A Love Hate Thing

by Whitney D. Grandison

  The second therapist I saw asked if I wanted a family of my own someday, and when I’d told her no, she’d asked if I was afraid of turning into my father. I’d never feared that growing up. My mother used to tell me that someday, when I had a wife and kid of my own, my job was to do better than Tyson and be a better man regardless of whether I had a family or not.

  I sat back as I continued up to Mexico’s shop, almost laughing. Tyson was a monster, but he never stole.

  No, I didn’t want a family. I’d seen what it was like to love someone and to lose them. I knew what it was like to feel empty and emotionless. Having a family required a connection and, after losing her, I wasn’t sure I could connect ever again.

  I always drove the scenic route to Mexico’s shop, taking less of a chance of being spotted by the local police. I was at Mexico’s twenty minutes later just seconds behind Read, soon followed by the rest of the guys.

  By day, Mexico ran an auto shop specializing in fixing cars and/or customizing them to someone’s liking. At night, he’d take in stolen vehicles and chop them up for profit. He made good money, enough to where one look at him, and we knew he never missed a meal.

  We stood outside our cars, watching the heavyset Mexican come down from the second floor of the shop, where his office was. He was dressed in his usual light blue jumpsuit with his long, dark hair matted under a trucker hat. A lit cigarette hung in the corner of his mouth, and as he came closer, he appeared jubilant.

  He came to a stop a few feet in front of us and took us all in. Money and Pretty rolled their eyes, tired of the bull and ready for the pay.

  Mexico stood with his arms open wide. “Ah, my five favorite hermanos, come to drop off more presents.” He lifted his chin at me once he eyed us all over. “Long time no see, where’s the other one?”

  He was talking about Khalil. Of our group, Khalil and I were the only two with dark skin, while the rest ranged from brown to golden in Pretty’s case. Mexico being Mexico he thought Khalil and I were related due to this common trait, and assumed I would be the one to know where he was; I ignored his ignorance.

  “He got injured, couldn’t make it,” I said.

  Mexico sucked deeply on the cigarette before letting out smoke through his nostrils. “That’s too bad. I heard he got me something good, too. The last car he gave me was a little dinged up, didn’t make much off it.”

  I examined the Camry, knowing Khalil had done good with the steal.

  Mexico liked to bullshit for just a bit before getting down to business. He gathered his clipboard and inspected all the cars and made comments on what would bring in customers and what was useless. In the end, he got out the cash and paid each of us our car’s worth. Just as Prophet had guessed, I’d made an even nine hundred.

  Standing back with Prophet, I counted out five hundred dollars and handed it over.

  “Make sure Khalil gets this, okay?” I asked.

  Prophet pocketed the money. “This won’t happen again.”

  I shrugged. “You need me, call.”

  “You’ve got a pretty nice setup over there. This was just a one-time thing. Next time, we’ll wait it out.”

  “I’m coming back,” I told him. “I’m not staying there forever.”

  “The girl will get used to you.”

  “Nah, it’s not even that. We squashed all that. This is where I belong.”

  Prophet’s disdain for my determination to return was palpable. “You could live a better life than this.”

  “Maybe I don’t want a better life.”

  “You’re talking crazy. If I could have a good life without doing this, if I could take my mom, Gerald, and Cherish away, if I could picture Rain growing up safe, I would take whatever opportunity I had. This place ain’t it for you, Trice.” Prophet peered at the others, where Money and Pretty were counting their loot and where Read was standing back and waiting for us to go. “We’ve accepted our fate here. You died here already—don’t let it happen again. Go, be happy. That is what she would’ve wanted.”

  He got me there, knowing that I couldn’t argue against him. My mother would’ve wanted me happy in Pacific Hills. She would’ve wanted me to make the most of my opportunity for a better life. She would’ve wanted me to make something of myself and let her rest in peace.

  And for that I didn’t say anything. I went outside and waited for the others, to get in our stashed car and drive back down to the Garage and then get back in the van and go back to Prophet’s house, where we’d separate for the night.

  * * *

  Parker was up when I got back to Pacific Hills. It was a little past eleven, and I met him on my way in the door. He was probably going up to bed by the way he was dressed, in a T-shirt and pajama bottoms.

  He took a look at the clock on the wall and drew his gaze back to me. “Everything all right?” he asked, studying me.

  For me, it was easier to trust a girl, or a woman, before a man. I knew Parker wasn’t a bad guy, but my guard was up, and it probably would always be. Max approached me with care, and Parker did as well, but he wasn’t fake about his intent to raise me like one of his kids. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be told what to do or be bossed around by him. I wasn’t sure I wanted to submit to anyone.

  “Yes,” I answered as I made for the stairs.

  Parker reached out as I was passing, going and patting my back. He drew his hand away once he realized how stiff his touch made me. “I want this to work, Trice. I know what you’ve been through has made it hard for you, but I never intend to do that to you or my own family. I want you to be at peace here. I want this to be your home.”

  It would be home, if only temporarily. “Can I think about it?”

  “Staying?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I know you’re here because of your grandfather’s request, but I still think this could all work out.”

