The Girl of His Dreams (9 page)

I take a deep breath. Yo, real ish, this chick seemed like one of them good girls who just liked to get her freak on. And I liked freakin' her. But now this slimy trick's standin' here comin' at me wit' this craziness. I shake my head. I know there's some real grimy broads out there, but I ain't really think this chick would be one of 'em. I mean, damn. She's s'posed to be a church girl 'n' all. Yeah, I know, I know... they the worst kind. But still . . . her pops is some kinda deacon up in some church over in Newark. And she's s'posed to be all into the choir 'n' whatnot. Yet, she pullin' some triflin' stunt like this.

“Word is bond. Whosever seed you carryin', good for you. But this ain't sucka-ville, yo. So stay the eff away from me wit' ya dumbness 'cause I ain't beat.”

“Well, we'll just wait and see about that, Antonio Lopez. So you'd better get your dollars up 'cause our baby is gonna need diapers and milk.”

She rubs her stomach, again. “We're havin' a baby, Antonio Lopez, so you'd better get used to . . .”

I'm not claimin' jack. And I'm not hearin' jack else she's sayin'. I bite down on my bottom lip to keep from comin' outta my face reckless at her. But. . . word is bond, yo. I wanna rip into her real good. Instead, I spin off—walkin' up the steps and back into the crib, before I snap on 'er—slammin' the door behind me.

“I
want you to catch the train over to the city,” my dad says to me, “so we can go shopping on Saturday. A'ight, baby girl?”

I'm in my room, lying across my bed, flipping through the pages of
Go Tell It on the Mountain
for my English assignment. I can't get into it. It's
soooooo
slow. I need me a hood read. Something hot 'n' poppin'. But whatever. I'ma still ace the assignment we have to do on it. I sigh, shutting the book and tossing it on the other side of the bed. Anyway, I haven't talked to him—not because he hasn't been tryna talk to
me
, but 'cause I haven't been beat for him—in over a month. Not since Mom packed up and left him, exactly four weeks, four days, twelve hours, and twenty-seven minutes ago—dragging me with her. And even though I'm not really
that
pissed at him now, I'm still dragging him with my 'tude because he shoulda just kept his thing in his pants.

“I'll pick you up at Penn Station; then we can head up to Woodbury Commons. How's that sound?”

Like a buncha bull!
I roll my eyes up in my head, sitting up. Now Daddy knows how much I love, love, love to shop. And usually he doesn't have to ask me twice to spend his paper. But tonight, I'm not feeling it. I curl my pink painted toes, gripping the carpet beneath my feet. For the last ten minutes, he's been sweating me extra hard to come to Brooklyn. It's his way of tryna use me to win cool points with my mom. Well, that's not entirely true. He always hits me up when he and my mom are all lovey-dovey too. But when he's tryna take me shopping
without
me hitting him up to run his pockets, then I know what it is. A bribe.

I guess all those giggly phone sessions he's been having with her haven't worked out the way he hoped this time 'cause surprisingly she hasn't packed us up to move back home,
yet
. Not that I'm opposed to moving back home 'cause at least I'd be back in Brooklyn—where I belong. But, I'm not with all this back and forth. And I'm not gonna help him convince her that he's tryna change. No, not this time. He needs to stop
trying
to change. And change, period!

“Mmmph. What it sounds like is you want me to get up in Mom's ear for you—
again
.” I sigh.

“C'mon, sweetheart. Help ya old man out here. You know you and your mom are my world. I miss my family. I messed up.”

“Like you always do,” I snap. “Again and again and again. Over and over and over, Daddy, you keep doing the same thing. And it's not fair to me.
I'm
the one who has to suffer.”

“You're right, baby. . . .”

“Don't call me
that
. I'm not a baby, anymore. And you can't buy me things and think that's gonna make up for what you've done. I'm not for sale, Daddy.”

“I know you're not for sale, baby cakes. And I'm not tryna buy you. You're my daughter and I wanna take you shopping. Is that such a bad thing?”

“It is
if
you think I'm gonna side with you. I'm smart enough to know what's going on here.”

“Listen, baby cakes. I don't want you to side with me, Mi. I know I screwed up. It's all on me. You're my heart. I'd take a bullet to the head before I ever hurt you or let someone else hurt you.”

“But
you
hurt me, Daddy. And you hurt Mom, too. And I'm sick of being caught up in the middle of y'all's drama. I have my own stuff to deal with. We shoulda never had to move. I should still be in Brooklyn with my friends, enjoying my life. But, nooooo, thanks to you, I'm waaay out here in Jersey—miserable.”

