A Love Hate Thing

by Whitney D. Grandison

  Money shook his head and slammed his hand down, declaring he’d won.

  I watched as he pulled all the money his way, his eyes lit up with greed.

  “She’s nothing to worry about,” I declared.

  “Don’t let her get to you.” Prophet held up one finger. “She’s wrong about you. You’re gonna make it, Trice. You ain’t gon’ die in these streets. You weren’t built for that.”

  I was tired of talking about it. “Do you mind if I crash here?”

  “Mi casa es tu casa.” Prophet patted my back. “How’d you get here?”

  “I caught a bus and walked most of the way.”

  “Need a car?”

  “I can’t ride dirty, Proph.”

  “You got five hundred?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ll get you one legit, a nice one.” Prophet had connections in everything, it felt like. “Tomorrow I’ll get it here for you. You ain’t ridin’ no bus home.”

  “Thanks.”

  Pretty slapped my arm. “Yo, go get me another beer?”

  I stood from the table and headed up the steps to the kitchen. Prophet’s younger sister, Cherish, was in the room, holding Rain on her hip. He was wearing only a T-shirt and a diaper, his thumb in his mouth.

  “Trice!” Cherish squealed as she came over and hugged me, adjusting her son so that he wasn’t being smushed. “I haven’t seen you in forever!”

  “What’s good with you?” I asked, rubbing Rain’s head and enjoying the little smile he gave me.

  “Nothing. Where’ve you been?” She punched my arm. “I heard what happened, and then you went straight ghost. Tasha said she seen you, but we ain’t.”

  “I had to stay with Pops. He got sick and sent me to live with some old friends in Pacific Hills.”

  Cherish’s eyes bugged out. “Word?”

  I bobbed my head as I went to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of beer for Pretty. “It’s just until I’m eighteen.”

  “Dang, they gon’ kick you out?”

  “Nah, I just can’t stay there. It’s not where I belong.” I had no clue where I was supposed to be, but Pacific Hills wasn’t it. Nandy had all but proved that from the moment I’d stepped into her house.

  Cherish gave me a lopsided frown. “Stay here.”

  I looked around the house I’d hung out in since I was a kid. “Here?”

  “Yeah, we got room.”

  “No. I can’t put you out like that.”

  Cherish swatted at me. “Boy, you know you’re family, stop playing. Momma would love to have you.”

  You ask the media and the uppity, Lindenwood was a war zone capable only of ending lives and tragedy. But it wasn’t all bad; there was heart and good health and wealth where it could be found. What I lacked in a family at home outside of my mom and Pops, I found here amongst my friends, and especially Prophet and his mother and uncle. With Pacific Hills rejecting me, I had no place to go upon leaving the Smiths. “For real?”

  “Yeah, just help out a little, that’s all.”

  “I’ve got money.”

  “Then you’re set. I’ll talk to Momma, and she’ll be happy to have you here.” Cherish stared into my eyes. She was only fifteen but had been through a lot. Her father was killed when she was little, and Prophet had all but lost his mind when that had happened. It was one of the reasons he knew he wouldn’t live long. Not many in our neighborhood did. It wasn’t until his uncle Gerald moved in that things had settled down a bit for him. “Prophet missed you. I did, too. I’m glad you’re okay, and I’m happy Tyson’s dead. He’s probably burning in hell as we speak.”

  “There is no hell or God, Cherish,” I let her know. “Don’t be believin’ in that nonsense, okay?”

  She appeared appalled, covering Rain’s ears. “How can you say that?”

  I smirked. “Look around you. Do you think He’s real?”

  Cherish frowned. “He is, Trice, or else you wouldn’t be here. He looked out for you.”

  “Why not my mom, then?”

  “Maybe He only had room for you.”

  “That’s some bullshit.”

  “Maybe she needed to be set free. Don’t go talkin’ like that, okay? Or else you’ll turn into Money and Pretty. You and Read are the only ones with some sense around here, and I can’t have you being like them. God is real and He saved your life—don’t you go actin’ like it was otherwise, you hear me?”

  She was pleading with me, sounding almost like Max. I had a soft spot for Cherish, otherwise I wouldn’t have been willing to go agnostic for her. “A’ight.”

  Footsteps on the basement steps told us that the boys were coming upstairs. Pretty accepted the beer from me before going and messing with Rain’s head. He looked to me. “Let’s step outside for a bit and catch up.”

  We left Cherish in the kitchen and posted up outside as we always used to do before.

  “So you livin’ down in the big time now, huh?” Money said before taking a sip of his beer.

  I shrugged. “I guess. Just a bunch of spoiled kids really.”

  Money faced Pretty, who looked to Khalil, who just went with it. “Probably a great place to start some work, huh?”

  I knew what he was talking about and I didn’t want to go there with him.

  “Money—”

  “You in the land of honey, Trice, you can’t tell me you ain’t been thinkin’ about how much we could pull off,” Pretty stepped in.

  Prophet came and stood between me and the boys. “Didn’t y’all hear him in there? They think he’s like that, why set him up to prove them right? Trice can’t do that there, and he shouldn’t be here, either.” He turned to me. “You got a second chance, my brother. Not a lot of us get those. You shouldn’t be here.”

