in the track lighting of the kitchen. I silently thanked God that Derrick had allowed me to keep it as my mother excitedly took my hand and marveled at it.
“Oooooh my Goooood!” she squealed. “I am so happy for you!”
“When did you meet this man?” Amaechi pressed as if he could sniff out my lie.
I avoided his eyes. I kept my attention on my mother, the only person in the room with any happiness in her eyes for me. “Two years ago in Miami.”
“Why haven’t me and your mother met him?” Amaechi quizzed.
Before my annoyance could take over, my mother lightly squeezed my hand.
I understood her unspoken signal to please play along, so I did. “Well, I never wanted to introduce anyone to you all until I knew I’d found the one. And Derrick is the one.”
“And how do you know this?” he kept probing.
“Because he loves me just like my daddy did,” I smiled.
Nneka sucked her teeth loudly as her father put his eyes back into his bowl of smothered oxtails and cheese grits.
“What does he do for a living?” Nneka added with the same questionable glare in her eyes that her father had.
Frustrated with the inability to come up with too many lies so quickly, I sucked my teeth. “Will you give my mother a chance to focus on my ring before you start hating?”
I ignored their sly sneers and the unspoken comments that they were making to each other with their eyes and focused on my mother’s happiness.
I knew why my mother was so excited, and it wasn’t just because her only child was finally getting married. My eagerness to marry Derrick was not only to become a wife. As I said before, I was aware that we weren’t passionately in love. Much of my motivation to marry him, and my dismay in our engagement ending, was because of the very looks of shock and dismay I was getting from Nneka and Amaechi.
Upon marrying my mother, before knowing that he and I would have this distant relationship, Amaechi had agreed to provide me with an inheritance, as he had his own child. It was in their prenuptial agreement. However, he had added a clause that I could only inherit the million dollars when I was married. I believed that he had put that clause in their because he felt as if no one would marry a woman as deformed as I was.
Amaechi had always spoiled Nneka. Growing up, she had never had to ask twice for anything. Yet, I had to earn my car when I turned sixteen. I had to show my perfect grades in order to ensure that my tuition was paid. He was much of the reason why I had gone away to college and stayed out of Chicago until I had gotten my master’s and could afford to live on my own… though I was doing that, barely.
Now, Nneka was married to an NFL player. She had snagged him right out of college. He was often away at games, practices, or traveling. He was barely home, but let her tell it, her life was perfect.
She had received her inheritance and secured the bag by marrying one. She was set for life.
I had never told Derrick about my impending inheritance because I wanted to ensure that he wanted me for me, and not the money.
“I cannot wait to meet this man!” my mother gushed as she finally let go of my hand. “Tell me all about him.”
“Nina, we’re eating dinner,” Amaechi interrupted. “You all can save that conversation for later.”
My mother and I held a knowing stare. Her eyes begged me to comply while mine told her that this was the very reason why I rarely came around. Amaechi and Nneka took every opportunity to demean me, but, for my mother, I’d always bit my tongue. Yet, Amaechi’s money catapulting me into entrepreneurship and a better life was the exact payback I needed.
Now, I just needed to find a husband.
Chapter 4
Tempest Murphy
“Are you on your way yet, girl?”
“Yeeees,” I slightly sang. “You?”
“Yea,” Erica answered. “I just got in the car.”
Later that night, I was in an Uber, on my way to meet one of my line sisters and closest friends, Erica, at the club. I was in desperate need of some drinks and a good time after the last three days I’d had, especially after sitting through that god-awful family dinner last night.
I still couldn't believe that I had told such an extravagant lie, but the way Amaechi and Nneka had treated my announcement, as if it were an unbelievable joke, had me insistent upon fully playing this lie out.
Amidst Erica excitedly telling me about the bar and grill that we were on our way to, I noticed the Uber driver making quite a few wrong turns. So many nightmarish stories had been told lately of Uber drivers being involved in sex trafficking that my guard instantly went up.
“Wait a minute, Erica. Hold on.” Then I leaned forward a bit and addressed the driver, “Excuse me, sir, you’re going the wrong way.”
“I’m picking up my next customer.”
Confused, I asked, “Excuse me?”
“You ordered an Uber pool.”
I sat back, annoyed. “Shit.”
Erica’s antennas went up. “What's wrong?”
“I ordered an Uber pool on accident,” I groaned.
“Why are you in an uber anyway?” Erica quizzed in her soothing, sultry, feminine voice. I always joked with her that she sounded like Girl 6.
“Because I plan on getting white girl wasted tonight. I need it.”
“Awww, sis. You’re going to be okay. You’ve lived through worse and lived to tell
about it. You will get through this, too.”
I slightly rolled my eyes. I knew Erica meant well. However, I was so sick of people expecting me to take life’s negative licks and keep on ticking just because I had survived being on fire and the loss of my father. I was tired of being strong. A person can only take so much.
However, since me and Erica were good friends, in addition to line sisters, I knew she meant well. She was one of the very few good friends I had who didn’t treat me like a charity case because of my disfigurements, which was why she was the only person that knew about me and Derrick’s break up thus far. She was also the only person who knew about my impending inheritance.
“I think I overdressed,” Erica complained.
I looked out of the window, enjoying the scenery of the southside of Chicago. Contrary to what the news preferred to portray, Chicago was a beautiful city, especially Bronzeville. I loved living there because it was the perfect combination of the inner city with the elements that I loved of downtown Chicago, like shopping, cafes, and events. Bronzeville is the center of African American life and culture in Chicago. It is historically known as the city’s “Black Metropolis” because of its rich history and flourishing modern-day renaissance. It is the home to a diverse business community, historic landmarks, and lively events.
