Chasing Butterflies (26 page)

“H
ow’s it going, Nia-Pooh,” Cameron says the minute I answer my cell and his face pops up on the screen. I’ve only spoken to him once since I’ve been here. And the first time was real brief. “You miss
me
, yet?”

“Ohmygod! Where have you been?” I say, holding my phone up in front of me as we FaceTime. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”

He grins. Then he waggles his eyebrows at me. “I’ve missed you, too, Nia. A lot. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since you’ve left.”

“Awww,” I say, smiling. “That’s so sweet.”

“I wasn’t really going for sweet here, Nia.” He looks at me seriously, something he hardly ever does. “What I’m saying here is, I
really
miss you. You know what they say: ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder.’ Or in my case, your absence has me going crazy. I feel like the other half of me is gone.”

Huh?

He feels like—?

Wait.

Wait.

Wait.

Is he saying . . .?

No. He can’t be.

I quickly shrug it off. “Soo, have you and Crystal been hanging out?”

He shakes his head. “Not really. We talk here and there. But it’s not the same. Don’t get me wrong, Crystal’s the apple in the pie. But you’re the whipped cream, the vanilla bean ice cream, and the cherry on top. I miss being around you, Nia.”

“Aww, Cam. I miss being around you, too. You’re my bestie.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s the problem.”

Huh?

My brow furrows with confusion. And just when I’m about to probe, to push further to see what he means, he saves me from the answer. “Crystal told me you might be coming back to Long Beach.”

“No. I
am
coming back.”

He smiles. “When?” There’s eagerness in his tone that makes me blush.

I nibble contemplatively on my forefinger. “Uh. As soon as Crystal’s parents get back from their vacation.”

He grimaces. “She says they won’t be back for another two weeks.”

I sigh. “I know.” The thought alone makes my stomach lurch. They’ve extended their vacation.

“We’ll just have to be optimistic,” he says. “It’ll go by quick.”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“And there goes the optimism. Right out the front door.”

“I know, I know.” I take a deep breath. “I’m just so ready to come home.” Well, I don’t really have a home.

“I’m ready with you. You still haven’t heard from your aunt? Crystal mentioned it.”

Figures.

I shake my head. “No. It’s like she vanished off the face of the earth.”

“You want me to get my Atlanta crew to do a drive-by?”

“No I don’t want you doing a
drive-by
. She’s made her choice. Now I have to live with it.”

He grins. “Oh, okay. I was about to have my Atlanta crew run up on her. All you have to do is say the word.”

I laugh. “Boy, what Atlanta crew? Who do you know in Georgia?”

“Uh, no one, yet. But I was about to go on Facebook to see who I can recruit.”

I suck my teeth. “Boy, stop.”

He laughs. “You know I’m only talking trash.”

“I know. That’s why I don’t ever take you serious.”

He gives me a look. “Well, maybe you should. Start taking me serious, I mean.”

“I know what you meant,” I say back.

“I know I joke a lot, Nia. But there’s also a serious side to me.”

I know there is. He just never likes to show it.

“Oh, brother,” I say, trying to make light of it. “Please don’t get all heavy on me, Cam. I can’t handle anything too serious right now. Being here is heavy enough. Let’s just keep it easy, breezy.”

Ohmygod. Did I just say that?

Easy breezy?

I did.

He laughs a little. “Cool. I’ll save the heavy stuff for when you get back. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“Are you still writing?”

I nod. Tell him some. “You wanna know what I miss most?”

“Me?” He waggles his brows.

“No, silly.”

He grabs his chest, feigning hurt. “Way to go, Nia. You’ve managed to break my heart into a million pieces. You sure know how to bruise a man’s ego. I don’t think I’ll ever be the same now.”

I playfully roll my eyes. “Boy, stop. You and your ego will be fine. You know I miss you. But I miss all of the poetry lounges more. I miss being on stage.”

He smiles. “You’re really good. I love watching you on stage. All you need is some baby oil and a pole.”

I roll my eyes. “Ugh. That is so not cute.”

“I know, I know. But you are.”

I blush. Why does he seem so different?

I don’t know. I can’t put my finger on it. But something’s definitely
different
.

