The Ex Factor: A Novel (37 page)

“Jamal must not know.”

“Why?”

“Because that's my ma'fuckin' man and if he knew, he would've told me. Damn, I'm proud of you, baby, but what's to be scared about?”

“What if I get tired of working or I just don't want to do it anymore?”

“Imani.” Kree grabbed her hands just as Red walked by and cleared his throat. “You have to believe in yourself and be determined. I told you before that you needed to find something that you liked and that you wanted to do. It's about growing up and maturing.”

“It's something else.”

“What?”

“I put in an application at this building in Harlem for an apartment.”

“Harlem? What happened to Brooklyn in the house?”

“Yo.” She smiled. “I'm not about reppin' for no boroughs anymore, I have to be about what's best for me and my son. And I want my independence back. I love my mother and Red but I cannot live with them. Mama Byrd shittin' on the porta-potty all over the house, all this music playing, and Red's ass practicing dance steps and shit in the middle of the night, it just ain't gon' cut it, baby. I got to go.”

“Well damn,” Red said as he passed Imani's door, “the homeless is awfully choosy.”

Kree laughed. “I can understand you wanting your own place.” He peeked out the door and Red said, “I'm still here.” Imani rolled her eyes and Kree smiled. “Look,” Kree went on, whispering, “maybe I can get some pussy now.”

Imani placed her arms around Kree's neck. “Oh you want some? You want some pussy or you want some head?”

“Both. And I wanna taste you again.” As Kree placed his lips against Imani's, Jamal ran in the room and jumped on his back. “This a jack, niggah, gimme your candy!”

Kree quickly kissed Imani and let Jamal place him in a pretend choke hold. “Awwwl, man,” Kree screamed, “where'd you come from?”

“Me and Mama-Starr just came back from the store. Now be
quiet, this is a jack!” Jamal pulled Kree to the floor as Kree fell out laughing. “Oh you laughing, punk?” Jamal said. He playfully punched Kree in the head. “Imani—get him.”

“Get him, Jamal?” Imani asked, ready to attack.

“Jack 'im!” Jamal shouted.

Imani got off the bed and started moving from side to side like a sumo wrestler, then without warning she playfully pounced on top of Kree as Jamal had him in a choke hold. “Uhmm, take that!” She tickled Kree in the stomach. “Take that, punk!”

“Oh, I'ma punk?” Kree said. He was laughing so hard that tears were coming from his eyes. “Oh, I'ma punk? Jamal, Jamal,” he said, “remember you gon' want that new Madden game, remember who gon' play it with you.”

Jamal loosened his grip on Kree's neck. “Ai'ight, ai'ight. You're right, you're right. You wanna get her?” Jamal asked.

“You talkin' about me?” Imani couldn't believe it.

“Who else?” Kree and Jamal turned the tables and jumped Imani. Kree started tickling her and Jamal took the palms of his hands and played in Imani's hair, causing her micro braids to fly all over.

Imani swept them out of her face. “Okay, okay I give up. I give up.”

“You give up?” Kree asked.

“I give up,” Imani said as Jamal continued to mess in her hair.

“You give up?” Kree asked again.

“Yes.” She laughed.

“Well, who you give in to?”

“You. But what y'all beating me up for?” She laughed as Jamal took her braids and tossed them back into her face.

“Because we love you,” Kree said seriously.

Imani brushed her braids out of her face and suddenly her grin was replaced by a serious look. “We love you too,” she said. “We really do.”

C
ELESTE LISTENED TO
The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill
CD as she nervously drove up the highway. She took one last puff off her cigarette and plucked it out the window, slowly releasing the smoke behind it. She felt cold and turned up the heat. The winter frost had taken over, and after all winter in New York was colder than most places.

As Celeste exited the Manhattan Bridge and entered Brooklyn, she knew there was no turning back. Besides, she was done with counterfeiting reality. Now was the time to welcome the difference in bullshit being real but not being defining.

She parked on the corner of Monica's block and walked up the street. She felt as if her tight, fitted Seven jeans held her together. She straightened the collar on her purple cowhide sweater and matching jacket. Her signature Coach purse was tucked snugly under her right arm and her red curls were wild and free. She took one last breath and rang Monica's bell.