“Why?” I asked Erica just as the Uber rode past the Harold Washington Cultural Center. There was a line down the block. I wondered what was showing there.
“It's just a bar and grill. I don’t think it requires a mini dress and Red Bottoms.”
“Damn,” I taunted her playfully. “You tryin’ to get chose tonight?”
“Always,” she teased.
Erica started to go on and on about not having gotten any good dick in so long. As I laughed at her snarky remarks about the average-sized dick failure of a booty call she had endured the night before, I noticed that my Uber had made a few turns into a very nice neighborhood, which neighbored mine in Bronzeville.
Damn, these are some nice-ass condos.
These condominiums were further south than where I lived on 34th and Cottage Grove. They were nearer the University of Chicago campus, which had been renovated beautifully in hopes of the Obama library being built eventually.
“I wish Kenny’s big dick ass would call me.”
I giggled, shaking my head as if she could see me. “You are so sprung off of that dude.”
“Of course, I am. That dick is magical.”
“But he is finicky as hell,” I reminded her.
Kenny was a random booty call that Erica was only able to enjoy when Kenny was in the mood. He was the typical Scorpi-hoe. It was obvious that he had a staple of women. He had never once mentioned being interested in anything close to a committed relationship with Erica. They rarely met in public. Most of their dates were in their homes, Netflix and chilling. However, Erica didn’t mind being one of many at all, as long as she got a turn on that magical carpet ride every now and then.
The Uber slowed down to a stop in front of a building which had been inspired by Japanese architecture. I marveled at the structure just as a large, tall figure emerged from the entrance of the building.
I cringed and muttered, “Great,” once noticing his thug-like appearance. Even in the darkness, he looked rough and hood.
“What’s wrong?” Erica questioned.
“Leave it to me to accidentally order an Uber pool and end up sharing a ride with some Suge Knight, hood-ass looking nigga.”
“That’s what you need in your life, instead of some uptight, bougie dude like Derrick.”
“Derrick is not bougie.”
“Giiiiirl, he drank martinis.”
I giggled. She wasn’t lying.
As the next rider opened the passenger door, I told Erica, “Let me call you back.”
It would have been way too awkward to carry on our conversation with a stranger in the backseat with me.
“Okay, girl. See you soon.”
“Okay.”
I hung up and scooted over as close to my window as possible, praying this dude didn’t attempt to hold a conversation with me.
Damien Coleman
Fuck, did I get an Uber pool?
I shook my head, walking up on the Uber, realizing that the night was still early, but I was already tripping.
I was meeting my right hand, Meek, at the club, and had requested an Uber because I was already lit. After the week I’d had, I didn’t need to add a DUI to the bullshit. Considering that I drove a Charger, and I was a Black man who fit all the descriptions, I wasn’t getting behind the wheel of not even a fucking bike that night.
I needed some relief that only liquor, weed, and pussy could give me, so I was eager to get to the club. I had already finished a blunt and a half of a fifth of 1738. I was hoping to meet some ass at the club in order to finish this night off right.
It had been a minute since I’d fucked something. Maya had been holding out on me for months. And contrary to what she believed, I wasn’t out here that bad that I was sleeping with every chick who threw herself at me. But since she had opted out of our relationship for good and gotten her own crib, I was in rare form.
As I opened the passenger back door, I was relieved that it was a woman sitting behind the driver. She looked to have some sense and was quietly scrolling through her phone.
The Uber driver asked, “Damien?” as I climbed in and shut the door.
I settled into the backseat of the Lexus. “Yea, that’s me.”
“Okay…” The driver hesitated as he punched a few buttons in his app. “And… Oh, you both are going to the same location. Cool.” Then the driver turned his music back up a bit and pulled off.
I looked over at the shorty riding with me. However, she wasn’t even paying me an ounce of attention as she sat, practically pressed against the passenger door with all of her attention in her phone.
“How you doin’?” I spoke.
“Fine,” she spat quickly without looking up.
Bougie ass.
She was pretty, though. Even though she wouldn’t give me her eyes, I could see her beauty from where I sat. Her hair was long and appeared to be natural. Even though it was dark outside and in the Uber, the streetlight gave me a little lighting to see that she had that color melanin that I loved; dark like the smoothest, richest cocoa bean.
Her face wasn’t the world’s definition of beauty, but there was an energy radiating from behind her eyes that drew you in. It was her natural ordinariness that made her stunning.
Her mouth was what drew me to her the most, however. It was unusually shaped into a natural pucker and her bottom lip hung heavier than the top one.
Since she wasn’t giving me any action, I shrugged and pulled out my phone. I had dealt with the rejection of enough women that week. In addition to Maya breaking it off with me and moving out, my sister wasn’t talking to me because she was pissed that I had dog walked her bitch ass boyfriend. I wasn’t trying to bring on any more drama just because I was ready to fuck something. I started scrolling my Instagram feed. I wasn’t the type of nigga who posted every day all day on social media, but I did like following certain blogs and artists to stay up on what was current in fashion and music.
One of Meek’s posts was one of the first on my feed. He was already in the club, in VIP, popping bottles. He had tagged me, saying he was waiting for me to join the party.
I chuckled to myself, shaking my head as I watched the video of him pouring D'usse for half-naked hoes who I was sure he didn’t know but was getting well acquainted with.
I swiped through the app to the messages and sent Meek one: My nigga.
Maya Bradford
Property of a Savage Page 4