  I used to hate how he and my mother thought I’d amount to so much more than this neighborhood, this city, this place.

  “Man, fuck that, this is the perfect setup for all of us. We can all get out of here after a few runs.” Money stood up and got close to Prophet.

  Prophet wasn’t intimidated. “Stand down, Money. He ain’t doing it. We’ll do on our own like we’ve been doing. We’ve been all right. We’ve been eatin’.”

  Money sucked his teeth. “This could take care of us for a while.” He pointed to me. “Why does he get to leave and have a good life? What? We ain’t shit?”

  “You wanna tell him what you did to Lester?” Read spoke up from where he sat in the chair with his book.

  Lester was a bum, and even if Money had done something heinous, who knew if Lester hadn’t asked for it?

  “What?” I asked.

  Prophet faced me. “He pistol-whipped him and took out his front teeth and broke his nose.”

  I winced.

  “All because he owed you some money,” said Read.

  Money smirked. “He was at the pool hall bragging about all the shit he just bought his girl. I just asked if he had my money, and he started actin’ up. He told me to suck his dick, and I don’t take that shit too kindly.”

  “You would’ve shot him!” Prophet snapped. “Look at you, you’re an animal. Trice is nothing like you, like me, or like any of us. He deserves this second chance.”

  Growing up, it had seemed like Money was itching to kill, itching to prove himself, especially because his dad had died in front of him and his older brother had gotten stabbed and killed during a robbery.

  “Let’s just drop it,” I said.

  The boys backed off each other and settled down.

  “We oughta call Asiah up, let her know you home,” Pretty said with a sneaky grin. “Tash said you was lookin’ good.”

  Asiah was...something else. She was mean and as tough as Money and Pretty, but on a rare occasion she’d give me a peek into her soft side. We’d been on and off, but I wasn’t
interested anymore. She’d ask questions, and if I told her about Nandy, she’d probably hop the first bus all the way down to Pacific Hills and scar Nandy’s face and beat her up. Asiah wasn’t slow to tell anyone she always carried a razor on her, and for Nandy’s sake, I wasn’t about to deal with Asiah catching another case.

  I shook my head. “Nah, I’m tired, it’s late. I think I’m about to crash.”

  Prophet patted my shoulder. “I’ll get on the car thing ASAP, okay?”

  I nodded and headed inside.

  This was home. Prophet thought I deserved more. Funny thing was, more didn’t accept me like home did. Maybe my mother and Prophet were wrong; maybe the streets of Lindenwood were my destiny, and my ending would be as tragic as my family’s.

  Welcome to Lindenwood.

  10 | Nandy

  It was nine in the morning, and there was no sign of Tyson anywhere. I’d told my father before he left that Tyson had had an errand to run and hadn’t wanted to wake him or my mother. My father had believed me, and so had my mother, which gave Tyson enough room to fume before coming home—if he came home.

  I was pretending to take interest in something on my phone as I hung around the foyer, hoping and waiting, when my mother came down the staircase just as the front door opened and Tyson miraculously stepped inside.

  “Hey, Trice,” my mother greeted him. “Did you finish your errands? I saw from the window upstairs a new car in the driveway, is it yours?”

  As if we’d constructed the lie together, Tyson nodded without hesitating. “Yes. A friend back home helped me get it. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you first.”

  My mother shrugged. “I’m glad you have your own car. Next time just leave a note to let us know where you’re going.” She patted his arm and walked on out the door, leaving us alone.

  Tyson faced me, his eyes burning into mine.

  After his confession, I had no angst against him.

  I hadn’t had a right to begin with. I slowly advanced closer to him. “Can we talk, please?”

  He snorted. “Back off, Nandy.”

  “No.”

  He leaned into my face. “I spared you last night. I’m not in the mood to do it twice.”

  I stared him down, letting him know I wasn’t intimidated. “Then don’t.”

  Like I expected, he just stared at me.

  Grabbing his arm, I steered him toward the door...or I tried to. He was hard as stone and didn’t budge. The hot, silky feel of his skin gave me goose bumps.

  “Come on, Tyson, we have to talk,” I insisted.

  “Don’t touch me!”

  He was still angry, and rightfully so, but I wanted to make it better. If he’d let me. “Tyson, please—”

  “You keep calling me Tyson and that’s not my name!”

  I frowned, unsure what to say and what to do. “I... I—”

  “Stop it!” Jordy’s voice broke the tension, and his little hand on Tyson’s massive bicep caught both of our attention.

  Jordy studied Tyson and me. “Don’t yell at her like that.”

  I could tell by the way Tyson looked at my brother that he liked him. Just as he liked my mom.

  Tyson calmed down and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, Jordy.”

  Jordy came to me next. “And you stop being so mean to him! He’s been through enough. If you weren’t being such a brat and avoiding him, you would know that he hasn’t had it easy. You’re always so nice to all those annoying friends of yours, but the moment a person who really needs help comes along, you shut them out?” Jordy shook his head. “Mom and Dad taught you better than that, Nan.”

  It was like he was the adult, scolding both Tyson and me.

