Lovers & Haters (18 page)

“There's my little man,” Ne Ne said, standing from the table and pinching his cheeks like he was a toddler. “Mama's been worried sick about you. You were supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago.” Ne Ne's outfit had the young hoochie-mama store written all over it. The only thing more frightening than the black skintight strapless cocktail dress that stopped two inches below her privates was her monstrous cleavage.

“'Sup, hero,” Nate said, sitting next to Samantha's father. Xavier's temper shot into the stratosphere. Ne Ne had lost her mind inviting her boyfriend, Nate. “Long time no see,” Nate continued. “Thanks for inviting me to this nice restaurant.” He looked around in amazement. “Always wanted to come to this spot. Been hearing mad reviews about the chow. Don't have no forty ounces though. Got me sipping on this white wine.”

“Maybe you should've tried dressing for the occasion,” Xavier said with attitude. The bum was wearing an old-school nylon Adidas jogging suit, with shell toe sneakers.

Ne Ne hugged her son. Xavier couldn't do anything but shake his head. He wanted to just shrink down to rodent size and scurry off into the nearest mouse hole. But he forced his eyes to meet the other guests seated at the table. Samantha was wearing a “what the hell did I do this for?” look on her face. Her mother smiled pleasantly. Her old dude had an unreadable look on his grille.

Ne Ne said, “Sit down here next to Mommy. We were just about to order.”

Xavier took his place next to Ne Ne, thinking that his mother was off to a great start by making him feel like any moment she would grab him and attempt to change his Huggies.

“So, Xavier, Samantha tells me that you are at the top of your Advanced English class,” Mrs. Fox said. “Impressive.” Mrs. Fox was very pretty. She looked like an older version of Samantha—light complexion, long face, nice lips, beautiful dark eyes. Xavier didn't know how she wore her hair because the last time he'd met her, she had on a very stylish Sunday hat, like the one she was wearing now, but a different color.

“That's my baby, the genius,” Ne Ne bragged. “I tell him all the time that he can't go out to play until he finishes his schoolwork.” She was lying through her teeth and Xavier had to do everything within his power not to call her out—especially on the fact that she was trying to use proper English. She was faker than a knockoff designer handbag being sold out the back door of a rundown, no-name gas station.

Nate made a disrespectful smacking sound with his lips. Xavier wanted to just jump over the table and drag him out of the restaurant. He had no business being there in the first place. He had stopped coming over once Xavier had copped his mother the new crib. Nate was simply a hater who couldn't deal with a teenager balling so hard and gettin' more bread than him.

“Son, what are your plans for life after high school? What university do you plan on attending?” Mr. Fox asked.

Xavier felt that he had Mrs. Fox in the bag, but the old man was going to be a different card.

Samantha had told Xavier that her father was fifteen years older than her mother. Mr. Fox looked every bit of it too. Xavier could tell that he'd paid a price for success. Years of struggle and pulling all-nighters were etched into the hard lines on his forehead. He had a strong jawline that gave him a look of authority. Mr. Fox was dressed in a nice conservative business suit and Italian leather shoes.

“I plan on going to the University of Michigan to practice medicine, sir.” This was one of the lines he'd rehearsed on the cab ride over. To tell the truth, Xavier hadn't given that much thought to his studies post high school, but it sounded good.

That was until Ne Ne opened up her big mouth: “A doctor? I had no idea you wanted to become a doctor. My baby, the gangsta MD.”

Mr. Fox's eyebrows bunched together “What exactly is a gangster MD?”

Sensing that things were about to get out of hand, Samantha beckoned for the waitress to come over.

“Are you ready to order?” asked a gorgeous black lady with a cute curly weave, pretty smile, and gorgeous white teeth.

“Ma'am, why ain't you got any forty ounces up in this piece?” Nate said.

Samantha put her head down on the table to escape embarrassment.

“Oh dear,” said Mrs. Fox.

Mr. Fox smiled at Xavier. After the dinner, if the old buzzard had his way, he would probably put a restraining order on Xavier, so the boy wouldn't be able get anywhere near his daughter.

“Nate, why don't you have some more wine?” Mr. Fox suggested in an aggravated tone.

