There went her fluttering lashes. He was completely unmoved.
"I am touched," he said, his voice heavy with sarcasm.
"Let’s ditch this dinner and continue our conversation at my place."
"Not gonna happen," he said.
"Don't be like that Mikey. I can be anything you want me to be." She pouted, taking a step closer. He cringed at her use of the nickname his grandfather called him.
How long before you can't keep up the pretense? “I am sure that you can, but I’m not interested."
She lost her smile for a quick second before it returned, and with blinding intensity. "For a second there you got me. You sure love to tease."
You’re determined, he wanted to tell her. Her throaty voice had gotten even more bold and suggestive, giving him another hint of what she would sound like in bed.
Too bad he was no longer interested in finding out — he drew the line at desperation. He had no idea of promises made to her, but his grandfather was too canny a man to make any promises.
She had taken his silence for acquiescence, and moved her hands down his shirt and glided them over the front fabric of his trousers.
He caught her hand before it made a second pass, flipping it aside. "Are you done?"
She did not look rebuffed, and the smile that he already thought was impossibly bright, brightened even more. "As expected, you would love to take the lead. But I know what I want, and I want you." Her tone was designed to make a man beg, but it only repulsed him.
He caught her hands again before she could place them around his shoulders, pushing her aside. He moved to walk past her, but froze in his place with her next words.
“My grandfather told me about what happened with your parents. I—”
He did not acknowledge her words with more than a brief stall in his stride and continued toward their dinner table without hearing whatever else she wanted to say. As he made his excuses to the older me, he caught the disappointment in their eyes, but he was not about to spend the rest of his night entertaining an entitled and spoiled woman, who, despite having people who pandered to her every whim, managed to end up being a desperate, grasping creature.
TRINITY
T rinity smiled at the little girl bouncing next to her as she tried to force the key into the keyhole. Her hand was numb, and the heavy grocery bag threatened to cut off her circulation.
"Then she promised we would make cupcakes next time," Miranda exclaimed.
Trinity smiled in return, sighing as the key slid into the slot. She fiddled with it a couple of times, trying to get it to open. It could be difficult sometimes.
Feeling frazzled as the load on her hip threatened to slip down, she tried to pay attention to her five-year-old daughter. The little girl inherited her mother’s luminous, amber eyes that shone with heights of emotion, and her dark hair with large curls, trailing to her nape.
Trinity wore her own hair in a tight ponytail high on her head, different from the little girl's scattered, sweet disarray, accented with a blue ribbon stuck at a jaunty angle, which was slowly sliding off.
Trinity hiked the grocery bags up again, wondering why she insisted on taking it all up on one trip. Usually, it worked, but she always forgot about the lock’s unruly temperament, and a steady stream of sweat streaked down her back. In the stress, she couldn’t help the pity party drifting through her thoughts.
Thankfully, her baby remained in high spirits, recalling her school day events.
She twisted the key again, and this time she heard the telltale click.
Finally!
She sighed inwardly, elbowing the door open. She let Miranda slip in first, then followed, nudging it shut with her toe. She ran quickly to the kitchen and dropped the bag down before it did real damage to her hand.
With one huge sigh, she dumped the rest of her bags on the kitchen counter before they fell on the floor.
"Yay, Mommy!" Miranda called from the other side of the small kitchen, revealing she had caught her mom’s victory.
"Can I get a hug?" Trinity asked and barely braced herself before the little girl launched in her direction.
She caught the child and hugged her close, taking time to savor the scent of sweat and sugar. The girl clung to her, arms wrapping around Trinity’s neck with the force of steel as she lay her head on her shoulder.
"Love you, Mommy."
"Love you more, Mira,” she replied, crouching down to place the little girl on the ground. "Go change up and play in the sitting room while Mommy makes dinner."
"Can I watch SpongeBob?"
"Yes Mira, but only for an hour, alright?"
"Okay, Mommy." Miranda bounded down the hall to their shared bedroom.
Trinity sighed, watching her little girl dip into their bedroom, then focused on the chore of putting the groceries away.
Her cousin, Janaye, made a fuss when things were not in their assigned places. Trinity was assigned strict rules about her own side of kitchen cupboards, sections of the freezer, and her bedroom.
Trinity’s belongings could not spill over into her cousin’s place, but the rule obviously did not apply in the reverse — Janaye made no bones about 'borrowing' her things and not paying it back.
But beggars could not be choosers, and she could not afford to even think of being huffy or showing any hint of displeasure. If she did, she was sure the tenuous bond of kindness would break and she would find herself on the streets with no home for her daughter.
The faint strains of the SpongeBob SquarePants theme song filtered into the kitchen and jolted her awake from a reverie.
Dinner, now. She scolded herself and placed a pot filled halfway to the brim with water on top of the burner.
After fifteen minutes of cooking, she strained the boiled pasta and threw together the makings for sauce before she went into the living room to get her daughter.
The TV was one of those things Trinity was supposedly allowed to use, but it never worked out that way. Janaye made it clear that she was less than ecstatic about letting them use it and would get mad if it wasn’t on E! when she was ready to watch.
