Cutting it Close

by Olivia Gaines

  “Ma, let me explain,” he said as he walked behind her, entering the apartment and dropping his bag on the floor by the door.

  Chantal sat down on the couch, completely overwhelmed and overwrought. Cody disappeared into the kitchen, coming back with a glass and his mom’s favorite red wine. He poured her half a glass, then based on the expression on her face, he filled the glass, and then finally decided to hand her the whole bottle. She gulped down the first glassful and poured herself another.

  “I am not understanding why you do the things you do, Cody,” she said. “How did Omari Cromwell end up at your school?”

  “Mr. Molson was going to expel me,” he said to his mother.

  “What?”

  “Yeah. I punched Carrington Fellows in the mouth,” he said as he took a seat.

  “There is a no violence policy at the school,” Chantal started. She didn’t know why she bothered to state the obvious. Cody knew this. Obviously, he didn’t care since he punched a kid in the mouth.

  “Yeah, I know, which is why I was going to get expelled,” he said.

  “Why would you run the risk of hitting another child, resorting to violence to solve your differences?” she asked, taking another drink.

  “Ma, he said you probably had no idea who my daddy was,” he told her. “He needed to be punched in the mouth.”

  Chantal rubbed her fingers across her stinging eyes. Uncertain if her blood sugar had plummeted or if she was just that upset, she had physically began to shiver and shake. The sheer embarrassment of it all was too much.

  “How did Omari end up at your school—in a suit?”

  “I don't know anything about the suit, but...,” he said quietly.

  “But what?”

  “I guess he knew about that stupid school...why he put it on. He handed Mr. Molson his ass too, Ma,” Cody said with pride.

  “What?”

  “Yeah, Mr. Molson was trying to be smart with me, talking about me being from a broken home. I played the bully card and race card, so he said he was going to call you, I told him to call my dad,” he said lowering his head. “I’m sorry, Ma, but I get so sick of those people. I hate that school!”

  “I didn’t know you hated it, but that still does not excuse you from calling Omari,” she said.

  “Technically, I didn’t call him. Mr. Molson did,” he said. “I handed him the card.”

  “And just like that he called and Omari came?”

  “He called him, said his name, mentioned the school, and said the call was about his son Cody,” he told his mother. “I didn’t hear the rest, but they hung up and Mr. Omari showed up 30 minutes later.”

  “And he didn’t tell Mr. Molson he wasn’t your father?”

  “No, he didn’t, Ma,” Cody said with a smile. “He walked in, shook Molson’s hand, and asked for a minute alone with me. He said to explain, I told him, and he called Mr. Molson back in.”

  It was the smile on his face that made her stop.

  “What?”

  “Ma, he was so cool about it all, too. I mean, he walked in, in his fancy suit and shiny black shoes, put Mr. Molson in his place...he told him to handle the kids bullying me and that you and he would handle me,” Cody said with a grin.

  Chantal sat down the glass, thought about it, and picked it back up.

  “So, you are telling me, you lied about that man being your father...had the school call him under the auspices of him being your parent...wait... what did they say about him not being on the paperwork?” The dull throbbing in her head was getting louder, like the toms toms beckoning the warriors to battle.

  “I told Molson you didn’t want the school all up in our business,” Cody said. “What are we having for dinner? I am starving.”

  Really? Dinner. Is he thinking about food...now? I could claim temporary insanity and strangle him.

  “After all of that, you want to talk about dinner. I am still trying to understand how Omari was sucked into taking you on a father-son camping trip. How? Dammit, Cody,” she said, falling back on the couch. The dull throb in her head had turned to sharp pains. Her vision was blurring and a light headed sensation claimed her.

  “Molson brought it up and Mr. Omari agreed, so I guess I am going on the annual trip. I have never been invited before,” he said with a wide grin.

  Chantal lay flat on her back, one shoe hanging loosely on her foot while the muscles in her right leg quivered involuntarily.