The waitress tried to play it off with a friendly smile.

Ne Ne picked up the menu and that's when the ghetto reared its ugly head. “Excuse me,” she said to the waitress. “I think I'll have the filet m-i-g-n-o-n,” Ne Ne said, trying to sound out the word.

Mr. Fox couldn't do anything but look away at that point. And to Xavier, the old man appeared to be victoriously smiling.

“Listen, waitress,” Mr. Fox spoke up. “I think it would be best if I order for everybody.”

“No, you don't have to order for me, boo-boo,” Ne Ne interjected. “I know how to order for myself.... What, you think I don't know how to read?”

“No, I didn't imply that at all.”

Nate saw a chance to jump in and stir the pot. “
Imply?
Why you gotta be coming at us with the big words, Pops?”

Mrs. Fox came to her husband's defense. “Who are you calling
Pops,
you sign-bearing pauper?”

“Now, Mrs. Fox,” Nate responded. “I think I'd actually be offended if I knew what the word
pauper
meant.”

“Means ‘bum,' you uneducated, cheap, forty-ounce-drinking hoodlum,” Mr. Fox interjected, standing from his seat like he was about to shed his Beverly Hills attitude and go all ghetto.

Ne Ne jumped up out of her seat and pointed her finger at Mr. Fox from across the table. “No you don't come down on my man like that, you butt-kissing, sellout, fake Negro.”

“Xavier, are you gonna sit there and not say anything, just let your people talk to my parents like that?” Samantha said. “Say something.”

While the voices around him were growing louder and more intense, Xavier closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose to relieve the stress. He finally opened them and said, “I guess dinner's a wrap.”

“That's all you have to say?” Samantha screamed at Xavier.

“Remember Samantha, this was your idea,” Xavier responded.

“Don't try and check my son like that, you little high society tramp,” Ne Ne yelled at Samantha.

“Don't scream at my daughter like that, you low class piece of trash,” Mr. Fox hollered back at Ne Ne.

Xavier got up and walked off, leaving the madness behind him. He traveled by scores of people as they laughed and pointed cell phone cameras in hopes of getting some sensational, chaotic footage of his misery for millions to view on YouTube. The weight of the world was riding on his broad shoulders and Xavier refused to be a part of these grown fools acting like children. He had to draw the line somewhere, and that line was not taking place in a brawl with his mother.

By the time he made it out in front of the restaurant, he had calmed down and had sent Samantha a text message, but she didn't respond. He had no idea what was running through her mind. The last time he'd seen her she looked like she wanted to run to the ladies room and have the cry of a lifetime. In the next text, he blazed his mother and let Ne Ne have it. He was feeling all kinds of way about Ne Ne right now—frustration, anger, and resentment.

Xavier kept walking, and found himself on Jefferson Avenue in the dark, cold night. The stress from the evening had settled inside his muscles, and his body was screaming for some release. There was nobody else to turn to. The situation was even too messy for him to explain to his good friend Billy—without having to tell the man everything. It was just downright embarrassing how his mother had acted. It was the straight-up ghetto version of
Meet the Parents
.

But this wasn't the movies. It was drama playing on the stage of some real life stuff. At one point in his walk Xavier wished that he was Greg Focker. The movie character didn't have gang members after him.

Xavier walked a few more blocks and then hailed the cab. He didn't want to be alone right now. Too much on his mind. He needed some company. Somebody that would provide a welcome distraction from all the drama inside of his life. He jumped in and told the driver to just drive, as he scrolled through the list of contacts inside his cell phone. At first he scrolled over Brenda Sanders's phone number. This was the chick Romello had put Xavier onto the last time the two boys had spoken in the locker room. After he left Romello, he happened to bump into Brenda in the hallway and she gave him her phone number. So now he figured why not, and he made the call.

Fifteen minutes later they were pulling up to an abandoned looking bungalow on Roper Street after Brenda told him it was cool to come by. The place looked like a straight crack spot to Xavier. But it was what it was—he wasn't trashing anybody's crib, especially not coming from where he used to live. Xavier paid the cab fare and hopped out. He walked up the walkway and up on the porch. He rang the doorbell and waited while watching his back. This wasn't the safest of neighborhoods and he didn't want anybody to creep up on him.

