Crazy Love (18 page)

1. Move back home
   
2. Sell some jewelry
   
3. Sell some clothes
   
4. Sell some shoes
   
5. Sell Lexie??? (Last resort)
   

I
t took Stacie three weeks to get over the shock and anger of getting fired. Three weeks of sitting in front of the TV munching bag after bag of Doritos while watching daytime talk shows. Three weeks of crying jags that left her eyes looking like ripe cherries and her throat feeling like she had swallowed fire. Three weeks of analyzing how she could've handled the situation better. Three weeks of sniffing every pair of shoes in her closet. Once the anger simmered, it grew into something she would have never thought possible—relief, which mushroomed into freedom.

The freedom didn't last long. After applying for unemployment and seeing the paltry amount she'd receive, she immediately went out and registered with over a dozen temporary agencies. The assignments trickled in, in little spurts, but nothing consistent or permanent.

Stacie pushed herself off the couch and clicked off the TV just as Judge Judy started shouting at one of the defendants. The banging of pots and pans beckoned her to the kitchen. Stacie hung onto the door and watched Tameeka. She moved around the kitchen so fast that she looked like she was walking on air.

“This is crazy,” Stacie muttered as she walked into the kitchen. “We're gonna talk.” Since their argument, she and Tameeka had been as cool to each other as a pastor's wife and her husband's mistress. “Hey, girl. I'm so sorry for treating you the way I did. I know you're not jealous of me. That was my ego talking.”

Tameeka gave a sigh of relief. She had been waiting for Stacie's apology. The pots Tameeka held in her hands clanked to the floor. She rushed toward Stacie with outstretched arms. “And I'm sorry for tearing up your list. I know how much it meant to you.” Tameeka's arms dropped to her side. “Sit down, girl, the fried chicken is almost done.”

“I know. That's why I apologized,” Stacie joked. No one, not even the Colonel, fried chicken better than Tameeka.

Twenty minutes later, Stacie was slowly chewing on her piece of fried chicken, savoring it like it was her last meal. She dipped her fork in the mashed potatoes and stuck a mound of them into her mouth. She groaned in ecstasy. She was going to miss Tameeka's cooking, but mostly she was going to miss their late-night talks. “I'ma have to move back home,” Stacie said out of the blue, and she immediately felt bad when Tameeka's jaw dropped in amazement. Actually she had been thinking about moving back home ever since she'd gotten fired. It made much more sense economically to move back in with her mother.

“No! We've just started talking again,” Tameeka protested as soon as she found her voice. If Stacie moved out, it marked the end of an era. Tameeka jumped up from the table and went to the stove, where she loaded her plate with a third helping of mashed potatoes, asparagus and two more pieces of chicken. She eyed her plate. Well, I'll start the bean diet tomorrow, she decided, then added another piece of chicken. She plopped back down in her chair, then said, “Your butt is going to stay right here until you find another job,” she demanded, then tacked on, with admiration, “which I know you will. You got skills, girl.”

Stacie laughed and shook her head. “I wasn't anything but a glorified switchboard operator,” she said, then giggled at Tameeka's look of astonishment. “Yep, that's all I was. I admit it. No more sugarcoating it. A glorified switchboard operator,” she confirmed. “Not a secretary, not an administrative assistant, but a freakin' switchboard operator. I'm okay with it.” She smiled to herself, then said, “I need to go.”

Tameeka eyes glistened. “I'm really gonna miss you, girl. We've been together for like, forever,” she said as the tears began falling. “Oh, I don't want you to go,” she said, then jumped up and hurried over to hug Stacie.

“Humph,
I don't
really
want to go either. But it's for the best. I'm a grown-ass woman who needs to handle her business.”

“Yeah, and you look like you can handle anything with that damn chicken bone dangling from your mouth. Cavewoman,” Tameeka joked. Then she turned serious. “If it's just about money, you know you can stay here until you get a real job,” Tameeka offered.

Stacie smiled wryly as she shook her head. “Then that would prove your point, wouldn't it?”

“What point?”

“That my sister and I are alike.”

Tameeka burst out laughing. “Hey, you don't have to open your legs for me. You know I don't swing that way.”