“I know. And I'm sorry. I promise, I'ma make it up to you. Give me a minute to get it right, okay?”

I huff.
What. Ever!
I'm sick of him with his lies and broken promises to change.

And when I listen to my parents talking on the phone, I'm convinced it's only a matter of time before she starts packing up and I'm back in Brooklyn, where I should be in the first place. But I was too through when I heard Mom say, “I'll stay the night tomorrow night. We can talk more then. . . .I'm not making any promises, Roland....I need you too. . . . Don't worry about that. I'll tell Miesha that I'm staying in the city with Shelia because we have an early morning training. . . .”

Miss Sheila's my mom's bestie. They both work in the same building. My mom's an investigator for child welfare for the city of New York. And Miss Sheila's a caseworker. Anyway, the point is, Mom's lying and sneaking to see Daddy, then looking me in my face like she's not beat. It's a hot mess! All I know is, the
next
time she catches him with another chick and she calls herself leaving him or having a mini-breakdown, she's on her own. I'm. Not. Doing. Jack! And I mean it. I'm tired of having my life turned upside down because the two of them can't make their minds up and get it together.

“Come stay the weekend here,” Daddy says, “in your own home, in your own bed. It'll be just the two of us.” He starts sniffling, and it sounds like he's crying. But I know better. It's just another part of the game. I close my eyes and think back to my last playdate with Daddy. It was three months ago. Daddy took me into the city to see the Broadway musical
The Lion King
; then we had dinner at Carmine's over on Forty-fourth Street. We were sitting at a table for two. After we placed our orders, I waited for the waiter to leave, then flat-out asked my father, “Do you love Mom?”

He looked me in the eyes and said, “Yes. I love your mom very much.”

“Then why do you cheat on her?”

“Baby girl,” he started, reaching over and grabbing my hands in his. “My love has nothing to do with my cheating on ya mom. Ya mom's the only woman who has my heart. Most men are gonna cheat. It's what we do. And most women, whether they accept it or not, already know this. It's in our DNA. I'm not sayin' all men cheat. But the majority of us do. And we will if the opportunity presents itself.”

“Then why say you're not gonna do it, again, when you know you will?”

“Because it's what women wanna hear. They wanna believe that their man is gonna stay true to 'em, even if they know in the back of their minds that it's a lie.”

Funny thing, I'd been cheated on a few times, too. But it really didn't matter because I was cheating on them, too. At the end of the day, most of 'em I was using anyway. So I didn't lose any sleep over it when I caught them out there. I already knew boys were no good.

That they can't be trusted.

That they're all liars and cheaters.

Daddy had already taught me that.

And my mom was teaching me that girls take back their cheating, lying boyfriends because that's what women do. Take back their cheating men. Like she does. Over and over and over.

The crazy thing is, Daddy would tell me (he still does) not to be one of those silly chicks who puts up with cheating or lying. He tells me to dump 'im. Tells me that if a boy can't respect me, or our relationship, then he doesn't deserve to be with me. Yet, he doesn't ever follow his own advice.

“It's not that I go out looking to cheat on your mom, baby girl,” he continued. “It just happens. Temptation, baby girl, finds me.” He paused when the waiter returned to our table with our appetizers, then continued when the waiter walked off. “Just because a man cheats on his woman, Mi, that doesn't make him a bad man. Even a good man has flaws. And his cheating doesn't mean he loves his family any less.”

I shrugged. “But if what he's doing is hurting his wife or girl, why wouldn't he just love them enough to stop doing it?” I asked, needing, wanting, to understand.

“I can't speak for every man, Mi. I know with me, your mom's the only woman who will ever have my heart. She's the one I'm connected to. The one I'd bleed for. I'm not interested in having another family with another woman. All them other broads are strictly for sex. And not because I can't get it from home. I just get more of it out in the streets.”

I frowned, not really wanting to hear about my dad's sex life, but he's always kept it real with me when it comes to boys, and dating, and sex.

“Baby girl, why do you think I school you the way I do? You're my daughter, but I talk to you like you were my son 'cause I want you to be up on what's up. I want you to always be on point. A man is only gonna do as much as a woman allows him to do, and I'm tellin' you this as man. You dig what I'm sayin'?”

I nodded.

“I don't want none of them lil knuckleheads out there ever breakin' ya heart, or playin' you to the left; otherwise, he's gonna have'ta answer to me.”

