Playing the Hand You're Dealt (5 page)

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Authors: Trice Hickman

BOOK: Playing the Hand You're Dealt
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Ed stepped toward me and I could smell the intoxicating scent of his cologne mixed with natural perspiration, the result of the summer heat and his fourteen-hour workday. “Emily, it's no problem. I know the last few months have been difficult for you,” he said, then paused. “The loss of your mother, moving to a new city, buying a new home, and starting a new job. It must be overwhelming.”
“I'm managing,” I said, trying to sound strong and convincing. The last thing I wanted was for Ed to feel sorry for me.
He breathed in deeply, “I, um, uh . . .” He stumbled. He looked as though he was forcing himself to continue. “Well, if you need to talk to someone, professionally I mean, I have the name of a great therapist I can refer you to . . .”
“No, I'm fine. But thanks for the offer,” I said, injecting a little more edge into my voice than I'd intended. All of a sudden a thought occurred to me. There I was, fantasizing about Ed, and he was offering me referrals for psychiatric care. And not only that, he hadn't even noticed the dramatic change in my appearance. I'd gone from my trademark bush of wild, black spirals to my new silky-straight hairdo, and he hadn't said a word. I felt like such a fool. I quickly said good night and headed upstairs, rushing by him like wind blowing through the air. I left him standing alone, looking like a man who'd just stumbled upon a mystery. For someone so astute, he didn't have a clue.
After an intensely long lukewarm shower, I lay under the soft, 900-thread-count bedsheets, thinking about my day, trying to block out the last ten minutes, and quietly repeating Samantha's words aloud: “Everything's gonna be all right.”
Chapter 4
Samantha . . .
 
 
 
