Ex-girl to the Next Girl (2 page)

“What do you want to eat?”

“Where are you ordering from?”

“Tri-Town.”

“I don't know what I want,” she said as she looked over the menu.

“Brianna, hurry up and decide—I'm placing my order now,” I said as I dialed the number.

“I'll take a salad.”

“A salad? I'm not paying seven dollars for a salad.”

“Me and Andrea always order salad.”

“Bree, you can get some fingers or a burger. Or you can go and fix yourself a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich.”

“I'll fix a sandwich,” she said with an attitude.

“After that, get your homework done.” She was only ten, but getting so grown. People were starting to tell me that I needed to sit her down. I found a note she wrote to some boy, talking about meeting her after school under the steps. She said it wasn't hers, it was her friend Erica's. So I told her she couldn't be friends with her anymore.

Malik came in the door around nine. “Hey, baby,” he said. My baby made me proud to say I was his woman. He looked so handsome in his white shirt, navy blue tie, and navy slacks.

“Hey,” I said as he came and kissed me softly on the lips.

“Where is Bree?”

“She is in the room asleep.”

“What you cooked?” he asked as he looked around the kitchen for a sign of food.

“I didn't cook anything, baby. Me and Bree got in here so late.” I could tell he was a little disappointed. “I ordered you a steak, though,” I said, trying to make up for not cooking.

“A greasy cheese steak and soggy French fries with ketchup in the microwave. Damn, Shonda, cook for your man once in a while,” he said as he looked in the microwave. “Why can't I come home to a decent meal?” he said playfully, but I knew he was serious.

“Baby, I'm sorry. I was tired. I promise, tomorrow I will cook for you.” I said as I got close to him and put my arms around his waist and kissed him.

“It's okay. Baby, I know you're tired, but you got to feed your man. Look at me, I'm getting skinny,” he said as he took a step back from me and raised his shirt to reveal his flat stomach.

“I think you look fine, baby.”

“You about to get in the tub?”

“Yeah, I want to relax a bit,” I told him.

“I'm going to eat. Then I'll be up there to get in with you.”

Malik met me upstairs and we turned the lights out and I lit a candle. The water was hot and the bubbles were high and feathery. We sat in each other's arms. It was so relaxing, ending the day with my man. I took the wash cloth and wrung it out over his back, letting the warm water trickle down his spine.

“Thank you, baby, that feels so good,” he said as he sighed. I then began to massage his temples and reached for the Suave apple shampoo and lathered it in.

“When we get our new house, we have to have a Jacuzzi in our bedroom,” I said. Malik agreed, and then said, “Let's get out of here.” After thirty minutes of soaking, we stood up and let the water out. I took a towel out of the closet and dried Malik off. He came behind me and held me. I went and lay under my warm rose comforter. Malik followed me. My baby positioned me down on the bed and we got in our favorite arrangement: the sixty-nine. I was on the top, he was on the bottom. I put his massive dick in my mouth and tried to take every inch as far as I could. He opened the lips of my inside and twisted his tongue back and forth. Malik was ready to make his way into me, but I wanted him to finish stroking my breasts and to suck on me harder. I loved his touch. He could make me come just from slobbing my breasts. He then entered me. I felt all of him in my stomach. I kept squirming so that I could be able to take it.

“Baby you got some good—” I couldn't get my last thought out.

“I love you, girl—Don't you ever leave me,” he screamed out and came as his juices trickled down his leg and we both closed our eyes and fell asleep.

T
he sound of the grumbling, noisy trash truck awoke me. I hastily jumped out of my bed and looked out the window to see the truck a few doors away from my house. I slid on my slippers and robe and went down the steps. I opened my back door and ran down the steps and grabbed the trash cans. The cold January weather greeted me at the door. I hated the winter. It was always too cold. I looked over at the trash spilling out the trash can. I momentarily thought about letting the trash stay in the yard one more week. Instead, I grabbed the can and pulled it into the house. Just as I opened the front door, I saw the trash truck passing my house. I pulled the can down the steps as fast as I could. The trash man saw me coming and stopped the truck. The sanitation worker had on a blue jumpsuit and layers of clothes with orange gloves.

“Any more, pretty lady?” he asked as I dragged the can toward him.

“Yes, just one,” I said as he took the can from me.

I raced back through the house to get the other trash can. I grabbed the last can and dragged it through the house. Out of breath, I handed him the can.

