Big Girls Drama (3 page)

Jumping to the workout DVD, I came to the conclusion it was kicking my ass. I knew that's what it was supposed to be doing, but damn . . . I was already sweating like a whore in church, and I had only been working out for ten minutes of this thirty-minute video. My lavender workout top had dark purple circles beneath my armpits. I thought by the fourth day of doing this, it would have gotten a lot easier, but it hadn't. I was worn out, and I had just got started. I marched in place awaiting the next move from the man on the 52-inch flat panel when my husband walked into the living room.

“Hey, baby,” I spoke, panting and reaching to the ceiling. Right then left. Then right, then left, going to the beat of the music they were playing. I noticed Devin never spoke.

“Hey, baby,” I said again waiting for him to respond.

He walked by gawking at me asking, “What's for dinner?”

“You can't speak. All you can ask is what's for dinner?”

“Hey, Monica. What's for dinner?” he responded tersely.

“Did you have a bad day at work?” I asked, noticing his obnoxious mood.

“Let's just say it wasn't the best day,” he answered. “Now, are you going to answer my question?”

I stopped, trying to get some reprieve and said, “I didn't cook.”

He frowned saying, “What do you mean you didn't cook?”

“Don't you remember, we're supposed to go over to your parents' house for dinner tonight?” I reminded him.

He closed his eyes and sighed in frustration. I knew from his reaction he didn't feel like going there. Especially since he said he didn't have the best day. Hell, I understood. I worked today also. All I wanted to do after this workout was take a shower and crawl in my bed to relax for the rest of the evening.

“You still could have cooked,” he spat.

“The last time I cooked and we had to go over to your parents for dinner, you got upset because I prepared food, knowing we were going there. So now I don't cook at all, and you telling me I should have? You need to make up your mind,” I said smartly.

“I don't have time for this,” he murmured as he turned to walk away from me.

“Where are you going?”

“I'm going upstairs to get ready like you should be doing instead of wasting your time working out to that CD. All you're going to do is fix a big bowl of ice cream right before bedtime, so what's the use?”

His face was void of a smile. He was serious, and it kind of hurt my feelings. I knew Devin was not happy with my weight. He was one of the reasons why I was working out in the first place. I tried to play it off like I always did and commented in a nonchalant way, “I can work out and eat my ice cream too. And for your information, its frozen yogurt, which is healthier for you.”

“Not half a gallon at a time,” he replied, picking up the mail from the table behind the couch and flipping through it.

“I don't eat an entire container, and you know it,” I said now doing squats. Groaning and trying to talk I said, “I don't see you pulling yourself away from drinking beer every chance you get. Ever heard of beer gut?”

Devin looked down at his stomach patting it.

“You don't see a beer gut here, do you? My beer hasn't put weight on me but that ice cream, biscuits, cakes, pasta, and whatever else you can get your hands on has. I'm the same man you married seven years ago. But look at you. How much weight have you gained?”

I was not about to answer that question as I stopped and turned to Devin, trying my best not to burst into tears. He didn't need to explain to me how fabulous he still was while he thought I'd fallen by the wayside. Hell, I was still a very attractive woman who was going through some things right now. If he only knew, but right now, I couldn't tell him.

“Honey, you didn't have to take it that far.”

“All I'm saying is you are doing this for nothing. In a month, those workout CDs are going to be shelved with the rest of the DVDs we have. Hell, we have a workout room in this house that you never utilize.”

I turned back to my video and started doing side kicks as I said, “Thanks for your support, Devin. I don't know why you always feel the need to put me down.”

“It's called motivation. Somebody has to tell you the truth.”

I stopped again, turning to him.

“Motivation, hell. Motivation is telling me to keep up the good work, or honey, you look great. Anything is better than what you are telling me now, Devin. Why can't you ever help elevate me instead of always trying to tear me down? I don't always need to hear criticism from you. If you don't have anything good to say, then keep your negative opinions to yourself.”

“I knew you would turn this into something else besides me helping you.”

“How is this helping me, Devin?” I questioned.

“It doesn't matter. Even if I explained it to you, you will still find a way to turn it around to fit your opinion.”

“When was the last time you told me something positive?”

“This morning,” he said quickly, almost cutting me off.

“What did you say?”

“I told you I loved you.”

“No, you didn't. I told you I loved you, and you said, ‘Yeah.'”

“Same thing,” he argued.

“It's not the same thing, and you know it.”

“I'm going to get ready. I don't have time to stand here and argue with you over something so petty,” he said heading up the stairs.

I blinked back tears as I watched him disappear. Just because I put on this smile often didn't mean I wasn't in pain. What in the world was happening to us? Was my appearance that bad that he felt like he had to treat me like crap all the time? I was really trying hard in this marriage, but I wasn't sure how much more of this I could take.