Cameron leans forward into the screen, his expression intense. “You’re different, Nia.” He says this as if he’s been snooping through my thoughts about him.

I stare back. “Losing a father, then finding out that the man you
thought
was your father really wasn’t, then being dragged three thousand miles away from your life to stay with a man who really
is
your father sort of has a way of changing a person.”

“I know all of that, Nia. But you weren’t dragged,” he says, sorrowfully. “You went willingly.”

I blink. “Wait a minute. I didn’t have much of a choice here. Where else was I supposed to go? What was I supposed to do, Cam, kick and scream? I thought Aunt Terri was taking me in, but you see how well that turned out. This whole thing was supposed to turn out differently. If I had known for one second my aunt wasn’t being honest with me, I would have never let her convince me to come here. I would have refused.”

I feel myself getting emotional. “This has been extremely hard for me, Cam. You haven’t lost your parents. I have.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, softly. “That was insensitive of me. I’m such an ass sometimes. I know you didn’t ask for any of this. It’s just that . . .” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “I wish you never left.”

“So do I.”

“Nothing’s been the same without you, Nia. It was really hard saying good-bye to you, when I never really got to say hello.”

I swallow, blinking a mile a minute, confusion coursing its way through me.

What the heck is he talking about?

Wait. Why does it feel like there’s some hidden meaning behind his words?

“Cam, you know I—”

The rest of my sentence goes on hold, when he cuts in with an apology for not calling as much. I tell him it’s okay. “No, let me finish. I’m sorry for only calling you once since you’ve been gone. I should have been more available to you. I’ve been avoiding you,” he says, softly, shaking his head.

I frown. “But why?

He sighs. “Because it’s hard seeing you on a screen, Nia, and hearing your voice, but not being able to really be around you.”

“It’s okay,” I say softly.

He shakes his head. “No, it isn’t, Nia. I was wrong. It’s lonely here without you.”

“But you have Crystal.”

“But I don’t have
you
.”

“Awww.” I smile. “You know she likes you, right?”

He gives me a blank stare. “But I like
you,
Nia. Always have. You’re my best friend, Nia. But I want more.”

My eyes widen. I don’t know what to say to any of what he’s said.

But he saves me from an awkward tongue-tying moment, and says, “Don’t respond, okay? Just let it marinate. You’ve been through a lot, Nia, in such a short time. I admire your strength. I think that’s what attracts me to you the most. You’re resilient. And smart. And pretty. And funny. Oh, and did I mention how pretty you are?”

I laugh, feeling tears welling up in my eyes. He’s never shown me this side of him before. Only the silly him, and I don’t know what to make of this other side.

“Look,” he says, before any of my tears get a chance to fall. “I have to go. Hopefully, you’ll be ready to talk more about what I’ve said. I have a big hug waiting for you when you get back.”

“And I need one,” I’m able to honestly say without my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth.

“I love you, Nia,” he says. And the way he says it, the way he’s looking at me, tells me he means it. I smile, and my face warms.

“Bye, Cam.”

“Later, Nia-pooh.”

The call ends.

I sigh.

In a matter of weeks—no, months—my world has been turned upside down, and I’ve been tossed around. Everything’s become so complicated for me.

My whole life has become quite the horror show.

And now my best friend tells me he
loves
me.

“H
ey, sweetness,” Miss Peaches calls out the next morning, knocking and opening the door at the same time. She peeks her head into the bedroom.

“Hi,” I say, looking up from my journal.

I glance at the clock. Then I take her in, as I always do, without staring too long or too hard. It’s close to ten in the morning, and she’s already made up and pre-ready for a night out on the town.

Today, she’s wearing a low-cut T-shirt—with the words
BIG GIRLS DO IT BETTER
scrawled in black lettering on the front—that has her oversize breasts practically bursting out of it, with pair of white leggings and wedge heels that make her look even taller than she already is.

Amazonian.

Lumbarjack tall.

“Have you heard from Omar?” she asks, placing a manicured hand up on her curvaceous hips.

I shake my head. “No. Not really. I mean, not since yesterday.” Omar had texted me the day before saying he’d be back later in the evening. But when I’d finally gone to bed at eleven o’clock, he still hadn’t returned.