After the man dumped the cans, I pulled all the empty cans back through the house and then to the backyard. I washed my hands in the sink and grabbed a paper towel and dried my hands. I then put water in my
World's Best Mom
mug, put it into the microwave and pressed one minute, fifteen seconds. I grabbed a tea bag out of the cabinet and the Equal.
I don't want to go to work. I want to go back to bed
, I thought as I reached for lemon juice. It was behind the multiple rows of salad dressing. I needed to go food shopping. There was a container of orange juice, bread, and a jar of applesauce, and not much else. I checked the date on the eggs; they were expired, so I threw them out.

I sat down at the table and sipped my tea. I looked over at the time on the microwave. It was 6:30. I had exactly one hour to get out of the house if I wanted to make it to work on time. Last night I knew if I didn't pull the kids' clothes out, I was going to be late, but knowing that didn't make me prepare for the next day. Some days I couldn't make myself care, even though I would like to. I needed to start getting my clothes out the night before and make the boys wash up. Actually, I should have taken their clothes out and ironed for the week. If I had done that, I would have been ahead of the game. It was 6:45, and I was still just sitting, sipping my tea. No motivation, no reason to move forward or faster. It was times like this when I felt so alone. When I was all alone, it dawned on me that there was only me. I was by myself. If I didn't wake the kids, feed them, and dress them, then it wouldn't happen. Nobody else would pay the mortgage. Nobody would take the trash out, take them to the barber, or make dinner. It was me, only me. Kimberly Vanessa Brown: the middle child, the shy one, the girl who was a virgin in college. Me. I was on my own, and Malik Moore—my ex—is gone.

It's been almost a year since my fiancé stood me up at our wedding. Well, he didn't exactly stand me up. He did show up; he had the decency to come in and walk down the aisle with his best man, Jarrod. He let my father walk me down the aisle, we recited our vows, and right before the minister said,
Does anyone see why this man and woman should not be joined in holy matrimony?,
Malik's other woman crashed my wedding. I mean, this bitch came in a-shouting from the back of the church,
Malik, you know this is wrong. You love me.
Everyone turned around. Malik had a firm grip on my hand, and then he let it go. I fainted, and hours later I awoke and Malik was nowhere to be found. I asked for him as soon as I awoke. I should have known something was wrong when my mother turned her head and my little sister Kianna ran to my side and said,
Take it easy.

I left the hospital that same night in my white wedding dress. When I came home, I never took it off. I sat and pulled every bead off my five-thousand-dollar dress, one by one. The phone rang and rang, and I didn't answer it. I felt like a big failure. My parents spent twenty-five thousand on a wedding for nothing. My mother had the cops come bang on my door when they didn't hear from me after two days. They thought I was suicidal or dead, but I wasn't. I wanted to be dead, though. The only things that kept me from going over the top were my boys, Kevin and Kayden. Kayden is the only thing worth anything that came out of my relationship with Malik. Kayden is one and Kevin is eight.

My wedding was so embarrassing. Everybody was there, and they all saw my heart break. My mom's friends, my friends, and just
everybody
. Then his little girlfriend came in and ruined everything. I still think about Malik; it is hard not to. I see his face every day, even when I don't want to. When I look into our one-year-old son's face, I see him. I still wear my engagement ring—it's just so hard to move on.

After the wedding that wasn't, I gave most of my gifts back and got a refund on our honeymoon. Since then, everyone has been so nice to me. Even Karen, my sister, and we rarely get along. But I now have more of an appreciation for her. When it was all said and done and the bitch ran in and stopped my wedding, my sister was the one who was right there, chasing after her. She chased her all the way to the gas station and knocked her out. We laughed about that. My uncle and other family members started calling and telling me about their heartache. Some of it helped, but most of it didn't. People constantly calling you, trying to make you happy, makes you more depressed.

And what really upsets me is Malik didn't ever tell me face-to-face that he didn't want to be married. He sent me flowers and a note saying that he would always love me, but he wasn't ready for marriage, and he hoped I understood. I didn't understand then, and I understand now. I kept asking myself what I did to make him stray. He betrayed me and our family. He betrayed our son. We were supposed to be together till death do us part. Now I'm out here all alone. Abandoned. I'm mad and a little bitter even though I try not to be. I'm mad because he left me with dreams, promises and hope for the future. I'm mad that he left me for another woman, and because he is not the man I wished he could be.