When I walked into my daughter's room, I wanted to scream. She wasn't here, but she left this room looking like a tornado just went through it. If I knew it looked like this, Ms. Thang wouldn't have been allowed to go over to her friend's house. I guess that's why she pulled the door closed so I wouldn't be able to see what a wreck her room was. No female should be this nasty. I tried to instill in Meena to be clean and pick up after yourself, respect yourself and what you have, and take pride in your appearance, but the only thing I felt like she listened to was taking pride in her appearance. My daughter always made sure she looked good at all times.

Stepping over all the clothes on her floor, I maneuvered to her dresser to put away the clean clothes I'd just finished folding. I started to place them on her bed, but I knew all she would do when she got here was push them on the floor with the rest of the clothes. What was the point of me washing them if she was going to mix the clean with the dirty?

Opening the top dresser drawer, I went to put her socks in it when something caught my eye. I pushed a few items of her clothes aside to make the object visible and was stunned when I saw a plastic sandwich bag filled with marijuana. Adrenaline now pumping, I quickly moved more of her clothes around to see if there was anything else she was trying to hide from me. Nothing else was in that particular drawer, but I began to search the rest, and to my dismay, I found something else unusual. In the bottom drawer was a white envelope. I pulled it out and opened it to find money in it. Counting it, I saw Meena had $260 in her possession.

All type of scenarios ran through my mind as I tried to think of the reasons why my daughter would have this weed and money in her possession. Just five minutes ago, I was mad because she couldn't keep her room clean, and now, I was facing the fact my fifteen-year-old daughter was involved in something much worse. And the only conclusion I could come up with is that my daughter was a freaking drug dealer.

I rushed out of Meena's room and retrieved my cell phone. I needed to talk to her ASAP. I dialed her number, but Meena didn't bother to pick up. This frustrated me. I knew this girl's cell phone was constantly glued to her hand, so I know she saw me calling. She just chose not to answer.

Not willing to let this go, I decided to call her friend Shannon's home.

“Hello.”

“Hello, this is Ms. Gordon. Is Meena there?”

“No, she isn't.”

“Then where is she?”

“I just dropped her and Shannon off at the mall. I hope that wasn't a problem. Meena said it was okay with you.”

“Meena told me nothing about going to the mall.”

“Well, I'm sorry. I should have checked with you first.”

Maybe you should have,
I thought.

“Who's picking them up?” I asked, ignoring her statement.

“I'm picking them up at seven. Do you want me to drop her off then?”

“Please, because I need to have a serious talk with my child.”

After hanging up with Ms. Brooks, I couldn't do anything but pace the floor waiting for her to arrive. I didn't think this day could get any worse, but I should have known not to think such a thing. First, I got an invitation to my ex-fiancé's wedding, and now this.

I looked at my coffee table to see the invite I'd just retrieved from my mailbox, cordially inviting me to the nuptials of Kegan and Imani. He didn't waste any time wanting to make this woman his wife. I kept thinking receiving this invite was a joke because Kegan and I did not break up on good terms. As a matter of fact, he cheated on me with Imani. I was supposed to be the woman he was marrying, not her. Funny how things can change in such a short period of time.

My stomach began to churn at the thought of another woman having what I worked so hard to achieve for myself. But this whore swoops in and gets the marriage while I got the daunting task of molding him just for her for six years.

I plopped down on the sofa and leaned back, sighing. I was stressed to the max and would have given anything for a bottle of liquor right now. I swear if I had it, I would down it right here. Right now. A tear streamed down the side of my face as I thought about how bad things were at this time. I knew it was nothing but the devil. The more I tried to do better, the more he threw obstacles in my path to make me stumble, and he knew my biggest stumbling blocks were my daughter and my ex. Right now, the devil was winning. As much as I hated giving him any victory in my life, I couldn't help but feel helpless in this situation. I've prayed. I've cried. And I've prayed some more for my life to turn around somehow. And it's not that it hasn't. It has. I had a house for me and my daughter. I had a job to pay the bills and put food on the table. I had great friends. But even in having all of those things, I felt like I had nothing. I felt alone.

When I heard a car door shut, I ran to the window to see Meena waving bye to her friend and mother. It was right at seven thirty. When Meena entered our home, she looked like she didn't have a care in the world.

“Were you looking for me, Mom?”

“Who gave you permission to go to the mall, Meena?”

“You told me it was okay.”

“No, I didn't. I told you it was okay to go to Shannon's house. Not the mall.”

“Sorry.”

“And why didn't you clean that room before you left?”

“I didn't feel like it.”

“I don't feel like doing a lot of things, but I still have to do it, Meena. I don't like to work and pay bills and buy you these clothes you beg me for, but I do it.”

“Okay, Mom, chill,” she grumbled.

“Don't tell me to chill! I'm your mother, and you will
not
speak to me like that.”

