“Just the blunts. Spot me and I’ll hit ya back later.”
I don’t even know why she bothers lying. She never pays me back. “Momma, I’m supposed to be at Tyrik’s at one thirty.”
“What you bitchin’ for? You got a car.”
No sense in arguing.
I hurry out the apartment and barely get two feet before someone else is offering to fix me a plate. Despite the aromatic scent of my mother’s collards, everybody knows her ass can’t cook and likely the collards are tough and gritty.
“No thanks,” I tell Miz Duncan across the hall. “I’m going to my boyfriend’s barbeque this afternoon.”
Miz Duncan holds the record of the most children in Bentley Manor with nine kids, beating out Lexi Mitchell across the way — at least Miz Duncan’s all had the same daddy. “I bet your boyfriend don’t make potato salad like I do. Everybody knows I put my foot in it, girl.”
She does make a mean potato salad. “I’ll let you know tomorrow.”
I jump into my ride and drive down to the Circle K. The usual suspects are lined up outside the store. I ignore both the jobless brothers and the eager-to-work Mexicans as they hoot and whisper about my round booty.
They can look, but they can’t touch.
When I walk up to the counter, I’m surprised to see Shakespeare behind the cash register. “What the fuck? Where’s Osama at?”
“The owner’s name is Manmohan and he’s from India, not Afghanistan.”
“Hell, they all look alike if you ask me.”
Shakespeare laughs. “That’s the problem with all you ig’nant black folks. Can’t see the world outside your hood.”
“Last time I checked you were living in the same hood I do. What — gettin’ a minimum-wage job suddenly makes you better than everybody else?”
He crosses his arms. “I didn’t say that.”
“Uh-huh. Where’s your crackhead brother at? I ain’t seen him around in a while.”
“Rehab.” Shakespeare drops his gaze. “I’m prayin’ it works this time.”
I nod and shift uncomfortably at the sight of his vulnerability. “I need a pack of Phillies.”
He nods and snaps back to his normal self as he reaches for my box.
“So what’s all this shit about? Why you working here? Can’t be no real money in it.”
Shakespeare shrugs. “It’s honest money. Figure I save up, finish my degree and maybe get one of those HUD homes out in Alpharetta.”
“Oh, you tryna be a big balla,” I tease.
“What can I say? I got dreams.” He leans toward me over the counter. “You know, I’m always looking for someone to share those dreams with.”
He might be cute as a puppy and maybe if I was more the romantic type where love outweighed common sense I might’ve kicked it with him, but dreams don’t put food on the table or clothes on my back. Plus, I ain’t got years to be waitin’ on some nigga to finish school. I’m rollin’ up out Bentley Manor quick, fast, and in a hurry.
“Sorry, Charlie, but I’m already taken.”
Disappointment flashes across Shakespeare’s face as he finally rings me up. “Still with Tyrik?”
“’Til death do we part.”
An hour later, I park my butt-ugly car behind a line of luxury vehicles on Tyrik’s circular driveway. This is the first time I hate that my “nice” car is already here. It fucks up my dramatic arrival on the property. As I step out the car, I can hear the music bumping in the backyard.
I follow the sound and the scent of barbeque.
Tyrik described this get-together as a small affair with a few friends and family members. He’d even said I could bring my mother and Koolay along; but I’m not that goddamn crazy. The turnout looks to be about sixty people.
“Ah, look who’s here. My baby.” Tyrik’s smile stretches wide across his face before he steps out from behind his mega-size gas grill. “You’re late,” he whispers and then kisses me. “Where’s your mom?”
“She’s not feeling too good today,” I lie effortlessly.
“Oh.” His brows dip together. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He rewards me with another kiss. “C’mon. I want you to meet my parents.”
For the first time in my life I’m nervous.
“Mom. Dad. I’d like for you to meet my friend, Devani Rodgers.”
Friend? What’s this friend shit?
“Devani, this is my father, Reverend Donald Jefferson, and my beautiful mother, Pauline.”
Why the fuck did he just introduce me as his friend? “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I say with a plastic smile.