And Miss Peaches wasn’t home, either.

Her ruby-red painted lips curl. “
Mmph
. This mess with him has got to stop.”

What mess?

“All I know is, I hope he’s not back out there in them streets. I’m not ’bout to have my doors kicked in, or my car shot up behind none of his foolery.”

She must notice the horrified look on my face.

She waves a dismissive hand. “Well, maybe they won’t kick in the doors, so don’t go worrying ya’self, sweetie. I just don’t wanna be on the receiving end of a bullet not meant for
me
. You know these fools out here are crazy.”

Oh. Like this news is really supposed to make me feel better.

“Omar’s tryna change, you know. For you.”

I give her a look, but say nothing. Daddy always said a person needed to change for himself first, before he tried changing for someone else.

I really think he was talking about Omar.

“I don’t want him to change for
me
,” I mutter.

“This is all new for him. Having a daughter ’n’ whatnot.”

I give her a blank stare.

“I’m sure this is no easier on you than it is on him. But y’all two gonna have ta figure it out.”

“I’m leaving, Miss Peaches,” I push out.

Her eyes widen. “You are? And where is you going, boo?”

“Back home.”

She considers me thoughtfully, then asks, “Does ya
fahver
know?”

“He’s not my father,” I say, feeling defensive. “Please don’t call him that.”

She steps into the room and sits on the edge of the bed. The mattress sinks low. “Now you listen to me, boo. It may be hard for you to accept, but those blood tests don’t lie. Omar is ya
fahver
, hon. Now you may not want him to be, and he may not know how to be, but that’s what he is to you, whether you like it or not.”

She reaches over and places her hand over mine. “You can’t change who you’re related to, but you can change how you relate to ’em; you know what I’m sayin’?”

I bite my lip and nod, wishing I didn’t.

“
Mmph
. My sperm donor ran all up in my
muhver
, then split like the no-good coward he was the minute she told him she was knocked up. Dirty bastard. He the reason I don’t trust men.”

She shakes her head. “Oooh, just talking about that man makes my blood boil. I need to turn up. But I don’t ever like to drink before noon.”

I blink.

Oh.

“Anyway, Sugah. The point I’m making is . . .” She sucks her teeth. “Oh, hell. I done forgot my point. Dammit.” She gives me a stern look. “Just say no to drugs, Sugah. I don’t care what nobody tells you, they eat up ya brain cells.”

“I don’t do drugs,” I say earnestly.

“Well, good for you. Don’t smoke, either. Weed kills the brain cells, too.”

“I don’t do that either.”

“Ooh, that’s even, better. Stay wet-free, boo.”

Wet-free?

I decide it’s best I not know why not getting wet is “even better.”

“Oh, I know what I was about to say,” Miss Peaches says. “I don’t know who my
fahver
is, and I don’t wanna know who he is ’cause I’d probably spit in his face, or worse.” She squeezes my hand. “But you, sweetness. You now know both of your
fahvers
. That ain’t nothin’ but God, baby.” She waves a hand up in the air. “Yes, Lord. He took one away ’n’ gave you another. You know what that is, right?”

Tragic.

I shake my head. “No.”

“It’s a second chance.”

For a split second...

She sounds like Aunt Terri. Almost.

* * *

Later in the afternoon—around three or so—my butt is parked out in my usual spot, on the porch step with my journal and pen.

Feeling my emotions starting to well up inside of me, I take a deep breath, then take a few seconds to collect myself before shutting my journal. I reach into the side pocket of my book bag and pull out my cell. I try Aunt Terri’s number. Again.

“The subscriber you’ve reached has a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service . . .”

I know what I’ve heard, but that doesn’t stop me from calling back a second and third time, as if the recording would somehow miraculously disappear and her phone would start ringing.

It doesn’t.

I press
END
. Then toss my phone back into my bag.

I’m not sure what to make of this. I’m struggling to understand why her numbers aren’t working anymore. Or why she hasn’t reached out to me.

I close my eyes, then allow hot, angry tears to stream down my face, believing—
no
, knowing—in my heart that Aunt Terri’s has officially turned her back on me.