"Mira, your hour is up," Trinity called, depressed that she had to cut her daughter's leisure time. A little girl needed time to relax too, not stealing furtive moments to watch TV before being banished to her room. It felt too much like punishment.
"Aww, Mommy. Two more minutes." Miranda turned her liquid brown eyes at her mother, but to no avail.
"No, come along now, darling, before Aunt Janaye comes back.” As an incentive, she added, “You can play in our room."
The thought of an encounter with her aunt had quickly driven Miranda out of the room and it broke Trinity’s heart.
I wish I had a home of our own where I could love and take care of Miranda in peace. Each passing day she wished the same thing, but her situation was not easing, and it seemed that her wishes would stay that way — just wishes.
She refused to give up.
Someday, and that someday would be soon, she wanted to bring her baby girl all the love and laughter she deserved.
Trinity returned to the kitchen and checked on the sauce, and saw it was coming along nicely under a low heat, though it should take some time to cook. She decided to take a bath instead of waiting for the pot to simmer.
She was in and out of the bathroom in minutes, barely taking time to allow the water warm her skin — that was a luxury she could ill afford since Janaye often complained about the hot water bill. The entire experience had her feeling like a cat with its fur all rubbed wrong; twitchy, nervous, and anxious.
She looked into their room for one quick moment to catch Miranda braiding the hair of a baby doll before hurrying back to the kitchen.
After checking the sauce, she decided it still needed a little more time to simmer. She picked up the newspaper laying on the kitchen counter and sifted through the classified ads. Every job either required impossible qualifications and touted high pay, or it was at the ve
ry limits of drudgery. They were minimum wage, but she could not complain about it.
She slipped into thought easily, remembering the dark days when her daughter needed emergency surgery. They were still overcoming the rain from that storm; the hospital bill was outrageous, and she was still making payments toward it. She thanked God her daughter was doing much better.
She wanted to give Miranda the best Christmas ever, but not on her current budget could she afford anything — nothing was going to happen at her current salary level.
She was a housekeeper at a nursing home, and though she made some money, it just wasn't enough. A large chunk went toward the hospital bills and in addition to that, she had a high number of credit card debts. She also paid for half of the rent, and even though it was a three-bedroom apartment, her cousin refused to let them use the third room. Apart from the Christmas fiasco, there was the obvious issue of her daughter needing glasses.
The surgery, coupled with the fact that she had no health insurance, had hovered away her meager savings and chased them away from having their own apartment. She couldn’t afford the rent anymore, which was why she lived with her cousin.
Not that she would be able to afford moving out anytime soon, but maybe when she was done paying for the appendectomy from last year…
Everything seemed to keep piling up and down in every way possible. Sometimes, when she went about her daily activities, she would meet college girls of roughly the same age as her and their greatest worry was not being able to decide on the type of nail polish color they preferred — not about being married four years, then widowed for the past two and having to deal with the repercussions of having an alcoholic husband who drained their finances and ran up their credit in the time he was alive.
At those moments she felt incredibly old and asinine— how could she not have seen what was going on right under her nose? She had discovered some of the things he had done just a little while after his death, but she did not discover that he had discontinued all their health insurance until the day Miranda was admitted for severe stomach pains. She had stood there gaping like an idiot when her card was rejected, while the cries of her daughter echoed in her ears.
She didn’t have time to dwell on the past, though. She had cut as many corners as she could to ensure her daughter had surgery done, but her scrimping had cost her the apartment. Thankfully, Janaye had taken them in. She was grateful despite the situation being less than ideal.
Lately, Janaye barely spoke to her and when she did, she complained about the smallest things. She barely looked into Trinity’s eyes these days. Trinity was beginning to feel as if they were wearing out their welcome.
Trinity removed the boiling saucepan and called Miranda to dinner. Miranda burst into the kitchen in her usual energetic way, excited over the simple meal of spaghetti and meatballs. Her daughter went to the lower drawer and pulled out two plates and set them on the table. Trinity placed the spaghetti on their plates and they sat down on the chairs to eat.
Trinity was suddenly torn between irritation, pride and tears — these moments seemed to continue to sneak up on her. Her daughter was growing up and Trinity’s dreams seemed to keep slipping away — she would love to have her daughter to remain a baby. At that moment, half of Miranda’s face was stained in sauce as she bared her teeth in fierce enjoyment and chomped on the meatballs.
“No, Mommy, no," Miranda exclaimed, as her mother tried to wipe her face for the third time.
“You face is messy!” Trinity countered, but Miranda just pouted, as if it was normal to look like one fell into a tub of spicy tomato juice while eating.
“You're taking a bath before bed," she said, earning herself another pout.
Miranda knew her nightly routine already, but felt the need to push back against it.
Finally done eating, she wiped her daughter’s face before tackling the pots and plates in the sink. She put the last of the spaghetti onto a plate for Janaye and covered it before she led Miranda to the bathroom.
It was a quick wash, no time to soak and make bubbles like they used to. One day, though, she promised without words as she toweled the little girl briskly.