“Yo, Devani!”
Still sort of shell-shocked by Tyrik’s introduction, I don’t immediately realize someone’s calling me.
“Gurl, don’t act like you don’t know nobody.” Junior says. “Hey, Uncle Donald — Aunt Pauline.”
Finally everyone turns toward Junior and his brick house of a wife, Molly.
“Hello, nephew,” Rev. Jefferson says.
I note that the haughty-taughty Pauline doesn’t say jack shit. In fact, she looks Molly over like the girl had just crawled out of a Dumpster or something; seconds later, she’s giving me the same look.
“See, Moll. And you didn’t think you’d know anybody here. You know we all could’ve rode here together.”
My gaze dances around the couple — primarily out of guilt for having fucked this woman’s husband inside Tyrik’s home, or rather, his bed.
“I see you got your cast off.” I’m tryna make casual conversation.
“Yeah. It came off Friday.”
“You also live in the projects?” Pauline asks.
The direct question stuns me and I have no choice but to answer with the truth. I glance around at the multimillion-dollar players and their wives and feel as though I’ve been demoted to the maid or something.
“So,” Pauline continues. “How long have you and my son been friends?”
“Oh, for about six months,” I say, mimicking her soft southern voice.
Her brows arch high into her forehead. “And this is the first I’ve heard of you?”
It’s funny. Her voice remains sweet but her words pack venom.
“Well.” Pauline smiles. “I guess there’s nothing wrong with a little summer fun before he ships off to Pittsburgh.”
Oh, this bitch is good.
“I’m sure we’ll be having fun for a lot longer than that.”
“Yes, yes. That’s what they all say.” She turns toward her son as if she’d grown bored with my ass. “Tyrik, baby. Whatever happened to that one girl I liked — Ellie-Elle —”
“Elsa?” I snap and then turn toward Tyrik, ready to whup his country ass in front of his own damn momma. “Elsa met your mother, too?”
“Met me? Why, she was just months away from becoming my daughter-in-law before Tyrik called off the wedding last year. Cold feet.”
What the fuck? “You were engaged to that Latino bitch?”
“Oops,” Pauline says. “Did I let the cat out of the bag?”
Fuck it. I’m ready to beat his momma’s ass.
“Pauline, honey.” Rev. Jefferson wisely steps in between us. “You’re upsetting the girl.”
“Me?” Pauline sounds indignant. “It’s not my fault I can’t keep up with the women revolving around here. Tyrik needs to settle down and stop all this foolishness. We raised him better than this.”
“Momma,” Tyrik hisses under his breath. “You’re causing a scene.”
“I’m doing no such thing.” She turns toward me again. “If anything, I’m merely warning the poor girl not to get her hopes up and think there’s some sort of future with you.”
“Momma,” he hisses again.
“What?”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mrs. Jefferson.” I sneer. “But I’m not just ‘summer fun,’ I’m having your damn grandchild.”
20
Devani
Oh, shit.
That is not how
I wanted to drop the baby news on Tyrik. But at least I finally shut his bitchy mother the fuck up. Actually, I did more than shut her up; the woman now looks as though she’s having a heart attack.
Reverend Jefferson, too.
Tyrik, on the other hand, is pissed.
The only one that lights up like a goddamn Christmas tree is that dumb bitch, Molly.
“You’re pregnant?” she gasps, clasping her hands together. “Congratulations!”
I flash her a weak smile, still careful to avoid Junior’s heavy gaze. “Thank you.”
“I’m so jealous,” Molly went on. “I so badly want to have little brown babies.”
Now everyone in the small circle shifts their astonished gazes to this white bitch. Where the fuck did Junior find this heifa at?
“I told ya, li’l ma. I ain’t tryna have no more kids.”
My gaze drops.
“Moving on,” Rev. Jefferson says, clearing his throat and shifting his hard glare back to his son. “I guess that means we’re about to have ourselves a wedding?”
Fuck yes. I like how Papa Jefferson thinks.
“Over my dead body,” Pauline croaks.