  “Ma, I think we should invite Mr. Omari over for dinner, you know, since he fed us on Saturday. We should invite him over this Saturday and return the favor,” Cody said with a snap of his fingers. He reacted as if the idea walked up and smacked him on the head.

  “That man may have a family...a wife...for all you know...No! You have imposed upon him enough,” Chantal said from the couch, her vision blurry as she stared at the ceiling and thought that it needed to be painted.

  “Let’s see?” he said. He grabbed the phone from the table and dialed the number from the card he still had in his pocket. Chantal wasn’t able to move fast enough to stop him.

  “Mr. Omari? It’s me, Cody. Me and my Ma want to thank you by inviting you over for dinner this Saturday. Oh, you can’t. I understand. Thursday? Yeah, Thursday would be great,” he said. “We will see you then. Oh, I’ll text you our address.”

  I am being punished for my sins.

  I don’t know what I have done to deserve this escaped child from Beelzebub’s nursery.

  Chantal looked about the minimalist apartment. The only saving grace was she didn’t have to do a great deal of cleaning. However, she was not a cook. At best, she could make boxed mac and cheese. Her diet mainly consisted of salads. Cody grazed all day on fruit and rolled up pieces of meat like a Hobbit’s butcher. To top it all off, she was due in court on Thursday against Brett Coates of all people, who sired the spawn of Satan she called a son. Her tear ducts seemed dry as little sprays of salty drops called out to be released from their wells but were unable to break through.

  I will cry later when I have the time.

  Chapter 8 Time’s Up

  Tuesday

  Thurston sat behind the table for the one-hundredth time in a meeting about communications and the message of the Republican Party regarding the newest presidential candidate. Out of sheer frustration, the week prior, he had sent a message to every Congressman, senator, and party member that no comments were to be made regarding said candidate.

  “Mr. Cromwell, we can’t simply say nothing,” Julia Murphy, the press secretary said to him.

  “Yes, we can,” he said facetiously. “This is a walking nightmare and until we get to Cleveland, the party line is no comment. Get on the wires, get on the phones, and spread the message.”

  This job is making me sick. Thurston’s head throbbed and his belly was empty. Coupled with the nonsense of his job as well as the mental strain of his wife’s uncle showing up with a puppy out the blue was a little more than he could currently digest. A puppy. A bleeping puppy! The little dog was a tough little rascal and a fierce protector.

  When Douglas, who in fun slid down the banister after being warned about the danger of it several times, Thurston, slightly frustrated at his son’s constant defiance, raised his voice to scare the boy. Spiderman puffed up into a ball of fur and came to Douglas’ defense, growling and barking at Thurston. One step towards his son and the dog began to bare her little teeth. Thurston stomped his foot but the dog would not budge from Douglas’s side.

  “She has been trained to protect Douglas,” Tae-Tay told her husband.

  “How? We just got her...she doesn’t even know where to pee yet,” Thurston said with a frown.

  “Evidently, my uncle has trained her to be Douglas’s protector,” she said to him with a flip of her hair. He knew his wife didn’t like the idea. What if he had to discipline his child – would he have to lock the dog out of the room? Hell, he didn’t like the idea. He especially didn’t like the possibilty of her family rand
omly showing up on his doorstep with gifts. The whole thing creeped him out.

  “Mr. Cromwell, Omari is here to see you,” his assistant said to him. This jolted him out of the fugue that was threatening to take over his head.

  “Send him in, Debra,” he said.

  His cousin walked through the door with a look on his face that implied the man also had a great deal on his mind.

  “What’s going on with you, Omari...,” Thurston started. “Hey, did the woman come back on Saturday with the kid to clean up the shop?”

  “She did,” Omari said while he waited for his cousin to offer him a seat.

  “You look like a lot is on your mind. Especially to come to Manhattan on a Tuesday,” Thurston chided.

  “I’m here because I’m hungry and I was planning to treat to you to lunch,” Omari said with a smile.

