Big Girls Drama (13 page)

“Suit yourself, Mrs. Brooks.”

Shannon and her mom stormed out of the room attempting to look like the victims. I looked at Officer Ward as I shook my head in irritation.

With eyes narrowed I said, “You see why I tell you to carry yourself with dignity and respect, Meena.”

My daughter lowered her head in shame.

“People like her will blame you for everything just because of where you live and definitely how you carry yourself. Both of you know better than this,” I addressed Meena and Asha.

“Shannon was the one who came up with the idea to steal in the first place,” Asha divulged. “She's the one who gave us the contraption to remove the sensor.”

“It all makes sense how she got it. If her mother knows the vice president of the company, then Shannon probably had access to get the sensor remover,” Meena added.

“This is my first time doing anything like this,” Asha professed.

“Me too,” Meena agreed.

“And you see what happened?” I asked.

Both nodded.

“Her mother is going to pin this entire thing on both of you,” I explained.

Officer Ward interrupted by saying, “We don't always have to know who came up with what because in our eyes, all of you are guilty until proven innocent.”

“I thought it was innocent until proven guilty,” Asha said.

“It can go both ways. When it comes to the law, you are already guilty by association, especially when you commit a crime, and especially if you are African American. I hate to say that but that's the way the world looks at us. I see women like Mrs. Brooks all the time who throw their money around and know the right people in the right places to get their children off.”

“But we didn't—”

“You didn't have to do anything, Meena. That's what we're trying to tell you. If she steals and you are with her, then you go down too. Just like if she decided to commit a murder and you are with her. Then both of you would go to jail. It's that simple. That's why I've always told you to be careful about the company you keep.”

“Your mother is right,” Officer Ward agreed.

Our eyes locked for a moment before we were interrupted by another knock at the door. I thought it was Abigail returning to chastise us some more, but when I saw the woman who entered, I almost wished it was Abigail.

When I recognized the woman who sauntered into the room, my stomach plummeted as my heart thundered in my chest. Imani's willowy frame stood before me in a pair of cargo shorts, a tank top showing off her pierced navel, and a pair of new white Nikes. Her hair was done in burgundy braids which were pulled atop her head in a neat bun. She looked like Asha's sister instead of her mother. Now, I knew why I thought I'd recognized Asha from somewhere. She looked like her mother. I had no clue Asha belonged to the woman responsible for breaking Kegan and me up.

I tightened my fist and didn't know I was doing so until I felt my nails digging into the palms of my hands.

A wicked grin spread across her face as she said, “Now, it makes sense.”

“What makes sense?” I asked.

“Why my daughter is in trouble. She's hanging with Meena.”

What was this—blame it all on Meena day?

“Don't talk about my daughter,” I warned.

“Why? She's the reason why my child is in this predicament.”

I so wanted to say the reason why her child was in this situation was because she had you as her mother and Asha only acted out what she saw in her. Underhandedness begets underhandedness. Imani was not excluded from being a criminal. She had a record also, for stealing. I guess she forgot her criminal actions were public record. As bad as I wanted to throw her past in her face, I decided that was not the right thing to do.

Inhaling, I said, “Our daughters are in trouble because they chose to do something ridiculous. There is no need to point fingers when all of them are responsible for their own actions, and each of them will have to deal with the consequences. It's as simple as that.”

“Is that right?” she croaked.

“Yes, that's right,” I managed to say coolly.

I was really trying not to stoop to the ghetto antics I knew Imani was all about. I could tell by the way she was glaring at me she wanted to start something. Why? She had Kegan now, even if she used her ass to take him from me. Or was that her mouth? I heard she liked to get down on her knees and blow. Nevertheless, she'd won in the end. Now was not the time for our past transgressions to play out in front of our girls.

Imani yawned, stifling it with the hand which sported the diamond engagement ring Kegan gave to her.

“Man, I didn't know I was so tired,” she taunted.

I seethed, wanting to knock the condescending smirk from her face. I know she did this thinking I didn't know about their wedding. I wanted to tell her Kegan sent me an invite, but I decided against it. What better way to get under this woman's skin than to show up at their nuptials? The look on her face would be enough to make my day.