Monica had just laid Jeremiah down and prayed that whoever was ringing the bell wasn't Sharief. She hadn't heard from him in almost a month and that was the way she needed it to be, to keep
her feelings intact and not worry about sympathy and desperation getting together and disguising themselves as true love.

Monica looked around the living room and was pleased to see her house was clean. The bell rang again.

Once Monica saw it was Celeste, she opened the door. She and Celeste stared at each other for a moment. Monica's eyes admired her sister's beauty while Celeste tried her best to block Monica's out—that way her mind could resist comparing—but she couldn't help noticing that Monica was no longer pregnant. Trying to keep herself from wondering about the baby she said, “I just came to get
my
children.”

Monica stood speechless. Without warning, tears came to her eyes and she started crying.

“What are you crying for?” Celeste asked. “Did something happen to my children?” She peeked around Monica and looked into the living room. “Where are they?”

Monica wiped her eyes. “They're not here. I'm sorry, Celeste.” She bit hard on her bottom lip.

“Where are my children?” Celeste started to panic.

“With Sharief. They all live with his mother, including Sharief. Celeste, I really want to apologize,” Monica said.

“For what? Did the sober representative leave and you found out that
yo' man
was a drunk, or was it the desk duty that killed it?”

“He was suspended without pay for the bogus charges you pressed against him.”

“I see. Y'all didn't have any money.” She chuckled. “Well, touché. Oh and another thing, don't tell me what the hell my charges were. 'Cause technically I should've pressed assault charges on you too.”

“Me?”

“Weren't you his co-defendant? Didn't you help him to assault me?”

Monica held her head down. “I really want to apologize for what I did.”

“You can look at me,” Celeste said. “You looked me dead in the
eyes when you told me that my husband was
yo' man.
And what are you apologizing for?” Celeste squinted. “You had a baby, didn't you?”

“Yes. A boy, Jeremiah.”

“You named him Jeremiah? That's the name Sharief and I were supposed to name our son…Well hell”—she tapped her index finger against her full lips—“that makes the shit even worse, doesn't it? From what I can see, Sharief always wanted a son, you always wanted a baby, yet you're apologizing? Are you apologizing for having your baby?”

“No—I love my baby,” Monica said defensively.

“Then what are you apologizing for?”

“Don't make me rehash it.”

“Look”—Celeste cleared her throat—“you're not apologetic. Sorry, yes, triflin', yes, apologetic, no. I looked at you and Sharief and I studied your vibe around him and the way you looked at him. You loved him and you didn't give a fuck about me, my marriage, or my feelings. I am struggling right now not to tell you that I hate you. That I resent you. And I'm struggling even more not to love you and want to see my nephew. My heart tells me that you're my sister but my mind figures what fuck does that mean if there are no boundaries? Truth be told, I can't stand you, but I love you. But right now I don't want a happily-ever-after ending with you because that's bullshit. Therefore, your tears mean nothing to me. I have a life to live and taking on the burden of your apology only causes me grief.” Celeste turned around and walked off the porch. She got in her car and headed for Queens to pick up her children.

Once Celeste arrived in Queens she spotted Sharief and the girls getting out of Sharief's truck. Kayla noticed her right away. She ran to her mother and hugged her tight. Kai and Kori followed suit.

“Mommy,” Kayla cried, “I have missed you so much. I thought I would be mad when I saw you but I love you.”

“Yeah, Mommy,” Kai said, “I'm ready roll up outta here.”

“Let me go get my things right now,” Kori insisted. “I'll be right back.”

Sharief stood back and watched the girls hug their mother and at that moment, he realized that he'd missed Celeste. He wasn't in love with her, but he'd thought about her and wondered how things could have turned out differently.

“Celeste,” he said walking over to her, “you look wonderful.”

“Thank you.” She forced a smile, trying her best to look him in the eyes and not feel anything. “I'm not here for a long conversation and if you want to apologize, save it. I don't want to hear it.”

Kori came back with a teddy bear and a small radio. “I'm ready,” she said, tapping Celeste on the leg. “We ain't got much. Daddy and Aunty Monica stayed broke.”

“Kori”—Sharief looked down at her—“where are you going?”

“With me,” Celeste said, “I came to get my children.”

“Yeah,” he said sarcastically, “and take care of 'em with my money.”