  Omari was not only his favorite cousin, but also one of his favorite people on the planet. He was also the cheapest person he knew. If he had come to take him to lunch, then something was weighing heavily on his chest. It sounded like woman problems, so Thurston cut to the chase.

  “You’re sleeping with his mom, aren’t you?”

  “No!” Omari said as he sprung to his feet. “I just met them on Saturday. When she walked in the shop that was the first time in my life I ever saw that woman!”

  “So you want to sleep with her?”

  “No!” Omari yelled again.

  “Are you gay?”

  “No! Thurston, Jesus man, what in the hell?” Omari ran his hand across his bald head.

  Thurston started to laugh, which broke up the tension. “Hey man, you and I have been friends since we could walk. There is nothing you can’t tell me,” he told his cousin. “Even if you are gay.”

  “You’re not offering me any solace. And what do you mean friends since we could walk? We’re cousins,” Omari said.

  “Yeah, but one is not mutually exclusive of the other. Benjamin is our cousin, too, but I wouldn’t go to get a burger with that dude,” Thurston said. “He is a weirdo.”

  “Speaking of burgers, let’s get something to eat,” Omari suggested.

  It was a quiet walk to the corner bistro as each thought deeply about what they wanted to discuss with the other. Omari ordered a turkey burger while Thurston opted for an actual beef burger. Thurston opened the conversation about Tae-Tay’s uncle and the dog. The concerns of another and even scarier relative showing up unannounced were high on his list as explained to Omari.

  “I mean, it was bizarre. He only wanted to eat dinner, leave the puppy, and smile at Tay. I was sitting at the table, trying to look all New York tough while I had a man who grew up in Compton sitting at my dinner table. He didn’t give any information and he didn’t offer any. He did give me the willies, though,” Thurston confessed.

  “I am about to out-willie you. That lady and her son, we had dinner before the boy cleaned the shop and I fixed the bad haircut I gave him. He asked for my card. I gave it to him, then I get a call from his school yesterday to come up and see about my son,” Omari said.

  “What son?” Thurston asked with wide eyes.

  “Evidently that kid! He told his school I was his father because the kids keep picking on him about being from a single parent home,” Omari told Thurston.

  “Wait a second. His school called you or did he call you?

  “The school called and I had to go up there to see about my ‘son’,” he said with a grin.

  “Shut up! You actually went?”

  “I did,” Omari paused. “The kid attends Hilston.”

  “Oh, shit!” Thurston said, throwing his napkin on the table.

  “Yeah, Molson’s son is now the administrator and the minute I heard his name, I put on my kick ass face and went up there to give him hell,” Omari said.

  “How did it turn out...I mean did he recognize your name?”

  “No, that pompous ass only wanted to lecture me on the role of the parent. Thurston, I put on my best suit and shiny black shoes, and I drove up to that damned school and pretended I was Cody’s Daddy. Cody, that’s the boy’s name,” he said. “Before you even ask how his mother reacted, she was mad. Mad as hell. She was so mad, I was trying to get the heck out of there before she turned on me.”

  Thurston heard everything Omari was telling him, but he also heard everything he was not saying.

  “I like the kid,” Omari admitted. “He just wants to matter to someone.”

  “He matters to his mother,” Thurston said.

  “Yeah, but he’s really angry at her for not allowing or letting his father be a part of his life.”

  “Did he tell you this or is that something you are assuming?”

  Omari exhaled as he pushed the broccoli about on his plate. “When Molson mentioned the annual father-son camping trip, the kid’s face lit up. I accepted the invite to attend and I swear that kid was almost dancing.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  He ran his hand across his smooth bald head, looking up to make eye contact with his cousin. “I just don’t want any mess. I hate messy. I don’t do messy. If she has been alone for a while, then I hit it off with the kid, then she is going to make a move on me and then it all gets really messy,” he said with contempt.

  “You prefer the kid over the mom,” Thurston wanted to know.

  “I don’t prefer either one of them. They showed up in my life, now I have been invited over on Thursday for dinner, and she looks like she can’t cook,” Omari said.