 
No Longer What I Need
 
I
should've had the title
Judge
in front of my name, because I was about to lay down the law to Carl Tyrone Thomas, otherwise known as my should-be-ex-boyfriend, father of my child, and as I had come to realize, a real pain in the ass!
“You look good,” he said, roaming me with his eyes.
“Thanks,” I responded in a flat tone. I was ready for him to talk to me about whatever had made him come over to see me in the first place. Carl never came by my parents' house, but tonight he'd showed up at the front door, unannounced, like it was no big deal. Trust me, it was a big freakin' deal.
I shouldn't be out with Carl, and I felt terrible for leaving Emily. But I knew it was better to step out rather than argue with him in front of her and Gerti. I couldn't pull my girl into whatever nonsense Carl planned to start tonight, because she'd been through so much.
I remembered the night Emily called me with the news that her mother had passed. I was sad, but also a little relieved.You see, Ms. Lucille had been sick for a long time. She'd battled multiple sclerosis for years, and the disease had left her a shell of her former self. Her death ended the pain and suffering the disease had caused, but it also left poor Emily all alone. I knew my friend didn't need to be by herself, that's why I pushed so hard until I finally convinced her to move here to DC. And now that I'd be here, too, it was like the icing on top of a fabulous cake.
This was the first time in Emily's entire life that she'd made a decision with herself in mind instead of someone else. She was always thinking of others first: her mother, her kids at school, CJ, me, and anyone else who she thought needed her help. And she did it without complaining. I admired her fierce loyalty and quiet strength. I used to tease her all the time about playing it safe and being so damn predictable, but the truth was, sometimes I wished that I was more like her, dependable and all.
I first met Emily on move-in day our freshman year at Spelman College. She and her mother had been waiting patiently when I walked into my dorm room with arms full of boxes and luggage. All of Emily's things were stacked in a neat pile against the wall. She hadn't unpacked a thing because she was waiting until I arrived to see which side of the room I wanted. That was the kind of selfless person she was. We hit it off right away. She made the dean's list while I made the rounds with a few upperclassmen over at neighboring Morehouse College before moving on to the local stock in town, who were more my flavor.
Emily's my very best friend in the world. She was right there in the delivery room when CJ was born, holding my hand, reminding me to breathe. But even before he took his first breath, we both knew that motherhood wasn't my thing. I remember thinking that she should've had him, not me. She cradled him with love while I looked on, too scared to hold my own child because I thought I'd do something wrong.When CJ was six months old, my job transferred me to New York, and that's when we decided that CJ would be better left in her care. So Emily raised my son for the first four years of his life. See, I told you she was a selfless person.
I knew I'd never find anyone who accepted me the way she did. And it was funny because we were as different as caviar and catfish, with one exception—we were born on the exact same day. But here's the rub, she was born in the wee hours of the morning, and I was born in the late hours of the night . . . interesting, huh? Even though she was technically older than me, I always referred to her as my younger sister.
Emily and I even looked like complete opposites. I stood at five feet ten inches tall, while she hovered at five feet five. She had one of those bodies that brothers loved—tiny waist, shapely thighs, curvaceous hips, and the proverbial onion . . . an ass that could bring tears to the eyes. Her bone structure was incredible and her flawless nut-brown skin was as smooth as silk. Hell, the girl didn't even have to wear makeup! She had natural good looks. And now she was sporting long, shiny hair that looked so fierce it could land her a spot on the cover of
Sophisticate's Black Hair
magazine. I paid top dollar at my salon to get what she had all on her own.
Natural
good looks were something that I didn't have. I wasn't bad to look at, but I was realistic about my physical attributes. Now, don't get it twisted, my shit was always correct, but I was aware that there were things a girl could do to give herself that extra
oomph!
For instance, I was tall and thin as a rail, and my ass was as flat as drywall, but I rocked sexy skirts and fly heels that highlighted my long legs. My face was all right, but I didn't have any striking features that made me stand out, so I applied my makeup with the precision of an artist, creating a seductive illusion. And my hair, hell, my mother's always been disappointed that I didn't have
good hair
. . . yeah, she's one of those Negroes! My coarse, sandy blond hair matched my skin tone and barely touched the bottom of my chin. But with the help of a high-quality human hair weave and Gwen, my fabulous stylist at Hair by NEWG, it flowed down my back like a graceful waterfall.
“I wish I had your curves and natural beauty,” I'd told Emily thousands of times.
“I wish I had your long legs and stylish flair,” she'd often said to me.
Funny how life was. Everybody wanted what they couldn't or didn't have. Speaking of which, I knew I needed to make better choices in the men I dated. I liked brothers with an edge—roughnecks. But let me be clear, that didn't mean I wanted someone who carried a Glock and beat my ass. I wasn't having that. I just liked brothers with that sexy ride-or-die appeal. My parents didn't understand my attraction, but I had to do me. You have to know who you are, and baby, I knew exactly who I was. Just like I knew I should've been home right now, sitting on the couch beside Emily, who was probably waiting up for me.
As Carl and I sat at an outdoor table at Kramerbooks & Afterwords, a combination bookstore and café in the trendy Dupont Circle neighborhood, I noticed how uncomfortable he looked. This wasn't his scene; too many yuppies, buppies, and gay couples for his taste. He was uncomfortable in the northwest section of the city. If the territory wasn't his turf over in southeast, he wasn't down for it. But he agreed to come here because he didn't have a choice. I told him that I'd only leave the house with him under two conditions: one, that we drive in separate vehicles because if shit got funky I'd have a way to get back home; and two, that I choose where we were going. We ended up here because not only could I get a glass of wine to relax from whatever drama he was up to, I could also pick up a book for CJ at the same time. Emily loved reading him bedtime stories.