“Me either, but seriously I appreciate the offer. I truly do,” Stacie said. “But no thanks. I want to be with Nevia and Mom. And I have some other things to work out,” she confessed, and Tameeka's heart hurt for her friend.

Over the years Stacie had confided in her about her father, not a lot, but enough to know that he wasn't the nicest man. “You wanna talk about it?” Tameeka asked.

“Not yet, I still need to work through some stuff on my own before I talk to anyone. And when I do, you're going to be the first to know. I promise,” Stacie said.

“I'm here for you,” Tameeka said, then took a bite of her chicken. It had gotten a little cool. She picked up her plate, then stuck it in the microwave. “You want me to do yours?” she asked, reaching for Stacie's plate.

“Please do.” Stacie laughed.

“What about Jackson?” Tameeka asked as she placed Stacie's steaming plate in front of her. “Have you thought about moving in with him?”

Stacie shrugged. “He lives with his grandmother, whom I absolutely love. But I don't want him taking care of me. I want to bring something to the table…other than my good looks,” she joked. “I know this might be too soon, but I think I might be falling in love with him,” she admitted.

“Miss Stacie falling in love, is it a full moon?” Tameeka laughed, and to her amusement Stacie blushed. “Oh girl, you got it bad.”

“I know.” Stacie grinned. “I really like Jackson. He sexes me—I mean makes crazy love to me like no man has before. Meek, he listens to me, he
really
listens, and he cares about what makes me happy. I see a future with him, something that I really didn't see with the other guys I dated.”

“So how does he stack up against your list?” Tameeka asked; she just couldn't resist.

“Oh hush.” Stacie laughed, sticking her tongue out. “You were right…I was wrong,” Stacie said. “I am really, really, really really gonna miss you. You were da bomb roommate—friend,” she gushed, then smiled crookedly at Tameeka.

Tameeka broke out in a laugh. “I'ma miss you too. But—this will be the last on the subject. There's always a job at the store if you want it. I'm done with that subject.” She sealed her lips, then pretended to zip them shut.

The room was silent as they enjoyed their food.

“So when are you leaving?” Tameeka asked, and Stacie grinned sheepishly. “Stacie?”

Stacie ducked her head, then said, “The end of the month.”

“Oh no, that's too soon!” Tameeka protested.

“I know. I decided sooner is better than later. And don't you go and tell me that you need a month's notice because you can't afford the rent without me…that's bull. You can probably afford to buy the whole building,” Stacie said. “I don't know why you don't buy a house. That'd give you and Tyrell more rooms to sex in,” Stacie said, winking, then frowning when Tameeka teared up. “I was only playing.”

“It's not that,” Tameeka said. “I did something bad.”

Stacie's eyes widened. “How bad?” she asked cautiously.

“Really, really bad. I did something that'd even shock you.”

“Oh shit! Meek, tell me,” Stacie begged, scared for her friend.

Tameeka breathed deeply, then spat it out. “I slept with Mo,” she tearfully admitted.

“What? Your ex-fuck buddy? When? Why?”

“It happened a couple of weeks ago at the store. Neither one of us—well, I can honestly say that
I
didn't plan on it happening. I was mad at Tyrell.”

Stacie rounded the table to her friend and wrapped her arms around her and gave her a tight hug. “That's not a good way to show it.”

“I know…I'll die if Tyrell finds out. He's the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Stacie pulled her chair next to Tameeka before sitting down. “If that's the case, why did you do it? Why risk messing up something so good?” Stacie asked, perplexed. “Enlighten me, girl.”

“I think I like him,” Tameeka whispered, bowing her head.

“Of course you like Tyrell, silly, that's why you're scared. But why did you play the booty game with Mo?”

Tameeka slowly lifted her head and looked at Stacie with anguished-filled eyes. “It's Mo, Stace. I think I like
Mo.
I think I want to be with him instead of Tyrell. What am I gonna do?” she wailed.

I
t was Saturday morning and Jackson was mowing his lawn. He had already finished the front and now he was tackling the back. Thanks to Jackson, he and his grandmother had the best-looking yard on the block. A rainbow of roses, chrysanthemums, and geraniums colored the front. A vegetable garden filled with tomatoes, cucumbers, lettuce and green peppers graced the back. The yard was Ettie Mae's pride and joy.