Here this bitch goes again. Before I can check her ass, Tyrik grabs me by the arm and hauls my butt toward the house.
“Excuse us,” he growls over his shoulder. “I need to talk to Devani for a sec.”
“Ow. Whatcha doin’? Ow. You hurtin’ my arm.” This nigga don’t give a damn ’cause I nearly trip out of my sandals and start to tumble, but Tyrik lifts me up before I hit the ground and keeps moving without breaking his stride.
When we enter the house through the glass doors, there are more people dancing, laughing, and just milling about. Of course, one glance at Tyrik and people part like the Red Sea and allow him to snatch my ass across the house and up the stairs.
“What kind of bullshit you tryna pull?” he snaps the minute the bedroom door slams behind us. “There’s no goddamn way your ass is pregnant. We’ve always used protection!” He throws me across the room.
I’m unable to catch my balance and hit the floor. “Shit, Tyrik. What the fuck you doin’?”
When the nigga comes at me, I think he’s about to pull an O.J. My ass is slippin’ because I ain’t got shit to protect myself with. Who the fuck woulda thought my ass needed my razors out in the suburbs?
I jump off the floor ready to claw, bite, and scratch his ass into the middle of next week if that’s what’s going down. This baby is my ticket out the projects and I’m not givin’ it up without a fight and makin’ a whole lot of noise.
But Tyrik stops, balls his hands and backs away. “Yo ass is tryna play me.”
Is this nigga tryna turn ghetto on me? “Don’t be ridiculous.” I force myself to relax and calmly hand-iron my clothes and hair in place before I turn the charm on full blast. “C’mon, baby. I thought you’d be happy.”
He shakes his head and mumbles under his breath, “This isn’t happening. I got a fuckin’ reputation.”
Now this Negro is worried about his reputation? Not when he’s throwin’ orgy parties and fuckin’ me in men’s bathrooms?
“Tyrik —”
“Shut the fuck up!”
I simply hold up my hands in surrender while he paces the hell out of the carpet. “What the fuck were you thinking droppin’ that shit on me in front of my parents?”
“I wasn’t,” I admit and cross my arms. “But your mother was being a —”
“Watch yourself!”
My hands fly up again. I guess I’ll just watch him sweat this shit out.
“Are you sure about this?” He asks after a couple of minutes of pacing.
“Yes, I’m sure,” I say, casting a bored glance at my nails.
“Well…well…are you sure it’s mine?”
That I wasn’t sure of. The day I fucked Junior in Tyrik’s bed, the one safe condom I had in my purse broke over Junior’s big-ass dick while he was ramming like he hadn’t had pussy all year.
“What kind of fuckin’ question is that?” I ask defensively. “Of course it’s yours. We’ve been fuckin’ like rabbits for the past three months. You didn’t like it when I kept my legs closed and now you’re gonna to bitch because you knocked me up?”
“Shh. Shh.” He glances around like there was somebody else in the room. “Keep your voice down. You want everybody to hear you?”
“I don’t give a fuck who hears me,” I shout, real tired of his bullshit. “I’m pregnant and I’m having this baby — your baby. Deal with it.”
Tyrik turns and straight punches a hole in the wall.
That shut my ass up.
“Rufus!” he roars and snatches open the bedroom door. “Rufus! Somebody get Rufus’s ass up here.”
What the fuck? Does he plan on having his four-hundred-pound cousin snap me in half?
Seconds later, Rufus charges into the room. “What’s going on?”
“I need you to run an errand,” Tyrik hisses while reaching to his back pocket for his wallet. “Go to the pharmacy and buy a pregnancy test.”
“Come again?” Rufus blinks.
“Run to the pharmacy and buy a pregnancy test,” Tyrik repeats and presses a twenty-dollar bill into his hand.
Rufus just stares. First at Tyrik and then at me. “I don’t know nuthin’ about buying no pregnancy test.”
“Then ask for a salesperson to help you,” Tyrik barks. “Just hurry up about it.”
Rufus stutters some more but Tyrik pushes him toward the door. “Goddamn it, go!”