Carl sat slouched down in his seat, sipping lemonade and talking shit. “Now that you movin' back here, we can make this thing permanent. You know I'll take care of you. Besides, CJ needs to have his mothah and fathah with him on a regular basis. We need to be a family,” he said as he ran his hand over his neatly braided cornrows.
“Carl, we're toxic when we're together.”
“You listenin' to too many talk shows.” He smirked. “Shit, you know I gotcho back. I told you I'll take care of you. Don't I keep you laced?”
“That's not the point,” I snapped. I couldn't help but roll my eyes, a habit I'd picked up from Gerti when I was just three years old. “As I was saying,” I continued, “CJ is just fine right where he is. And let's be honest, neither of us is parent material and you know it.”
“Why you always gotta be talkin' shit 'bout my parentin' skills? Yo bourgeois-ass parents won't even let me come around the house and spend time with my own son.Tell me how I'm s'posed to be a good fathah and shit when I can't see my own flesh and blood!” he said, raising his voice.
I cut my eyes toward the people sitting at the surrounding tables who had started to stare. Little did they know that I didn't give a damn about their raised brows. I ignored them and proceeded to tell Carl exactly what was on my mind. “If you acted like you had some damn sense, you'd be welcome at the house. But listen, it's not even about that,” I said, leaning forward, pressing my elbows against the table. “Until you get your shit together, and you
know
what I'm talking about, and I get myself together, CJ is staying where he is, with my parents.”
Looking at Carl, I wondered why the hell I even dealt with him. Then I remembered the load he was packing between his legs, and the reason came back to me in vivid detail. But sometimes, even a big dick couldn't compensate for the madness he brought into my life. Although, to be completely fair, if you peeled back all of his layers, Carl wasn't the horribly bad person that everyone thought he was. He was just misguided and too slick for his own good.
I'd met Carl six years ago.We were at a club, eyeing each other when he walked over and asked if he could buy me a drink. I was instantly attracted to his ripped body and thugged-out good looks. I gave up the goodies that first night. Carl could fuck like a prizewinning stallion, and that went a long way in my book. Plus, he came into my life during a time when I was going through some serious changes.
I was dating a wonderful man at the time,Tyler Jacobs, the only man who had ever made me feel as happy as a kid and scared as hell at the same time. Ironically, he lived in Atlanta, and his best friend's daughter was one of Emily's students at the school where she taught. I met Tyler one weekend when I was visiting Emily and attending another friend's wedding, where he happened to be one of the guests. I wasn't a relationship girl, but Tyler was a relationship guy, and before I knew it I was swimming in an ocean of new feelings that I couldn't handle. Long story short, I fucked it up so that I wouldn't have to deal with the emotions that had started to build. I slept with Carl, basically sabotaging what I had with Tyler.
A month after Carl and I met, I found out that I was pregnant. But I was straight up with him from the jump. He knew that he wasn't the only guy I was seeing. I'd already told him about Tyler, and that I wasn't sure which one of them was the father, although based on the calendar I had a pretty good idea that it was Carl. To my surprise, he didn't flinch. Actually, I think he wanted the baby to be his. A paternity test proved it was.
Tyler, on the other hand, didn't play that. And in all fairness, how could I have blamed him for being mad, pissed, angry, and hurt? Let me tell you, he was all of those things and more. After CJ was born and it was confirmed that Tyler wasn't the father, I never heard from him again. My failed relationship with him was something I truly regretted. Once things ended, I practically clung to Carl like a junkie. I guess that's why it was so hard for me to break free of him. But I knew it was time to let our relationship go.
When I told Carl that he needed to get himself together, he knew exactly what I meant, and until he could produce a W–2 form and explain where he got his money, his son was off-limits. I wasn't much of a mother, but I could at least try to protect my child from his father, and truth be told, from me, too.
I looked at my watch and saw that it was getting late. I needed to bring the evening with Carl to a close. “So, Carl, was this why you wanted to talk to me?” I asked, clearly irritated. “Because if it was, you wasted both our time. I need to get back home.”
“Hol' up,” he grunted. “Damn, can't we just spend some quality time together?”
I knew exactly what he was up to and I knew what
quality time
meant in his vocabulary. He had that look in his eyes that said he wanted to get a whiff of the kitty tonight. I had to shut him down. “No, we can't,” I replied in a deadpan voice.
“So, whassup? You ain't got time fo' a brothah?”
“I told you last month, we're not a couple anymore. I'm dating other people, so . . .”
“Why you always gotta be dissin' me?”
“How is telling you the truth and being an adult about this dissing you?”
“Oh, so now you a model citizen and shit?”
I rolled my eyes again. “You know what, this conversation is over. I'm going to get CJ a book and then I'm going home.” Carl just looked at me like I was crazy, so I stood up and started to walk away.
“I know yo skinny ass ain't walkin' away from me?” he said, entirely too loud.
Now why the hell did he have to go and do that? Carl was used to crazy hood drama and talking shit to everyone around him because most people feared him, but I didn't.You see, Carl forgot who I was from time to time. When he looked at me he saw my quality designer clothes, sophisticated air, and Gold Coast upbringing, but I wasn't the one to fuck with! I didn't carry a weapon or get into fights or any of the other mayhem he was used to, but I could still show my ass with the best of them.
“I know your punk ass ain't talkin' about nobody else's ass!” I said, in a pitch loud enough to match his own.

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