  “You do?”

  “You were happy here once, as a child. Let yourself be happy again. Nandy will come around, and Jordy’s always wanted a brother. Let us be your family.”

  “My interpretation of family is a little fucked up right now, Parker.” Outside of Prophet and the boys, I just wasn’t sure I could extend myself to be a part of another family.

  “I won’t pretend to know where you come from, or what it’s like, but I do know it can get better.”

  “And how’s that?”

  “Because I like to believe after a person goes through that, it can’t get any worse. Life’s not that cruel.”

  I faced Parker, seeing an honest and good man in front of me. He was doing more than offering up his home and food for me; he was giving me a place in his family, a new shot at a place called home and a new future. In that moment, I let my guard down, knowing—hoping—that I wasn’t wrong about him.

  I held out my hand. “Okay.”

  Slowly Parker smiled as he shook my hand. “Welcome to the family.”

  Nodding, I turned and headed upstairs and into my room. I wasn’t there for a second before I realized Nandy was in my bed, asleep, clutching what looked like a DVD in her hand.

  I closed my door and made my way to her, angling my head to read the DVD’s title.

  “Oh hell no,” I said as I realized what she was holding. When we were seven, she had this obsession with You Got Served, and she’d made me watch it hundreds of times, forcing me to watch her gawk at all the male leads in the film.

  My words caught Nandy’s attention and she leaned up, rubbing her eyes. “You came back.”

  “We’re not watching that.” I pointed to the DVD.

  Nandy examined the film in her grasp. “You said you don’t sleep much.”

  “I’d rather try than sit through that again.”

  A heavy look passed through Nandy’s eyes, and she was silent for a moment. “Well, tell me about your night.”
>
  I rolled my eyes and kicked off my shoes before going and lying back on my bed.

  “It was fine,” I said.

  Nandy lay on her side beside me, facing me. “Please don’t do it again.”

  “I told you I can’t promise that.”

  “Promise me you’ll always come back, at least? I don’t want you to leave again.”

  In her eyes, I saw hurt from before. “I don’t know where I belong, Nandy.”

  “Tyson,” she said softly, “please try.”

  I turned on my side and faced her. “I don’t know how to try.”

  Nandy reached out and touched my cheek, caressing it and saying nothing.

  I didn’t like to be touched. I should’ve told her to stop and to leave my room. But I didn’t, and we lay like that for a while before finally putting in the DVD.

  14 | Nandy

  Tyson didn’t sleep. Twice I fell asleep in his room. The first time had been during the movie, and I’d woken up to see him scowling at the screen. The second time, the TV was off and he was reading beside me. That time, when I woke again, I stared up at him, wondering what it would take to change the cold expression on his face.

  I scooted closer and wrapped an arm around him. He stiffened.

  “Please stop,” he said.

  “Why?” It shouldn’t have, but it burned to hear him reject me.

  “Because I want you to.”

  “I can tell it’s been a long time since you’ve been touched with affection.”

  “So?”

  “So I’m giving it to you.”

  “Give it to Chad.” He moved away, but not too far from my reach.

  “You gotta let someone in, Tyson.”

  “I’m sick of being examined.”

  “Maybe you should just let the past be the past and let people in where you’re at now in life.”

  Tyson stared at me, his hard eyes softening before he shook his head. “Damn, you’re still bossy.”

  I started to smile, but then I noticed the time—eight fifty in the morning.

  There was somewhere I had to be, somewhere I dreaded to be.

  But that didn’t take my mind off what Tyson might have done the night before.

  “What’d you do last night?” I asked.

  Tyson rolled his eyes. “Telling you would make you an accessory after the fact.”

  Now it was my turn to roll my eyes. “Technically I’m an accessory before the fact since I knew you were up to no good.”

  “Vaguely.”

  He wasn’t going to tell me, and I couldn’t stall what I had planned for the day.

  I sat up and sighed. “I guess I better go get ready.”

  “What’s up?” Tyson asked.

  “I have to meet up with Mrs. Bradley, Chad’s mom, to discuss cotillion and hang out.”

  “You don’t get along?”

  “It’s not that, it’s just...a lot, you know? I’m always worrying about something with her. It’s nerve-wracking. Must be a Bradley thing.”

  “Chad makes you nervous?”

  I ran a hand through my hair, wondering how to say what I was about to confess. Tyson sat beside me, so calm and quiet, letting me know he could handle whatever I had to say. Despite reconciling with him only two days ago, I felt comfortable enough to open up.

  “Chad’s sorta a big deal, as well as his family. I’m always worrying about how I look, stand, and come off,” I confessed. “It all just keeps me on my toes.”

  “Chad must be an idiot, then,” Tyson spoke up.

  I chewed on my lip. “It’s not that he does it or anything on purpose, really.”

  “Still,” Tyson said, “I don’t think I’d be happy if my girl wasn’t sure of herself around me.”

  I was intrigued by the word he’d let slip out. “Your girl?”

  Tyson dropped his gaze. “Not anymore, but, if we were together, I’d feel bad if I wasn’t someone she could be herself with. You’re already beautiful—you always have been—and I’m sure you’re just fine articulating yourself as well as your posture.”