“I'll be in my room,” she said flippantly, attempting to leave the room but I quickly stopped her.

“Hold up, wait a minute. I didn't dismiss you.”

“What, Mom? Dang,” she said, her voice vexed with attitude.

“Don't what me. I swear you are going to make me slap the taste out your mouth.”

“All I'm trying to do is go to my room. You do want me to clean it, don't you?”

“Are you going to clean it? Or are you going to look for this?”

I held up the bag of weed and the envelope filled with money.

“Why are you messing with my stuff?” she said nastily as she walked up to me trying to snatch the items out my hand, but I jerked it back before she could. “Give it to me, Ma.”

I pushed her in her chest asking, “Where did you get this from?”

“A friend,” she stated, face twisted in annoyance.

“What friend?”

“You don't know him.”

“Who is he, and why is he giving you weed and money. Are you selling drugs?”

“No, Ma.”

“Then why do you have this in your possession?”

“Because I wanted it.”

She was saying this like it was normal for a fifteen-year-old to have drugs in her possession. Hell, I knew I hadn't done drugs around her. I can't say I haven't smoked weed before but never in the presence of my child.

“Are you using drugs now, Meena?”

“No.”

“You know you are not making any sense, right? Either you're smoking weed or you're selling it. Which is it?”

“Just give me my stuff and I'll give it back to my friend.”

“I'm not giving you anything,” I retorted.

“But it's mine. I bought it.”

“With what? You don't have a job, and you damn sure don't get an allowance that's over $200. If you think I haven't notice the new clothes you have been wearing, I have. Look at you. You have bags in your hands now, and I know I didn't give you the money for it.”

“It's none of your concern,” she said like she was undaunted.

I sighed feeling my chest tightening. This girl was taking me to the place that was going to make me do something I may regret. Lately, these feelings of anxiety were happening to me more often than I'd like to admit. I knew it was because I was holding back from going the hell off. No one knew how much on edge I was. I was really trying not to lose it on anybody, especially my daughter. But she was pushing the right buttons that were moving me closer to the point of exploding.

I don't know what happened to Meena. Ever since Kegan . . . And then I paused, knowing ever since he left, she's been acting out. Kegan was not Meena's biological father, but he definitely played the role of one for her. He was the only man she knew that really loved her. Her real father was nowhere around. He disappeared soon as I told him I was pregnant, and I hadn't seen or heard from him since. Like most men, he said the baby wasn't his, and I can't say I wasn't hurt by this. I never understood how a man could walk away from someone he helped create and was supposed to love. I guess I could blame myself for choosing the wrong man to father my child because now, Meena was paying the price.

Unfortunately, since we broke up, Kegan hadn't been by to see Meena, which I found disrespectful. She didn't do anything to him. What happened with us was between us and us alone. He didn't have to abandon my daughter in the process. He promised her he would be in her life no matter what, but unfortunately, that was a promise he hadn't kept.

I looked at Meena as I felt myself calming down.

“You are bringing drugs into my house, which made it my concern once they crossed the threshold of what is my property.”

“Then I'll take it out,” she said, holding her hand out for me to give it to her.

“And do what, smoke it?”

“Mom, I've only smoked weed once or twice. That's it,” she finally admitted.

“And the money?”

“It's mine. My friend paid me to hold on to his stash for him, and I'm doing that.”

“What else are you holding?”

I hoped this was it. I searched her entire room but didn't find anything. Still, children had a nifty way of hiding things.

“This is it, Mom.”

“So you making my house hot by holding some drug dealer's stash. Did you ever think why he couldn't hold it himself?”

“No.”

I shook my head saying, “I raised you better than this, Meena.”

She exhaled, crossing her arms as she always did when her attitude set in.

“You know I have every right to go into your room and tear it up.”

“How is that fair?”

“Because I run this. I run you. Until you get eighteen and out of my house, you do as I say. Do you got that?”

“I hear you,” she said smartly.

“Don't make me smack the crap out of you, Meena.”

“I said I hear, you. Dang. What else do you want me to say?”

At this point all I wanted was for this child to get out of my face before I punched her in it. I was so sick and tired of her attitude, like I was always bothering her when all I was trying to do was take care of her and be the best mother possible.

“Can I go now?” she asked.

“No, you can't.”

“Why?”

“Because you are going to take me to this boy's house.”

“But, Mom,” she said, now looking frantic.

“Not buts,” I said, grabbing my keys. “Now get your behind in the car and let's go meet this boy who thinks it's okay to give my fifteen-year-old daughter drugs to hold for him.”

Meena didn't budge for a moment, but when I opened the door, she knew I was serious. That attitude was gone now. She may have thought I let her get by with that smart mouth, which I had, but now I was going to show her. I was going to have her take me to this young man's house. I needed to put a face to the drugs and possibly inform his parents the type of illegal antics he was up to.