  I regarded Tyson, practically pleading. “We have to talk.”

  As if he were trying to be peaceful, Tyson tipped his head toward Jordy before heaving a sigh and stepping outside.

  Jordy still looked frustrated with me. “This is your fault.”

  “I know. I’m going to fix it, okay?”

  I went past Jordy outside, and found a new car in our driveway. A black Yukon Denali. Tyson was heading toward it. It had to be at least a decade old, not at all like the latest model Oliver Stein drove, but by its well-kept exterior I could guess that it was in good running shape. As much as I wanted to question where the SUV had come from, I didn’t, not wanting to upset Tyson more.

  “Let me drive,” I spoke up. “I know where we can go.”

  Tyson turned and stared at me as if I were crazy.

  “We’re taking my car.”

  “If it wasn’t for Jordy, I wouldn’t be doing this,” Tyson told me.

  “I know.” I left it at that and got in my car and waited for Tyson to join me before starting it up.

  I turned off the radio and decided to keep up with my own personal cold front as I pulled out of the driveway and took off.

  “First off,” I began, glancing at Tyson, “it’s been ten years, okay? You don’t know shit about me and I don’t know shit about you. I was wrong for judging you, but you’ve clearly been doing some judging of me on your own, so don’t act all innocent.”

  Tyson smirked. “Call this an apology?”

  “I’m getting there,” I snapped. “When you left I had no one. The kids at school weren’t like you—”

  “They didn’t fall for your looks and do everything you said? Tough shit,” Tyson mocked.

  I paused. He’d found me pretty?

  “No,” I said, getting back on track. “I had to learn to be like them and fit in. I hated you for abandoning me. For not coming back. The girls didn’t wanna go on adventures or climb trees, and the boys didn’t want to do that stuff with a girl. It was hell.”

  Tyson ran his hand down his face and let out a breath. “Spare me the sob story, because I don’t give a fuck.”

  Ugh, did he have to be such an asshole?

  We arrived at our destination, and I pulled the car into the driveway and parked.

  “Well, tough shit, you’re going to give a fuck.” I glared at him before I got out of the car and started for the front door.

  My mother worked in real estate development at this successful conglomerate known as the Pacific Hills Agency, or the PHA. One of their nearest projects was this beautiful model home in the Malibu Pointe subdivisions my mother had showed me when I was thirteen. It was complete with electricity, furnished impeccably for showings, and was in a quiet neighborhood. The home had never sold, and I had a feeling it was long forgotten. It was my hideaway from home and drama, and I’d been coming to it ever since my first visit. It wasn’t too far from our own development, a good twenty-minute walk or a ten-minute bike ride away.

  I hadn’t even told Chad or the girls about the place, but bringing Tyson here felt right. When we were kids, he liked building forts out of the cushions from the couches in the living room and using sheets to cover us. He used to tell me we were safe as long as we had our own spot together. It used to make me curious. What did he have to feel unsafe about? Why were his eyes so sad?

  The boy standing in the model home with me was no longer sad, but angry. I wanted to know why, and if it involved yelling or cussing, then so be it.

  “Your family has two houses?” Tyson asked as he stood in the foyer, staring up at the crystal chandelier hanging from the high ceiling.

  “My mom works in real estate—this is one of her company’s model homes,” I explained as I led the way to the kitchen. I grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge and handed Tyson one. “I think they forgot about it. It hasn’t been visited in years. I think of it as my own personal hideaway. I haven’t even shown my friends.”

  “So why me?” Tyson didn’t accept my water and crossed his arms, leaning against the post of the doorway from the kitchen to the next room.

  “Because I think you’ll
appreciate it.” I walked past the dining room to the spacious living room and settled down on the sofa. “I love this place. I think in life, we all need our own model homes. Our own spots to breathe and be at peace. Our own sanctuaries. I’ve decorated some of this house on my own. I think this is what I wanna do—decorate spaces of tranquility.”

  Tyson sat across from me on the leather chair by the fireplace. He looked around and kept quiet for a moment.

  “I’m sorry for what I said. It was wrong. I’ve never known anything about your family, and I should’ve assumed that they were the reason behind your sadness.”

  “I’m not sad,” Tyson said.

  “Not now, but when you were a little boy, I noticed how sad your eyes were.”

  He made a face. “I was never sad when I was with you.”

  His words made me smile. “True, but the happiness never quite reached your eyes.” I shook my head, frowning. “I should’ve remembered that. When my parents told me you were coming to stay with us, they didn’t say it was my friend Ty—” I omitted saying his full name and left off there. “They just said a boy from Lindenwood, and I freaked out.”

  “You’re right,” Tyson said. “About all of it. Everything you thought about me is right. I’m a criminal and a thug, and I don’t belong here.”

  “It’s not true. You’re not like that.”

  Tyson snorted. “I’ve done things that could have me locked up.”

  He was just trying to scare me. He was mocking the way I’d judged him. “Did you steal that car?”

  For a moment Tyson stared at me from his spot across the room. “If I’d stolen that car, Nandy, trust me, it would not be sitting in your driveway right now.”

  His words were vague, making me curious, but I was too afraid to ask for an explanation. “You’re not like that.”