21. Rochelle
21
ROCHELLE
Y ou're doing great, Rochelle. Stop being so nervous. You will get through this. When I finish conversing with myself, I sit on the toilet seat.
As confident as I sound, I feel out of place here. I have never been around such wealthy white people, and I feel utterly lost.
I hope Frederick is almost ready to leave because I will run out of things to discuss. Hey, guys. You have to check out the dollar store. They have two for one on shampoo and conditioner. I laugh at the thought of these people being in the vicinity of a dollar store, let alone walking inside one.
I stand and splash cold water on my face before returning to the sitting room.
As I emerge from the bathroom, I hear Frederick's mother whispering. I can't make out what she's saying, but it makes me uneasy. Now I hear Theron responding, probably to whatever she said.
My gut is screaming. They're talking about you. I decide to take my time in the hallway and admire the art on the walls.
I walk at a snail's pace, hoping they stop talking long enough that I can pop back in without the awkwardness of a dramatic pause in conversation.
The closer I get, the clearer their words become.
"Frederick, there's plenty of fish in the sea that don't come with a laundry list of issues. Are you sure about her?" The shock of what Theron just said stops me dead in my tracks. I close my eyes and hope Frederick shuts down the conversation.
"Do you really want that responsibility? Think about it, honey. Rochelle has experienced a lot of trauma in her life, and that's sad, but that comes with baggage. Is that baggage you want? It sounds like she’s coming with two kids who aren’t even her own, not to mention their mother and stepfather."
His mom's voice is riddled with concern. Baggage. A word I detest.
"I know plenty of women who live normal lives. Why don't I set you up with one of them?"
My heart sinks, my pulse quickens, my face feels hot, and I don't know what to do. Think, Rochelle. Think!
I go back to the bathroom door and shut it loud enough for them to hear, then I clear my throat for safe measure. When I emerge, the whispers have stopped.
"There you are," Frederick says as he pats the couch next to him. "Everything okay?" Shit, my emotions are written all over my face.
"Yeah, everything's great." I shoot him a smile that's hard for me to muster.
"Rochelle, would you tell us when you're playing piano at the hotel next? We mentioned coming for dinner, but Theron, Frederick, and I would rather hear you play. Since you play on your days off, we can sit and have a nice dinner afterward. How does that sound?"
That sounds horrible.
"I would love that." I shoot Frederick a look. A look that most men know.
"Are you almost ready to head out?" he asks, picking up on my signal.
"Whenever you are," I say with a smile that takes all my strength to muster.
Finally, we make it outside, and I feel like I can breathe again.
The soft hum of the engine fills the car as Frederick glances over at me and smiles. The weight of the conversation weighs heavy on my heart. I stare out the window, hoping the scenery distracts me, but it doesn't. Their words are living rent-free in my head, and I can't shake them.
"Penny for your thoughts?"
I jump. "What?"
He laughs. "It's a saying. It mea–"
"I know what it means, silly. You just caught me off guard.
The car rolls to a stop as we get to a red light. "What's going on in there?" He softly touches my head.
"It's nothing."
Frederick isn't buying it for a second. "Spill."
"Well, I, um, I overheard your mom and Theron talking about me when I came out of the bathroom."
His eyebrows raise, causing his forehead to crinkle, and the whites of his eyeballs double in size.
"Oh, Rochelle. I want you to know I'm sorry about what my mom and uncle said. They had no right to discuss your personal matters like that." His eyes search mine for a second too long.
"Let's go, buddy, green means go!" The guy behind us opens his windows, honks, and yells. "I don't have all day!"
"Geez, dude, I get it." He picks up right where he left off. "My mom and uncle are judgmental people. I wouldn't let anything they say get to you."
I want to laugh at his hypocrisy, but I hold it in. He let them get to him so badly that he set up a fake engagement to piss them off.
"I appreciate you saying that, Frederick. It's just those words, you know? They sting. It's hard to shake them off."
He runs his fingers through his hair and sighs. "I know. I can't apologize enough."
