Never Too Soon

by Tamika Christy

  “I was never a gangbanger.” Jabari clenched his jaw. “Never.”

  For some reason, Sophie believed this.

  But Becky went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “My dad’s connections got you that job as a firefighter, and as soon as he finds out about this, you will lose it.” She stormed toward the door but abruptly turned back to Sophie. “Good luck, sweetie.”

  Five hundred and three.

  After Becky was gone, Jabari grabbed Sophie’s hands again. “This is not who I am. Please believe me. I haven’t touched that girl since before I met you, and I have never, ever cheated on her. I swear. I promise you.” He gently traced her knuckles and spoke softly. “I dig you, Sophie. It was hard for me to do this—that’s why sometimes I just didn’t come around, didn’t call. I’m all messed up in the head. Her dad helped me get on my feet, so I felt guilty about leaving her, but I don’t love her. Please believe me. I’m not some cheating bastard. She was always holding things over my head and playing with my emotions, making me feel like I owed her my life. I was a hustler, but I wasn’t no banger. I was never in a gang.”

  Sophie cocked her head. She felt strangely detached from what was happening. “But you are a cheater, Jabari. That’s all I know you to be.”

  “All I ask is that you give me a chance. I want to start over.”

  She shook her head slowly. “No, Jabari. You lost that option when you lied to me. Excuse my lack of a clinical term, but this is a hot mess, and I’m not going to spend my time trying to make sense of any of it. Good luck.”

  She didn’t close the door behind her, and she didn’t go back. She wasn’t perfect, but she was a good person and didn’t deserve to be lied to. If Jabari behaved this way at the beginning of the relationship, it was undoubtedly a prelude of things to come, and that wasn’t a part of the plan. Relationships were hard enough without that kind of drama. She had watched her mom pine over her dad for years, and she wasn’t going to follow that path. She was sad, but she was also relieved. She stopped counting.

  Unfortunately, she couldn’t undo or un-know the events of the day: Jabari the liar, chain-smoking Becky, and Phil who needed Adult Kumon. The day would go down in history as one of the worse.

  TWENTY FOUR

  Catie was sad and angry. Lately, her days were overshadowed by vague depression. Her clients irritated her more than usual and she didn’t have patience for cancellations or reschedules like she used to. She was worried about the kind of mother she would be. What if she were making a horrible mistake and ended up like her mom? She really thought she was making a breakthrough with therapy. But every once in a while, she got this haunting feeling of looming failure.

  She had already talked to Dr. Rhonda about it and did all the textbook stuff she was supposed to do, but still she struggled. Success, money, and power were no solution for her insecurity and guilt. She had grown up as a foster child and had made her way through the system. She should be proud of herself. But it seemed that no matter the level of success, Catie still felt like the little girl who cowered in the corner at night. The little girl who nobody loved. With only a few weeks left in her pregnancy, she still didn’t feel like she had resolved these issues. And she was scared.

  Most of the time, Catie liked Dr. Rhonda Scott, but sometimes she regretted the day she scheduled that first appointment. Dr. Rhonda was no nonsense and insightful. She could spot a deflection a mile away and often called Catie out on them. Sometimes she knew Catie was going to swerve on an issue even before Catie did. There were multiple awards on the walls and on her shelves of her office.

  Practice of the Year.

  Award for Psychological Contributions.

  Excellence in Diversity.

  “Why didn’t you tell your mom about the abuse?” Rhonda asked during their appointment one Tuesday evening.

  “I did. I told her that he hit me sometimes.”

  “When you misbehaved, right?”

  Catie nodded.

  “I’m talking about the sexual abuse. Why didn’t you tell her about the sexual abuse?”

  Catie looked down at her manicured hands. She had told the lady at the nail shop that she wanted a design on her ring finger, but now she realized it looked like a dead flower.

  “I didn’t know how.” Catie looked up at a black-and-white photo of a large dog with droopy eyes.