* * *

“Mom, are you okay?” Meena asked as I pulled up in the driveway of our home. She snapped me out of the memory just moments ago with Imani. The rain pounded down on the car, and for a moment, I wondered how I even got here.

I scowled at Meena until I saw the earnest look on her face. I softened my expression before saying, “I will be. Thanks for asking.”

“I'm sorry about today,” she apologized. “I really am.”

I reached over and squeezed my daughter's hand, smiling at her lovingly before saying, “This still doesn't mean you are off the hook. You are still going to be punished for what you did.”

She smiled for the first time in a long while as she said, “I know.”

I patted her hand and said, “Now, I wish we had an umbrella. We're going to have to run for it.”

Meena nodded, and we both exited the car and ran to the covered front porch of our home. Despite running, we still got drenched. As I fumbled with my keys to open the door, my cell phone rang and I saw it was my male friend Dempsey.

I proceeded to unlock the door and told Meena, “Go ahead in the house. I'll be there in a bit.”

Meena nodded and jogged into the house leaving me to take my call.

“Hello.”

“What's up, Sonya,” Dempsey's raspy voice sounded through my line.

“Nothing. What's up with you?”

“I'm calling to see if I could swing through later.”

I hadn't seen this man in over a month, and now he wanted to come see me.

Dempsey was, or used to be, my man since Kegan left me. Rather, he was my fallback man who helped me get over losing Kegan. I met Dempsey in a bar one night, and he offered to buy me a drink. I made sure to flirt with him openly so everybody could see our chemistry. It wasn't hard because Dempsey was a nice-looking guy, especially with his dreads and penny-colored complexion. From then on, I'd been sleeping with him. And, yes, I slept with him the same night I met him. Why not? Kegan cheated on me. So why couldn't I do it too? Granted, I didn't want to ever look like a whore again since I let go of that title when I was being used by my mother, but that night I didn't care. I was drinking down my sorrows about my relationship ending with Kegan, and Dempsey quickly became the distraction I needed to help get over my ex.

Word did get back to Kegan I was seeing someone else. The bastard had the audacity to call me and ask me about who I was seeing.

“What's it to you? You don't want me anymore, so why are you calling to ask me who I'm booed up with?”

“Don't play with me, Sonya.”

“Who's playing?”

“You are.”

“Does your new whore know you're calling me?” I asked sardonically.

Kegan said nothing. I knew I'd hit a nerve with him, and I didn't care. He hurt me. He cheated on me, and all I ever did was love that man.

“That's what I thought.”

“I can't believe you're doing this.”

“You can't believe me? What about what you did to me?” I said angrily.

“Sonya—”

“You made a clear choice, Kegan, and it wasn't me. What, you expected me to sit and wait to see if you came back to me? Or better yet, did you expect me to be your side chick like Imani was for you?”

“You know what? It was a mistake calling you.”

Kegan hung up, and I hadn't heard from him since, well, not until I got that invite to his wedding. The thought of this wedding helped in my decision about Dempsey coming over.

“Dempsey, does nine sound good?”

The dark skies that hovered released torrential downpours. The storm came out of nowhere, much like the one that was going on in my own life. I hit the garage door button and was happy to see Devin's car was in its usual space. He hadn't left me yet. After the run-in at his parents' house, I figured he would be gone. Pulling in beside him, I was grateful on days like this that I didn't have to get out in the nasty weather.

Entering my home, I looked out the kitchen window and could hardly see the house across the street. The wind whipped the rain, making it look like sheets of water. The sky lit up from a flash of lightning, followed by a boom of thunder. I knew we needed the rain, but I hated when it came like this.

I went to my bedroom to see Devin wasn't there, but he'd been in here. The closet door was open, and I knew I closed it before I left. I walked in, noticing my husband had removed the majority of his clothes. My stomach clinched at the thought of him already packing his belongings to leave me. I walked out into the hallway and saw the door to the spare bedroom was closed. I knocked on it softly, but he didn't answer. I turned the knob and opened it to see he was not in here either. This meant he was probably downstairs in the basement.

After slipping into a pair of jogging pants and off-the-shoulder tee, I went downstairs, wanting a glass of wine. Before going into the kitchen, I peeped out the living-room window to see water running down the street like small streams flowing at a rapid pace. The large droplets continued to come down heavy and the lightning continued to light up the sky.