Brenda opened the door, the light from inside breaking up the darkness on the porch. Brenda Sanders was a sixteen-year-old junior at Coleman. Her hair was freshly done and she was wearing skintight jeans, a formfitting navy blue shirt from BeBe, and white sneakers.

“I'm happy to see that you made it, Xavier.”

Xavier walked in and was automatically hit by a funky smell. “Thank you for letting me come over,” he managed to say, trying to pretend not to be bothered by the stench.

Brenda hugged and kissed Xavier on the cheek. “You can follow me to the den.”

“I sure will,” said Xavier, looking around.

The inside of the crib was in horrible shape. There were cracks in the ceiling, the bottom parts of the walls were all smudged by tiny handprints, and everything from potato chip bags to dirty diapers littered the carpets. They had to walk through the kitchen to get to the den. As soon as Brenda cut on the kitchen lights roaches scattered out of the sink filled with dirty dishes. One glance at the overflowing garbage in the corner and Xavier made his assumption about the foul stench that was almost bringing tears to his eyes.

“Have a seat,” Brenda offered, waving her hand in the direction of the filthy sofa that looked like it could've been taupe in color at one time.

“Thank you,” said Xavier. He wasn't a germaphobe but if he had been, there was no way he would've been able to sit on that thing. He picked a cushion that seemed the least grimy and forced himself to sit down.

“So, Xavier,” Brenda said, as she picked up the remote control and aimed it at a flat screen TV. “You sounded ticked when you called me. Everything cool?”

Xavier watched the television pop on to the USA channel. Reruns of
NCIS Los Angeles
.

He tried to answer with a straight face, “Everything's all good.” Baby toys were all over the floor. Xavier asked, “You got a little sister or brother or something?”

Brenda looked embarrassed. “I have a fourteen-month-old baby boy. After you called and told me you were coming over, I took Antoine three doors down to my cousin's.”

I put my foot in my mouth this time,
Xavier thought.

Brenda recognized Xavier's struggle. “Don't sweat it. When I have male company, they always ask me the same thing when they see the toys. What can I say, stuff happens. I'm not ashamed of my child if that's what you're thinking.”

Xavier asked, “Doesn't it get hard to handle?”

Brenda's facial expression took on a more serious tone. “I won't lie. Yeah, it gets hard sometimes, but thank God for my mother. She's been right there for me every step of the way. If I could talk to young girls, I would tell them not to have sex until they were married. And if they couldn't wait that long, to use a condom.”

Xavier sat speechless. He looked around the ragged conditions of the crib and had to ask, “Do you live alone?”

Brenda shook her head no. “I live with my mother. She watches the baby during the daytime while I'm at school and works the evening shift at a small parts plant on the east side.”

It wasn't hard to feel sorry for her. He'd seen babies like her having babies and then weren't able to financially take care of them. Creating a hard life for themselves right out of the gate.

Xavier looked around the room again. Brenda wasn't too far from living that way right now. Seemed like— from what Xavier had seen of the house so far—the only thing that had any value was the forty-two-inch flat-screen TV that sat on a dusty cheap wooden entertainment stand.

“So enough about me, Mr. Hunter. Are you seeing that girl Samantha or what?” Brenda asked, clearly changing the topic.

The question almost made him angry. That debacle at the restaurant was beyond ridiculous. Kids would have done a better job at handling their differences than the adults he'd walked out on.

He said, “Me and Samantha are just friends. What about you, you got a boyfriend?”

Brenda deviously smiled. “On and off. But I'm feeling you right now.”

“Oh yeah?”

“So you and Samantha are just friends, huh?”

“Yep. Just friends.”

“Liar. Who are you taking to the dance in May?”

“You,” Xavier said, cheesing.

“Liar.”

“If I'm such a liar, why did you tell me to come over here?”

“To do this”—Brenda leaned over and surprised him with a kiss. It was like Xavier couldn't control his lips. He found himself kissing her back. Brenda's eyes widened with desire as Xavier pulled back. The two intensely locked eyes for a split second and it was on and poppin' from there.