  “You knew something was happening to you, didn’t you?” Rhonda never took her eyes off Catie. Rhonda’s cropped red hair was perfectly styled, just like her makeup and tailored pantsuit. She was probably the best-dressed head doctor in town.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you know it was wrong?”

  “Of course I knew it was wrong, but I think I was afraid to admit it. If I admitted it was wrong, it made me angry at my mom. I didn’t want to be angry with her.”

  “And why not?”

  “She was sick. She was always looking for her next hit of drugs, and telling her something like that wouldn’t help. She wouldn’t have been able to handle it.”

  “So you absorbed the pain and stress without telling anyone?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “So, let’s talk about how you move on.” Rhonda shifted in her chair and crossed her legs. Catie saw the bright red on the bottom of her shoes.

  Here we go with the stuff about forgiveness. Again.

  “You are going to have to forgive. Your mom, Bill, and yourself.”

  “Bill is not my father. I don’t have to forgive him.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Catie. You have to forgive him so you can move on. You also have to tell your mom what happened.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you want to talk about ways to make that happen?”

  “Not today.”

  Catie always felt heavy after these sessions, but it was good because she was working her way through the pain. She desperately needed to get through this so she didn’t drag her baby into her trauma like her mom had done. If Leah had worked through some of her issues before becoming a mom, Catie wouldn’t be so damaged because of her actions. Catie wouldn’t make the same mistake. This baby deserved more.

  On the drive home, Catie thought about the crowded bedrooms of her foster homes. The families were almost always low on cash and fostered multiple kids for the money. In every foster home she lived in, there was constant fighting among the kids for attention, clothes, food, or anything else they deemed valuable. She was teased mercilessly at school for her worn out garments. She would be crushed when she walked down the hall and the girls would whisper and laugh.

  One day, she was in class and Demond Wilson randomly started taking inventory of shoes. He named all the different brands of shoes until he got to Catie’s shoes and blurted out, “Salvation Army!” All the kids laughed and Catie wanted to disappear.

  She was afraid to ask her foster parents for new clothes, so she got creative. She was the first person in her school to add rips to her worn-out jeans and cut the collars on her t-shirts and sweatshirts. Catie couldn’t recall the exact day Evelyn Garcia brought an old Warriors t-shirt to school and asked Catie to cut it for her. But she did remember the day Jaycee Gordon offered Catie money to bleach and rip her jeans. And the time the cheerleaders invited her to help them style their spirit week outfits. That school year, she earned almost four hundred dollars, and Miss Anne let her keep all of it.

  Miss Anne was the only foster parent that showed any interest in Catie for something more than a check. “You remind me of myself,” Anne would say through smoke rings. Miss Ann was the smoke-ring master. In the evenings, she would sit and talk to Catie about men. Catie was beautiful, and although Catie hadn’t told anyone about the sexual abuse, Miss Anne seemed to know.

  “Men will tell you anything,” Miss Anne said one night, wrapped in a blue satin robe. Her lips were dark and she never combed her hair, but whenever she had male company, she wore Dottie—her short, curly wig. Miss Anne had a sordid history with men and probably should’ve been the
last person to render advice, but she doled it out anyway.

  Miss Anne always had company after the kids went to bed, but that didn’t stop the kids from sneaking to the bathroom to be nosey. One night, Catie went to the bathroom while Miss Anne had a visitor, and it was an act she would live to regret. When the social worker came to remove Catie, Miss Anne gave her a small blue Bible. “This will protect you,” she said. Catie never saw Miss Anne again. Catie was moved five more times and abused twice more in her foster homes. She built an emotional wall of Teflon and vowed not to let anyone tear it down.

  Catie parked her Cayenne and walked up the steps of the dull yellow house with bright blue trim. She typically visited earlier in the afternoon. But not today. She was a woman with a future and the only way to ensure that future was to lay her past to rest.

  The young ghost of Amelia played on the porch, but Catie walked past her into the house. Pictures of young Caitlin with bushy ponytails and missing front teeth peered from frames in the front hall at adult Catie, who rocked a Brazilian blowout and veneers. Young Caitlin was pretty but awkward; nervous and cautious.