“Oh please,” Celeste smirked, “you got off light. I officially dropped the charges so smile and shut up about it.”

“I'm not trying to argue with you, Celeste.”

“Then good, don't. Where are their things?”

“You don't have a place to stay.”

“Excuse me, but is that a question or a statement?”

“Well, do you?” he asked.

“Let me make this clear to you. I am no longer depending on you for shit. I'll be staying with my mother tonight. And just so you know, I took the time I needed to collect myself and now I have a new place to live; the closing for our house was yesterday. And I'll be moving into my new house…in Atlanta… tomorrow.”

“Whoa-whoa-whoa, wait a minute. What?”

“You heard me. I sold the house and my children and I are moving.”

Sharief couldn't believe it. “That house belonged to both of us, so how did you sell it?”

“Sharief, you're not stupid. The house was in my name, what'd you expect me to do? Now look, like I said, I'm moving to Atlanta.” Celeste felt tears starting to flood her eyes, but she was determined not to cry. “And I really would ask you not to give me any problems. I don't want to keep your children away from you, I just need to go someplace and live my life. New York and New Jersey have too many memories, too many things that I'm tired of. I don't have a job yet, but I'll find one, I have enough money from the sale of the house to take care of me and my children for a while.”

“You don't know anybody in Atlanta.”

“Hell, I didn't know you and we were married. Besides, I have a friend there.”

“A
friend
?”

“I can't have friends?”

“A man?” Sharief frowned.

“You have a lot of damn nerve. Didn't you just get finished playing house with my sister? Get the hell out my face talking stupid!”

“Celeste,” Sharief said, practically begging, “can I please say one thing to you?”

“No. Come on, girls,” she said. “Let's go.”

“
K
HY DID YOU insist we come over here, Kree? What, you got tired of Red?” Imani chuckled while looking around Kree's studio apartment. “This is a mess.” Kree had the epitome of a bachelor pad: an abundance of clothes strewn on his black futon, a couch, two candleholders on the wall, a fully equipped and computerized CD player, mountains of CDs, along with state-of-the-art engineering and DJ'ing equipment. In addition, next to his refrigerator was a poster of Bob Marley with a blunt in his mouth and smoke rising from his lips, and on the back of his front door was a Puerto Rican flag.

Kree lit the candles and cut the lights off. “Don't talk about my spot.” He sat on the couch and motioned for Imani to come over. “This is the secret Bat Cave, so be quiet. Not everybody gets up in this piece. So don't look at the mess, look at me.” He grabbed Imani by one of the belt loops in her tight and fitted jeans and pulled her toward him. “I spent this afternoon at your mom's already, now I wanna spend the night here… with you. We need some time alone.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Kree lifted Imani's shirt and massaged her waist. “Because we're grown and the last time we fucked was too long ago.
And
something tells me that out of that ‘I'm scared' conversation we had, you left out being scared of me.” He took his tongue and licked in and out of her belly button. “True story?”

“True story.” She sat down on his lap and straddled him.

“Why we keep playing around?” He kissed her on the neck. “You ain't ready for me?”

“I don't know.”

Instantly Kree stopped kissing her. “You don't know?” He didn't want to show his disappointment over Imani's unexpected answer. “Wassup with that?”

“Kree, there's no greater feeling than being with you. But yo, for real I'm scared as hell. I loved Walik hard. I mean hard as hell and now I'm looking at you going,
I feel like I could love this niggah even more
, what the hell is wrong with this picture? So yes, I am… scared of that. The last thing I need is my heart killed… again.”

“You think I'ma kill your heart?”

“I don't know but I keep worrying that if my heart dies, then how am I going to revive myself ? I can't deal with no more Shantes.” She rolled her eyes. “Not having to put up with that bullshit is like being able to breathe fresh air. Truth be told, I just don't want any more ex-factors, that shit is like a tug-of-war, he is pushing, I'm pulling. We both end up scared. I can't be in love and always in some shit. That mix doesn't turn me on. I am not drama chasing anymore. I just wanna chilled-out love. My heart is all I have and believe me, love is one niggah that I can't seem to trust.”

“I love you, Imani, and I have no intentions of hurting you. But if you feel like you still wanna be with Walik then I'll step.”