My last year has been all meshed together. It seems like just yesterday I was pregnant with Kayden, and now he just turned one last month. I hate Malik and I hate men. I hate Malik so much I changed our son's name from Malik Moore Jr. to Kayden Robinson. Malik tried to protest, but he isn't entitled to an opinion or choice in the matter.

I hate men so much I became a lesbian temporarily. It was very brief. I think, like, an hour. I said I was going to get a woman and treat her like I would want to be treated. I was going to buy her nice things and take her out. Then, when the thought of sex came to mind, I changed my mind. Unfortunately, I still like men. However, Malik really has put a sour taste in my mouth. If I can't trust him—and I knew him for over four years and he hurt me and I had his only son—what would a man I didn't know do to me? I think losing Malik has been worse than death. Death is permanent and you have no control of that. But Malik is still walking the earth and claimed he loved me, and treated me like this. I guess I'll never know, because I will never love another man again. You give everything, and no matter what you say, the other person doesn't get it. You try to make it work. I thought I would be married for thirty years like my parents, but things don't always go the way you plan them.

My mom has been trying to get me to see a doctor about my depression. I have been fighting it by myself all these months. Nobody sees how difficult it is to be in my situation. All my sisters and my mom say is,
Get over it
.
You are not the first, and you won't be the last, single mom.
They don't get it. Nobody does. I'm trying to pick up the pieces of my life. A whole year has gone by, and I haven't moved from the place in my mind where Malik left me.

I got up from the table. Enough thinking and rehashing old memories. I looked around my living room. There were toy cars and building blocks scattered all over the place. I didn't have the energy to clean up. I went up the stairs to tell Kevin and Kayden to get up. It was now seven—I had to be at work by nine. Kevin had to be at school by eight-fifteen, and I dropped Kayden off after that.

I went into Kevin's room. I had everything decorated with red, blue, yellow, and green crayons, a red dresser, multicolored fan, toy chest, and desk set.

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” I shouted as I began to lightly shake Kevin up. He turned over and tried to pull the covers back over his head.

“Kevin, get up now,” I said as I searched his drawers for matching socks. I pulled out two navy socks that looked like they matched close enough. I grabbed his white t-shirt and underwear and laid them on the ironing board in the hallway. Now all I needed was to find a clean school shirt and pants. Kevin still wasn't up.

“Kevin, this is my last time calling you.” He got up and headed for the bathroom as his head and body swayed sleepily back and forth. I heard him turn on the shower. I looked at the clock again: 7:10. Time was moving too fast.

I walked into Kayden's room; it was decorated in a mint-green and pine wood. Mint-green was the only color that went over the color pink perfectly. Kayden was supposed to be a girl, so I had to paint over the pink without having a dark room. Kayden was already awake, standing up and looking at me. He had a few teeth and couldn't talk that much yet. He knew how to say “Mommy” and “bottle.” I grabbed him and he grabbed his bottle. I took him into the bathroom and sat him in the sink. Kevin was in the shower, just about to come out. I handed him a towel. I washed and dressed Kayden. Kevin had put on his clothes.

I sat them at the breakfast table and turned the television on to
Caillou
and they ate breakfast. Okay, it was now 7:45; I had fifteen minutes to get myself together. I showered, turned on my curling iron, and curled my hair. I parted my hair in four sections and curled each section one time. It was a loose curl, but it would do. It was time to go.

“Kevin, do you have your book bag?” I screamed.

“Yes.”

“Come on, let's go. Where are your gloves?”

“Upstairs,” he said as he skipped up the steps in search of them. A few moments later, Kevin yelled down the stairs, “Mom, I can't find my gloves.”

“Look around,” I yelled. Every morning with Kevin was the same old thing. He couldn't find his book bag, coat, or shoes. Then he screamed down the steps, “Mom, I found it.”

“Get your hat, too. Brush your hair while you are up there,” I said as I put on my coat and started the car. I had to scrape the ice off my window. The kids waited by the door.

I buckled Kayden in his car seat and Kevin did his own. We were down the road at five minutes after eight. Traffic was unbelievably slow for a Friday morning. That's when I realized it wasn't Friday—it was Saturday, and I had got dressed and ready for nothing.
Damn it
, I thought.

“What's wrong, Mom?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all,” I answered Kevin as I turned my car around and headed home. Martin Luther King's birthday threw my entire week off. The trash men collecting trash made me think it was Friday.