“Monica,” I heard Devin call out to me. He was in the basement.

“Yes.”

“You need to come down here.”

I knew what this meant and didn't want to go downstairs, but I went anyway. Descending the stairs, I was happy to see the carpet was still dry on the finished side of our basement.
So far, so good,
I thought, but when I went to the unfinished side, I saw Devin scooping water from the basement floor with a plastic cup. He was doing this to stop the water from coming over to the finished side. We'd had this happen one other time before, and we ended up losing everything. We had to get the water vacuumed out by a company. He had to get everything treated so we wouldn't get mold. All the furniture was destroyed. That flood ended up costing us almost $10,000 with repairs and replacement of the carpet and furniture. So I could understand why Devin was working furiously to hinder that from happening to us again.

“Why didn't you bring something down here to help scoop this water up?” he asked with an attitude.

“How was I supposed to know? I was expecting to see it already flooded,” I replied tersely.

“You see it's raining, right? Go upstairs and get a cup to help me. I've already put something up at the bottom of the door to help stop the water from coming in. It should slow it down a bit.”

I stood for a minute watching him go back to scooping the water up. Then I turned and went back upstairs to retrieve a cup and returned to Devin still scooping water. I joined him. We were dumping it into a large thirty-two gallon trash can.

“Devin, I don't know why you don't get the problem fixed. The man told you we needed that drain at the door replaced in order for the water to not enter this basement again. How are you going to spend $10,000 for the main problem to not be resolved?”

“How did I know it was going to rain like this again?”

“This is not the first time this has happened. The first time should have been enough for you to call someone to come out and fix the problem,” I retorted.

“Monica, don't be trying to tell me what I should have done. It's not doing us any good now, is it?”

“I'm just saying,” I said, scooping up the water and pouring it in the trash can.

“I don't want to hear it, so just shut up,” he yelled.

“I'm down here helping you, and you're going to get disrespectful? This is your domain, Devin, not mine. You wanted a man cave; you can save it all by your damn self,” I said throwing the cup down and walking out of the room.

“You are such a bitch,” he murmured but loud enough for me to hear it.

“What did you call me?” I paused, keeping my back to him.

“I called you a bitch,” he repeated boldly.

Tears clouded my eyes as the stabbing pain from him calling me a bitch upset me. We had been together for a long time and had been through a lot and said a lot of things to each other, but never had my husband ever come out of his mouth to say that. Crazy, yes. Stupid, yes. Bitch, never. I was so taken aback I couldn't speak. I couldn't even turn to face him. It took me a bit, but I turned and walked back in the space with him. I stood there in the water while he continued to scoop the water up to save the basement. Then he peered up at me.

“Either help or get the hell out,” he bellowed as he bent over again to scoop up more water.

Rage engulfed my pain. I contemplated bashing his head in with the bat that sat on the shelf we had in the unfinished room. A voice said,
“Don't do it,”
but the one that wanted to teach him a lesson said, “
Bash his freakin' head in
.”

The rational voice said,
“If you do it, you are going to have to knock him out because if you miss, this man is liable to take the bat from you and beat the hell out of you. There is no need to stoop to violence.”
My rational voice concluded with,
“What if you do manage to knock him out? Will that be the blow that kills this man?”

I didn't want to see Devin dead, but my hands tightened with the battle of fury verses common sense. I closed my eyes trying to think sensibly but
bitch
kept ringing over and over in my mind. This punk called me a bitch. What next? It was bad enough he treated me like he did. Then it was finding him with his ex-fiancée. Now this? Was his verbal abuse going to eventually turn physical? Could I continue to withstand even the verbal abuse if we decided to work out our marriage? I felt like a slap across the face would be easier to take than the words that cut to the core of my spirit. Devin was good at yielding his wounding words. His degrading remarks were starting to takes their toll on me. I was already too fat for him, which was why I was working out, but was it enough? Hell, was it worth it?

I opened my eyes to find him not paying me any attention. He looked up at me again giving me a smug look as he said, “You still here? Oh, maybe you want to use this as an opportunity to exercise and lose some weight.”

Tick
went my mind . . . and I lost it.