"I appreciate it. But it's not your fault. You have nothing to apologize for. That's just not something anyone wants to hear. Especially someone with ‘baggage.’"
He winces when I say the word baggage.
"I can't help who my mom married, nor can I help who my neighbors are," I defend myself, even though I know he isn’t the one I need to say this to. I'm so mad, and the last thing I want to do is take it out on Frederick.
"Rochelle, I need you to know that I don't see through the lens of anyone else's opinions. I see you for who you are. Strong, resilient, and incredible."
I smile but immediately wonder why he didn't say that to his mom and uncle.
"My mom and uncle have no filters. They're so tone-deaf sometimes. Aren't most baby boomers?" He laughs when he asks, but I'm not laughing. I am still in my head and don't know how to get out.
When you live your life with certain insecurities and hear others talking about them, it stings. It just reaffirms that everything you feel has to be true if others can see it.
I have worked so hard to live a drama-free life. One not filled with trauma and baggage. I never wanted to end up like my mother, but there’s only so much I can avoid the fact that I am, at the end of the day, forever her daughter.
I can't erase my past. I wish it didn't follow me. I wish people could see me as I am. A simple woman who loves music.
And I can’t help wondering if there’s any chance of a future between me and Frederick if that’s how his family feels. Hell, I can’t help wondering if I should even care if there is. This started as a prank on his mother, more or less. Was there ever a logical reason to hope this could be more in the first place?
"Has there ever been something that you were insecure about? Something that dug at you, and no matter what you did, how hard you worked, how much you grew, it still nagged at you?" I try.
Frederick thinks about it for a second.
"I mean, it's a little embarrassing when people find out how wealthy my family is. People automatically lump me into a category I don't belong in."
Why did I ask? Rich people's ‘problems’ aren’t problems I will ever be able to understand.
He can tell that the answer doesn't make me feel better. "Seriously, Rochelle. Don't worry about them. You know I could care less what they think. We all have our baggage." I wish he would stop using that word. "They have plenty, trust me."
It's nice of him to try to make me feel better, but it's not working. A heavy sigh escapes my lips. "I know you don't care, Frederick. It's about me questioning whether I'm ready for all this judgment. I thought I could handle it, but it's harder than I anticipated.
He reaches across the armrest and puts his hand over mine. "I understand, and I don't expect you to just brush it off. It's okay to feel hurt. Just know that I'm here for you."
I look over at him. "I appreciate you saying that. It's just going to take some time for me to process." He nods his head, reassuring me that he understands.
I lean my head on the window and close my eyes, hoping my brain can escape its thoughts for a little while.
"What's going on?" Frederick startles me. I must have fallen asleep.
My eyes are drawn to his pointer finger, and my stomach tightens when I focus on what he is pointing to. I see half a dozen police cars, all flashing sirens, and it looks like they're parked outside my apartment.
“I have no clue.”
“Are they parked at your apartment?” Frederick asks in a tone that makes it clear he doesn’t expect an answer. He accelerates, bringing us closer.
As we pull up, I see a small crowd outside. My thoughts immediately go to the kids and a million bad prospects flash through my mind. "What if something happened to Sigourney and Walken?" I say, terrified, as tears prick my eyes.
"Rochelle, no matter what this is, I am here. Okay?"
As hard as I try to stop my tears, I can't. When they roll down my cheeks, he gently swipes his thumbs across. "I promise everything will be okay." How can he be so sure?
As he pulls into the back lot, we turn to take in the scene. The first real clue I get is when I notice Terrance sitting in the back of one of the cop cars. He doesn't look happy, but I can’t tell what that means.
For all I know, he really hurt someone this time, and I worry that it’s all my fault.
This is exactly what his mom was talking about. There’s a lot of fish in the sea, and most of them don’t come with regular police encounters.
At the same time, I know I don’t really care. As much as it stings, being judged by a woman like that, those kids come first. All I really want to do is hurry into the building and make sure everyone is okay.
As the police drive away with Terrance in tow, Frederik and I watch. He doesn't even look back. Coward.
But what the hell happened when we were gone, and where are the kids now?