  In the living room, the glass coffee table smelled like Windex and the floral drapes that matched the sofa were closed. She had finally replaced the rug. A photograph of Catie’s grandmother grimaced from a wooden frame above the fireplace across from a picture of the Last Supper and another of the Hollywood sign. Stella’s excellent housekeeping skills were no match for the stench of cooking grease and cigarettes that had been part of the house for as long as Catie could remember. The new paint was nice, but in Catie’s mind, the dark memories still overshadowed the puce colored living room.

  Catie peeked her head into the bedroom. Leah lay beneath the covers. She smiled shyly when she saw Catie, but Catie didn’t return the smile. Instead she filled a glass of water and put away a couple of shirts that lay neatly on the bed. Thankfully, Leah’s inheritance was enough to outsource a nurse, food delivery, and cleaning service. The small bungalow was paid for.

  Leah was Catie’s birth mother, and rather than embrace her, Catie had spent years keeping this part of her life hidden.

  Catie hadn’t planned on being responsible for Leah, but she always found herself being called on to help her in one way or another. When she’d heard about Leah’s stroke two years ago, Catie started visiting more. Leah didn’t have anyone reliable to manage her affairs, and Bill was about as useful as a dirty mop. When it became clear that Catie had to take on more responsibility, Catie hired Stella and began doing small projects to fix up the house and pay Leah’s bills. Catie only came around when she knew Bill wasn’t there. The one time he had been there at the same time as Catie, he’d walked out of the house without speaking a word to her.

  Catie looked at Leah from the corner of her eye as she closed the dresser. A few months ago, Dr. Rhonda challenged Catie to start talking to Leah during her visits instead of just managing logistics and talking through Stella. Catie managed to do so about every other visit. Leah’s stroke left her only able to respond by blinking her eyes or through soft grunts.

  “You look nice today,” Catie would say. “Did you get enough to eat?” After a while, she began to share more. “I’m pregnant, you know? Antoine and I are going to be great parents. I’m trying to be a better person. I’m in therapy, and it’s helping me see myself better. I want to be a good mom. I really don’t want to blow this.”

  During Catie’s last visit, Leah put her hand on Catie’s stomach, and one side of her face smiled.

  Leah hadn’t always been so dependent and fragile. Unfortunately, drug addiction and bad decisions extinguished Leah’s once burning ambition. Leah grew up in Napa with loving, supportive parents who never went to college and ran a small winery owned by Leah’s grandparents. Leah was class president and captain of the cheerleading squad. She went to Oregon State after graduation and met a guy during her first semester on campus. He was a fast-talking, dark-haired trucker from Medford who said he was eight years younger than he really was and Leah fell in love. She started skipping class and was on academic probation by the end of her sophomore year. She had been academically disqualified for two months before her parents found out that Leah was hooked on meth. She refused her parents’ help.

  The trucker from Medford disappeared when he found out Leah was pregnant, and she got clean. Leah moved back to Napa with her parents. Shortly after Catie’s second birthday, Leah’s father died of a heart attack, and her mother succumbed to kidney disease. And then Leah met Bill. Bill worked security at the local appliance store. He was nice, but young Caitlin didn’t like the way he looked at her. When Bill and Leah first started dating, Caitlin kept her distance from him.

  Catie went into the tiny kitchen and warmed a bowl of soup and reminded herself to ask Stella to change the kitchen rugs. Glancing in the pantry, she frowned. She hadn’t put beef jerky on the grocery list. That was one of Antoine’s favorites. And why would Stella buy Frosted Flakes?

  The front door slammed, and Catie jumped. A moment later, Bill walked in. He reeked of alcohol, and his beady eyes were red and swollen. A brown curl of hair fell into his eyes, and his yellow teeth peeked from beneath his mustache. He reminded Catie of the Brawny man but with bad hygiene. She stepped away from the counter and pushed her hand into her purse. She wasn’t a child. She wasn’t young Caitlin anymore.