It was only nine o'clock in the morning, but it was already eighty degrees and sweat poured off Jackson's shirtless body. The soft whooshing of the lawn mower blades provided him with the perfect backdrop for working out his problems.

Michelle was coming today and he hadn't even told Jameel yet. Why do I have to fuck up his life? Why can't he…why can't we keep things the way they are? Jackson balled his hand into a fist, he wanted—no needed—something to punch. Instead he dragged the mower to the tool shed and set it between a sickle and hoe.

He went into the house and took a quick shower, then went into the kitchen where Ettie Mae was at the table husking corn. Wisps of corn silk swirled around her feet like a mess of garden snakes.

“You're not cooking for her, are you?” he asked, stubbornly jutting his chin out. In addition to the corn, there was chicken frying on the stove, a pot of greens simmering and he could smell candied yams in the oven.

Ettie Mae bit back a smile; he only did the thing with his chin when he was worried and didn't want her to know. But she knew, she always knew. “Naw, baby, since when did you know me to cook for a fool? This is for my men. Gotta keep you strong. Never know when the devil's gonna come at you.” They were both silent and Ettie Mae focused on cleaning the corn.

“Have you spoken with him yet?” Ettie Mae asked gently.

Jackson shook his head and meandered over to the refrigerator, more to get out of Ettie Mae's line of vision than anything else, as he didn't have an appetite.

“Don't you think you should? After all, she is that boy's mother. Regardless of what you feel about her. He has a right to know,” she said, wisdom ringing in every word.

Jackson knew she was right, but still…“Grammy,” he started, reverting to his childhood name for her. “Something in my heart doesn't sit right about her. It's telling me to run and hide.”

“I know, baby,” she replied. “Something in my heart isn't feeling right about her either. And I've been praying for God to tell me what to do…I think I wore a hole in the rug.” She chuckled softly, then set down a half-husked ear of corn. “She might not have always made the best decisions, but she's here and we need to deal with it. And Jam deserves the right to know his mother,” she added.

“But she's a crackhead
and
a prostitute! I don't want
that
around Jameel. Besides she had her chance, but she abandoned him.”

“Yep, she did that. But who did she leave him with? You. The girl ain't
that
dumb. Don't you think Jameel deserves a chance to at least know who his mother is?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Jackson replied, giving the expected response, but his heart was telling him to snatch up Jameel and head west. He slowly pushed himself out of the chair; his legs were like Jell-O as he walked to the back door and called his son. “Yo! Jam, I need to talk to you.”

“Okay, Daddy, I'll be right there,” he called, but he didn't make a move to come into the house. Jackson glanced down at his wristwatch. Twenty-five minutes to go.

“Jameel. Bring your butt in here
now!”
he demanded. Jameel immediately dropped his toy car and raced across the yard to his father. Jackson felt bad for using that tone; it wasn't Jameel's fault. As soon as Jameel came in, Jackson drew him into his arms and gave him a big hug. He sat him down at the kitchen table.

“We're having a visitor today…she's a friend of mine,” Jackson said, tripping over his words. “You know, friends like you and Leila,” Jackson hurriedly explained. “And she's going to spend a lot of time with you,” Jackson finished and smiled weakly.

Wide eyed, Jameel absorbed the information. When his eight-year-old brain sucked up as much as it could, he asked, “Can I go over her house like I go over Leila's?” He liked visiting Leila's house, her grandmother let him eat all the chocolate chip cookies he wanted.

“No, you're never, ever going to her house!” Jackson roared, and Jameel shrank back in his chair.

Ettie Mae silently watched the scene as she husked the corn. Jackson was Jameel's father and she honored that. She rarely intervened, unless it was necessary, and it wasn't necessary…yet.

“You two are never to leave this house by yourselves, do you hear me?” Jackson demanded. Jameel's bottom lip began quivering and Jackson felt like kicking himself. This wasn't going the way he wanted it to. “I'm sorry,” Jackson soothed. He bent down and pulled his son in his arms. Good going, he thought. Scare your son right into her arms. “I just don't want anything to happen to you, Jam,” he said, then tickled Jameel in his ribs until he howled with laughter.

The doorbell rang; Jackson froze. She's early.