I leaned forward in my chair, looking him dead in his eyes. “That's crazy, Daddy. You don't want anyone breaking my heart, yet you stay breaking Mom's heart.”

Daddy looked at me kinda sad that night. Then shook his head. “I know. And she keeps lettin' me.”

That was two weeks before everything fell apart and shit hit the fan—
this
time. And, the truth is, I miss our dates. It's something we've always done since I was two years old. Every Saturday. It would be just the two of us. Sometimes he would have Mom dress me up real in some cute little dress. And other times, he'd tell her to dress me in jeans and whatnot. Sometimes we'd go to Central Park. Other times we'd chill at Prospect Park, go to the zoo, then out for ice cream. There might be a movie and a day of him buying me anything I wanted. Then coming home to Mom snapping on him for spending a buncha paper on stuff I didn't even need. She stayed snapping on him. Sometimes I think she was kinda jealous of what Daddy and I shared together—without her. I don't think my mom has ever wanted to share my daddy with anyone. Not even me.

“This house is so empty without you and ya mom here,” Daddy says, bringin' me back to our convo. “I miss you, baby girl. And I want you home, where you belong. You're my heart, Miesha.”

I blink back the sting of tears. He knows just the right things to say. He knows how to manipulate me. But not this time. Nope, I'm not gonna fall for the okey-doke. I'm not gonna play the devoted fool,
again
. I'll save that slot for my mother. He's on his own!

I glance over at the clock. It's almost 9
PM
. I can't believe I've let him beat me in the head for over thirty minutes.

“I'm gonna see if Mom will let me come for the weekend....”

“That's what I wanna hear, baby. You done put a smile on ya ol' man's face.” He tells me to hold on while he takes another call.

I roll my eyes.
It's probably her calling him now
. Whatever. I know Daddy misses me. And I know he loves me. But I also know
this
is about Mom. And that's why I'ma run his pockets, just because. So no matter what Daddy's
real
agenda is, it's still a win-win situation for me. I get to shop, be in Brooklyn,
and
chill with my besties all weekend long.

“Sorry 'bout that,” he says, returning to the line. “That was your mom on the other line.” I fake a yawn. Tell him that it's getting late and I have homework to finish. “Okay, baby girl. Ya ol' man's gonna let you go. I'll see you Friday. Shoot me a text to let me know what time I need to pick you up at Penn Station, a'ight?”

“Ummm, I still know how to ride the subway, Daddy. It hasn't been that long, you know.”

“Yeah, I know, Mi. But it seems like forever. . . .”
Yeah, thanks to you and Mom!
“I thought since I was already in the city I'd just leave from work and meet you. Then we could go and have dinner in Times Square somewhere.”

I sigh. “Okay. Sounds good,” I say, glancing over at the clock again. “I'll text you to let you know what time I'll be at the train station.” I end the call, then quickly log in to my laptop. I'm about to hit up my girls. Stacy and Tre are gonna be over at Jalanda's. And we agreed to FaceTime it up at ten. And that's what we're about to do in five, four, three, two, one...

“Heeeeeeeeeeeeey, hooker,” Jalanda says, snapping her fingers up at the computer screen.

“Ooooh, you still ugly,” Stacy says, laughing.

I laugh with her. “Bite me. You the ugly one, trick.”

“Hahaha . . . you wish,” she says back.

“Girl, move ya big bubblehead out the way,” Jalanda says to Stacy, pushing her outta the way, then pressing her face to the screen. “Kisses, babes. How's Jersey?”

“Busted,” I say.

“Girl, boom,” Tre says, pushing Jalanda outta the way. “I wanna know how them boys lookin'? Any cuties in the school?”

I shrug. “I guess there's a few. But I'm not thinkin' about none of them busters. I miss Brooklyn, girl.”

“And Brooklyn misses you,” they say in unison. “Do-or-Die Bed-Stuy, boo. You already know!” My girls are mad hyped and that gets me hyped, too.

“Ooh, I‘m so hot with ya moms for snatchin' you up like that,” Stacy says, swinging her fists into the air. “I wanna fight her.”

I laugh. “Me too. She stays doin' dumbness.”

“We should jump her,” Jalanda says, laughing. “We could mask up and bring it to her real good for doin' you dirty, girl.”

“Right, right,” I say, getting more amped. “Hahahaha. Oooh, we could do her face real good, too. Oh my god, let me stop. Y'all sooo ain't right. You know I could never do my mom like that.”