“You’re wasting your money,” I tell him, shaking my head and popping a squat on the bed.
Tyrik starts pacing again. “Well, if you are pregnant — there are options.”
So much for a ring.
“I mean…I’ll take care of everything. I-I’ll be there for you.”
“I’m not killing our baby.”
This nigga looks as if he wants to cry. “Shit. Shit,” he mumbles. “We were so fuckin’ careful.”
A knock sounds at the door. It’s too soon for it to be Rufus so Tyrik barks, “Leave us alone.”
“Son, open the door.”
Tyrik mumbles another “Shit,” and opens the door.
Rev. Jefferson enters the room and seems relieved to find me composed on the edge of the bed.
“Now is not a good time, Pop.”
“I just came to make sure everything is all right.” He puffs up his chest and closes the door behind him.
Tyrik and his father are strikingly handsome men with the same facial features, broad shoulders, and muscular chest. I see why women in his old church would risk a little fire and brimstone to get into his bed.
“Now son, I can tell this little lady’s baby news comes as a shock to you…as well as to me and your mother. But I want to urge you…after all the appropriate tests…to do what’s right.”
I’m lovin’ Rev. Jefferson more by the minute. Hell, if he gets me married off, I just might take my black ass up in somebody’s church every Sunday.
Tyrik, however, still looks like he wants to cry.
“Your mother and I have worked real hard to get another church started and we can’t afford for our congregation to learn about our son fathering babies outside of marriage.”
You tell him, Papa Jefferson.
While Tyrik’s father continues to preach, I become the pink elephant in the room. But it’s all right, I’m daydreamin’ about my new house in Pittsburgh.
Rufus finally returns and Tyrik snatches the brown bag from his hands and then kicks him and his father out of the bedroom.
“Get up,” he snaps.
The moment I stand, he grabs my arm and jerks me toward the adjoining bathroom. “You’re taking this test.”
“All right, all right. Let go.” I snatch my arm back before he pulls the damn thing out of its socket. “Give it here.” He hands me the bag and I level him with an evil glare before marching the rest of the way to the bathroom. I go to shut
the door, but Tyrik pushes it back open.
“Hell no. You’re going to piss on that stick in front of me.”
I blink. “What?”
“You heard me. Drop your panties. I’m going to watch you piss on that thing.”
I don’t believe this shit. It’s just on the edge of my tongue to protest, but one look in Tyrik’s hard expression and I know it’s a waste of time to argue.
“Fine,” I say and unsnap my pants. In my time I’ve done a lot of kinky stuff and somehow squatting over a toilet and pissing on a stick in front of my man takes me to a level of shame I didn’t know existed.
Of course these digital tests are easy as shit and the reading in the oval window reads PREGNANT before I finish wiping and flushing the toilet.
Tyrik is back to looking like he wants to cry.
“Baby, this is a good thing,” I tell him as I move over to the sink and wash my hands.
He’s pacing again.
“You’ll see.” I dry my hands and turn toward him with a smile. “We’re going to make great parents.”
“Devani, it’s — it’s just not a good time. I mean, we still have other options.”
My smile melts off my face. “I said I’m not killing our baby. I can’t believe you would even suggest such a thing.”
Our gazes crash, but this Tyrk has another thing comin’ if he thinks he can intimidate me.
“I’m going for a drive,” he announces and bolts from the bathroom.
“But you have guests,” I remind him as I follow.
“I-I gotta go. I gotta clear my head.”
He’s out the door before I can stop him. “Let him go,” I tell myself. Me and the baby will still be here when he gets back. I chuckle and head down the hall toward the staircase when a hand lands on my shoulder. I turn and my amusement disappears.
“Wit all the excitement, I forgot to say congrats,” Junior says.
“Thanks.” I turn, but Junior’s heavy hand returns to my shoulder.
“I’m wondering how my cuz will react when I tell him you might be carrying my child and not his.”
I pivot back around and give Junior my best DFWM glare while I stab his chest with an acrylic nail. “You keep your mouth shut,” I hiss.
Desperate hoodwives: an urban tale Page 13