The regular argument over nightwear ensued with Miranda insisting on her princess gown. The gown was faded, ratty, and threadbare at the edges, and truth be told, getting too small for her, but she could not afford to replace it with a new one yet. Miranda crawled into bed with a huge yawn and fell asleep immediately, not asking for a bedtime story like she usually did.
A sadness crept into Trinity as she watched the little brown girl curled up in bed with ringlets all over the pillow.
First setting the table, and now going to bed without asking for a story made Trinity feel like time was going too fast as she watched her baby grow older.
She tucked the little girl into her corner with a kiss, then gathered all the clothes from the day, and to the laundry.
Two loads later, she felt the presence of Janaye in the house. Janaye was a character — the first two things that came to mind when anyone saw her was bougie and beautiful, since she was always covered in designer wear. After spending a few minutes with her you would finally see her crazy side. She was loud, overconfident and expressed her opinions at the loudest volume. One would be surprised that for a woman so noisy and active that her appearance would fit her personality, but she barely weighed a thing.
The sound of cupboards being opened in the kitchen and the scent of perfume that filled the air was enough of an indication Janaye was home, and Trinity hoped she was alone.
Trinity padded to the kitchen and watched the woman with the waist length hair dig into the already cool plate of spaghetti and meatballs with gusto.
"You're back."
"Hmmm," she muttered in between inhaling food.
Trinity decided to go back to her washing.
"Wait, we need to talk."
Trinity wondered what was bothering Janaye now.
"Yes?" she hated how her voice suddenly became emotionless.
"My boyfriend is moving in," Janaye started without preamble. Trinity felt the cold wave start above her head when she heard those words. "Tomorrow."
It can only mean one thing. A cold wave travelled down the back of Trinity’s neck.
"We decided to move in together and save on rent, and my place is bigger. I mean there is no point in both of us living apart when we love each other right?" This bit was said with a giggle that sounded incongruous coming from a full-grown woman.
...the cold froze the air in her lungs, froze her eyeballs, set off a ringing in her ears and filling her throat with a lump the size of a fist…
"We’ve been discussing this for a while and we have decided that we want to be together, like totally together, you understand right?" The question was not a question, more like a statement of challenge.
Trinity’s stomach knotted and she struggled to keep her head from staring down at her legs. They felt like stilts, barely supporting her and barely there.
"So, you'll have to move out by this weekend, okay? He's moving in tomorrow so I’m giving you one week." Janaye jammed a forkful of spaghetti into her mouth.
"But, Janaye, I have nowhere else to go. Think about my baby." She wasn't worried for herself... hell, who was she kidding? She was worried for herself, but the idea of going to a shelter with her daughter in tow, or worst the streets, crippled her and sent a shiver through her spine that travelled through her body and landed a blow to the head.
“She's not my kid. Argh! Children. Don't understand why anyone would want them. None of my business though." The insults seemed never ending until she jammed another forkful of the food into her mouth.
Trinity felt like shrieking back in return at the cold, callous response of her cousin but the words were not forthcoming. She opened her mouth a few times and closed it without saying a word before she finally blurted out, "What do you want me to do now?"
It was a rhetorical question, but she hoped Jan
aye felt the need to answer.
"Ya'll should start packing. Y'all gotta be gone by Saturday. He will not appreciate finding you here tomorrow and neither will I, but I’ll give you till Saturday."
"You said I could stay until I got my own place, Janaye. You know it's hasn’t been easy for me,” Trinity said, her temper finally piqued.
"Things change, Trinity; you should know that better than anyone."
"I gave you rent for this month last week. What am I supposed to do now?" As soon as it had come, her anger left her.
"I don't know and frankly I don't care."
"Fine, can I have at least half of my rent back?"
"It’s gone, just like you should be by Saturday morning."
With the final words flung at her, punctuated by a stabbing fork, Trinity knew it was really over. In that moment the washing machine pinged, indicated that it was done with its cycle. The metallic sound echoed through the apartment, faintly mocking the sudden silence.
Trinity finished every chore she could think of, making sure she picked each little pin and making sure she didn’t forget a thing. She ran all her loads through the machine, knowing it would be a while before she got to do so again.
When she finished packing all of their belongings in garbage bags, she went to bed, laying herself softly beside her daughter.
The thoughts she had kept at bay had crept in, the pity flooding her so fast she had to hold a hand to her mouth before she woke her daughter up with the dry sobs. Her hand grazed over the ringlets scattered all over the pillow while her mind was a few years away.
It was stupid of her to believe, and to accept that life would always be simple and beautiful. It was easy in the moment when things were going fine to accept the idea of a future without twist and turns, but in those hidden corners, terrible circumstances lurked.
At nineteen, she had believed marrying her husband was the best thing that happened to her, and getting pregnant was just the icing on her already huge cake. She could not wait to break the news to him, and he had responded exactly how any wife could have wanted — he had promised to be the best father possible, to be there to protect, love and provide for her and their child. With tears in his eyes, he had caressed her still flat abdomen, swearing to never abandon them. He vowed to never break his promise.
Christmas Ever After Page 2