  I couldn’t understand the thoughts swirling in my head. When we’d talked about Lindenwood, he’d mentioned his friends and how he hung around a bad crowd, but he hadn’t mentioned a girl. It had been ten years—at seventeen, of course he’d moved on and explored girls, just as I’d moved on myself. I wondered if he loved her.

  His words sank in, and I felt like he’d said, beautiful.

  “Is she pretty?” I wanted to know.

  “Who?” Tyson asked, appearing confused.

  “Your girl.”

  His expression turned blank. “Yeah, very.”

  “Did you love her?”

  “I could’ve.” He sat back against his headboard and stared off. “One thing my mother taught me and showed me was how to love a person unconditionally. I could get caught for ditching school or doing something bad with one of the boys, and she would never lose her temper or look at me different. She’d lecture me, sure, but she loved me no matter what. I think if she knew what I’d been doing with Prophet, she’d still love me with her whole heart.” He lowered his gaze to me. “That kind of thing is scary. I loved her just as much back, and she’s gone now. It feels like I needed her to breathe, because I’m barely hanging on here, Nandy. I think I loved her more than life.

  “I’m just not sure I can do that again with someone else. People our age switch partners like the latest trends. I don’t wanna put my all into something just to end up back at square one alone, and I don’t wanna risk hurting someone by not emotionally investing.”

  He started summer school on Monday, and I prayed Lydia would talk to him more. He needed therapy just as bad as Shayne had. It wasn’t right to be cold and detached from people. I admired his strength in telling me the truth, that he was afraid to love another person and to lose them or hurt them. I admired that a lot.

  I stood from the bed and stretched. “If you ever need a place to go, if you’re lost or in trouble, just know that the model home is there for you, too. I keep a spare key under the mat on the back patio.”

  Tyson nodded. “Maybe you should show Chad one day.”

  His repeated rejection stung deep in my chest, but I tried to let it go, unsure why it even burned to begin with. “Why?”

  “You should see the look on your face when you’re there. You’re so comfortable and confident, especially when you talk about decorating for a living. Maybe if he saw you like that, it would help.”

  I was too embarrassed to tell him that showing Chad the model home could backfire. Sure, Chad might like and respect it, but he might want to take advantage of it and use it as a place to have sex or to party. I didn’t want to risk finding out. It was my sanctuary, my place for peace.

  “Maybe if you tell your girl how you feel, it’ll help,” I said.

  “I don’t think so. She can do better.”

  “What’s better than you in Lindenwood?”

  Tyson appeared thoughtful. “You’d be surprised.”

  I squeezed his hand. “I hope you try, Tyson. Not for you, but for your mom. I don’t think she’d want you to give up. I think some of the things she loved most about you were your strength and determination. If you try, you can make it here and be happy and live. But it’s all on you.”

  “I’ll think on it,” Tyson said, noncommittal.

  “Good. Tonight we’ll help you out a little bit. We’re all going to the Hook. Maybe you’ll come, too.”

  “The Hook? What’s that?”

  He was in for a treat. “Wait and see.”

  * * *

  I was thankful Shayne was with me as we sat at a table with Mrs. Bradley and Ms. Ray. Edi had to babysit, and Erica hadn’t been able to make it. Shayne and I knew Erica wasn’t in the mood to get out of bed to
talk with “a bunch of nosy gossips,” as she liked to describe all the Pacific wives in our community.

  Mrs. Bradley and Ms. Ray were organizing cotillion, and they were telling us about previous cotillions as we sat in the dining hall at the country club. I was nervous about debuting, but Shayne’s excitement kept me going.

  “Oh, I certainly hope Naomi was able to talk that girl out of debuting,” Ms. Ray said between sips of her cappuccino.

  Shayne turned to face me as I did the same. They were talking about Erica’s cousin, Xiu Yee. She was our age and somewhat quiet, and also a little clumsy—once she’d spilled red wine all over herself at an all-white charity event. Unlike her older brother, Geordan, or Erica, Xiu wasn’t as cool or outgoing. On weekends whenever Erica would deejay at a party or club event, Geordan and his crew of dancers would show up and do a routine, while Xiu would watch.

  I frowned at Ms. Ray. If anyone deserved to debut, it was Xiu. Erica was only doing it because her mother was making her, and I was sure the same went for Xiu.

  “The girl can barely hold eye contact. It’s sad,” Mrs. Bradley said in response. She shook her head and looked at us, smiling, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes or appear warm. “At least you two will make us proud.” She patted my hand, and even her touch felt cold.

  “Daddy’s excited,” Shayne spoke up. “I really can’t wait.”

  Shayne was the smartest of my friends, which for some outside of our circle was a surprise. While she wasn’t a genius, she was far from ditsy or dumb. It was no wonder she was being honored for her academic achievement—that, and the community service she did with Erica and me during the school year. In Pacific Hills, you learned early that extracurricular activities were favored more than good grades. Together my friends and I organized school events, helped out at charities, and stayed on top of our grades. Cotillion was a graceful reward, one we’d definitely earned.