  “Omari, what is the question?” he asked.

  “I want to know if I would be a shit if I declined the dinner invite and backed out of the father-son camping trip?”

  Thurston threw his head back in laughter. “Yeah, you would be,” he told his cousin. “They only invited you over for dinner to say thanks. To me—and don’t shoot the messenger here—she looks like she could use a hand in helping to shape him into a young man of purpose. The camping thing you love anyway, but you may want to take the boy out first to teach him a few things before the actual trip so he doesn’t come across as a tenderfoot. Those kids will know in a heartbeat if he has never been camping a day in his life, then they will also know that you aren’t his ‘real’ father. You will need to bond with him so that will show up on the father son trip as well.”

  Omari dropped his chin to his chest.

  “What have I gotten myself into, Thurston?”

  “Sounds like you are getting yourself into a family,” he said with a large smile.

  “Man, that is the last thing I want or need in my life right now,” he told his cousin. “I am still building my dream.”

  “Honestly, if she can afford the tuition at Hilston, then maybe you should hold on to her. What does she do for a living?”

  “I don’t know anything about that woman!” He frowned at Thurston. “Furthermore, I definitely don’t want her for her financial status.”

  “Man, you talk as if you’re broke,” Thurston said.

  “I don’t make seven figures like you. At $20 a haircut, I have to trim and cut a lot of heads,” Omari admitted. “Or trim a lot of crusty ass toes. I still don’t understand why men don’t take better care of their feet.”

  “I don’t know, man. It sounds like a win-win to me,” Thurston said.

  “I don’t know either. You got lucky with Tay. I am just...you know those successful women types, all alpha and more male than me,” he said solemnly.

  “Have dinner and see where it goes. Maybe she only wants someone to mentor the kid, get him on track. Before you say no, or crawl back up into your shell of security, try to work out something,” he said. “If not, just be a big brother to the kid.”

  “I guess,” Omari whispered. “I will try.”

  “We all need someone to make us truly relevant, Omari. Maybe this kid is just what you need to take your place in the circle of life,” Thurston added.

  “What are you now, Mufasa?”

  “Remember who y
ou are....” Thurston said as he walked into his office building, standing behind the glass door. His mouth moved as he said it again. “Remember....”

  Chapter 9 The Devil You Know...

  Wednesday

  Spiderman was growing on herTae-Tay. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, the little ball of poop and pee was cute as a button. She also kept Douglas out of trouble and occupied, which freed Tae-Tay up a bit to focus on a few things around the house. The monthly allowance Thurston set up for her was finally coming through. The credit cards had arrived a few days prior, but she was hesitant to use them. Much of the morning was spent watching online videos on financial management.

  Growing up in Compton, money was something everyone wanted and a few people had, but no one understood what to do with it. The bank account Thurston gave her was filled with a lot of zeros but it still didn’t quite feel like it belonged to her. The home they shared was his sister’s and it didn’t feel like it belonged to her either. The kitchen was too tight, the wall colors too drab, and none of it shouted out Tae-Tay. I need a space of my own.

  Before she could make her next move to prepare lunch for Douglas and herself, the phone rang.

  “Hello,” she said into the line. This was her New York number on the cell phone Thurston had given her. Few people had the number.

  “TataLavisha. It’s me, Zephaniah,” the voice said.

  “How did you get this number?” she asked with panic in her voice.

  “I picked your phone up off the table and sent myself a message so I could have the number,” he said.

  “You’ve stepped over the line,” she said with some anger.

  “And you are trying live behind it,” he responded.

  She was irritated beyond measure. How dare he? “I don’t know what that means, sir.”

  “I’m sorry. I will explain that and a lot more. May I join you and Douglas for lunch today?”

  Tae -Tay gulped, “I thought you had left New York.”

  “I’m leaving this evening, but I wanted to talk to you alone,” he said.

  “My husband isn’t home, so I don’t think that is a good idea,” she told him.