  Dr. Rhonda probably wouldn’t agree with confronting him, but Dr. Rhonda didn’t live in Catie’s shoes. Catie had suffered a lifetime of abuse, insecurity, and pain caused by this man. For years, she had allowed her body to be used by men because she didn’t feel worthy of anything more. She had always felt like she deserved that kind of physical and emotional abuse.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” Bill sneered in a low voice when his bloodshot eyes finally focused on her. He was different when he had been drinking.

  There was one way out of the kitchen, and it was through him. It was the only way to get past her sexual abuse, through the first man who had touched her, the sick man who had hurt her.

  Bill was the reason that Caitlin had been repeatedly placed in the foster care system. He would hit her, then tell her he loved her, and then rape her. Caitlin felt drunk after he kissed her. When Caitlin’s teacher called Social Services after she saw marks on Caitlin’s arms one day, Leah lost custody again. Leah was always too drunk or high to realize what was happening in her own home.

  “Caitlin, are you sure you fell?” the social worker would implore. Caitlin never told, but that didn’t stop them from removing her from the house. “If it isn’t abuse, then it was neglect,” they said. “Who falls this much?”

  Caitlin was frightened of Bill. Catie was not.

  Bill stumbled further into the kitchen, and Catie took a step back. No one knew where she was and for the first time, she felt like Antoine may have been right. No pregnant woman should be running around without anyone knowing her whereabouts. Particularly when she had planned a confrontation with her former abuser. She put her hand deeper into her purse.

  “I am here to see about my mother. What are you doing here?” His stench made Catie nauseous.

  “Don’t come in here sassing me,” he hissed. “This is my house. I take care of Le-Le. You just started coming around.” After Leah’s stroke, Bill helped out minimally, but he started sleeping in the spare bedroom. He didn’t like the way Leah’s mouth turned up on one side, and he said her slurred speech and grunts freaked him out. Both of them stopped using drugs years ago, but Bill still drank heavily.

  “This isn’t your house. This is Leah’s house.”

  “Why are you even here? You ain’t in control of nothing. Not even yourself.” He leered at her. “You remember what I used to do to you, don’t you? I saw you on TV, thinking you all sophisticated trying to dress people, and you don’t even know how to dress. Look at you. That dress is ugly. You too light for that color. I know you, girl. You a hoe, always been a hoe, and always gonna be a nasty little hoe. I don
’t care how many clothes you try to sell.”

  Catie took a deep breath. She thought about all of her indiscretions with boys at school, all the name-calling she’d endured from the girls from good homes with “real” families. All of the nights she cried alone, the foster homes, all the men, the pain, the loneliness. She’d wasted time, and she’d hurt people. Hers was a past to forget, a story that should never be told. Her clients wouldn’t understand, the industry wouldn’t get it, and no one would respect her if they found out.

  “I don’t know who the hell was stupid enough to knock you up, but they don’t know the truth about where you from and what you are.”

  Maybe this wasn’t the time. She looked towards Leah’s room, not sure if she wanted Leah to hear or not.

  “I love Catie like she’s my own,” Bill used to tell Leah. “Those teachers don’t know what they are talking about.”

  Catie clutched her bag closer to her chest.

  “Where do you think you are going?” Bill took a step toward her. “How about a little fun for old times’ sake?”

  She moved away from him until her back was against the refrigerator. Bill looked down for an instant when he reeled into the chair, and the next thing he knew, Catie’s pocketknife was at his throat.

  “I will say fuck no to that offer, but how about I cut you into little tiny pieces?” She backed him into the wall with her knife pushed against his throat. Blood trickled down his neck and onto the collar of his shirt.

  “No one would notice you missing because nobody cares about you.” She pushed the knife harder, and the trickle became a stream. He whined like a kenneled puppy. She felt empowered and strong.

  “Shut up,” she hissed between clenched teeth. “Do you feel good about yourself for the nasty things you did to me? Are you mad that I made it out of this hellhole? Mad that you didn’t break me? You are a disgusting piece of trash. No one would miss you if I killed you right now, you piece of crap child molester.”