2. Ashari Jade Weeks
“Though a host should encamp against me, my heart shall not fear: Though war should rise against me, in this will I be confident. Psalm twenty-seven reminds us to trust God regardless of the battles you face. You can be confident that God is with you no matter your enemy. God will not only hide you but also fight for you. Trust him when you can’t trace him, saints.”
Listening to the replay of the message from Sunday that Pastor Reese delivered while sitting in my office at work has me fighting tears. I’m not a regular church attendee, despite Pastor Reese being my godfather. My parents, Ashanti and Jeffrey Weeks, aren’t Christians, but they often made me attend my godfather’s church while I was growing up. According to Mom, at least one of the Weeks should make it into Heaven, so it might as well be me. Yet, I haven’t felt inclined to subscribe to Mom’s belief, despite occasionally gracing the doorsteps of Pursuing His Glory Ministries . Thankfully, Papa Ren, as I affectionately call Pastor Lorenzo Reese, doesn’t pressure me or make me feel like I’m going to hell because I haven’t given my life to God. He loves me and meets me where I am, which is why I’m comfortable enough to go to church when I do.
With loving kindness have I drawn thee.
Papa Ren’s words enter my mind, reminding me of the phrase he often says to me and anyone who questions him about me not being a member of his church.
“Today’s altar call is for those who feel like they’re in a battle and God is nowhere around. It’s for those whose backs are against the wall, and you feel like giving up. If you fall into either of those categories, meet me at this altar.”
Papa Ren’s declaration has my eyes returning to the screen as his voice bounces in my ear, causing my heart rate to accelerate. My body temperature increases as perspiration begins under my arms. My mouth dries as my tongue slowly glides along my lips while staring at the screen. I’m not in the room at the church, yet I feel compelled to be one of the attendees at the altar.
“Dang, I missed a good service and opportunity to get prayer,” I say as the live stream cuts off, and my eyes continue watching the screen where Papa Ren and the church’s information displays.
*ding*
PKeys:
When are you going to stop hiding and let me take your pretty ass out?
The instant message from my colleague, Paul, pops up, causing me to roll my eyes hard enough for them to get stuck in place. Before logging off, I closed out of the church’s Facebook group and locked my phone to return to work. Every Monday morning, I listen to Papa Ren’s message replay before I get into my workday. What grinds my gears is this instant message from Paul, which instantly removes the feelings I had after hearing a powerful sermon. Paul Keys has been trying to get me to go out with him for as long as he’s been working here. Telling him I’m not interested in becoming his fantasy hasn’t persuaded his pursuit. Paul believes that our color difference would only bond us more, despite telling me how he wants to tie me up and fuck me senseless.
Yet what Paul doesn’t understand is that if he were the last man standing in a sea of shark-infested waters, I would choose the shark over him. Hell, if I were interested in an interracial romance, Paul wouldn’t make the cut because he puts me in the mind of a redneck who hides underneath a white sheet. I’m cool on him and his mission to take me out.
PKeys:
I see your light on, so I know you’re in the office, Ms. Weeks.
“Ugh. Buy a vowel, motherfucker,” I say while closing out the instant message, ignoring Paul so I can get some work done.
“How was work today, baby girl?”
“It was good other than Paul continuing to ask me out,” I say, removing the pan from my oven while talking to Dad.
“Do I need to come up there and show that mothafucka why we’re no longer living in Dr. King’s era?”
Jeffrey Weeks plays about many things, but his daughters aren’t one of them, and I love him for his protective nature. My sister Amari and I are our parents’ pride and joy, which is why I’m not surprised by Dad’s question. I told my parents about Paul’s foolishness when it started because I wanted their take on the situation. From the beginning, Paul had given me pause when he asked me to accompany him to a farm as a first date. Like, who the fuck goes to a farm for a date. It was weird to me but normal for Paul, who laughed as if my questioning the location was a joke. He then told me it was where all women as beautiful as I was accompanied him.
“No. He’s harmless.”
“Gnats are harmless, yet they still make you crash out, baby girl. Unlike your godfather, I only ask God to forgive me after my sinful deed has me smiling while sitting at RPD,” Dad says, causing me to laugh hysterically.
“You better tell her, Jeffrey. I’m with all the shits and have the clips to back us both up,” Mom says, entering the conversation and letting me know she’s either been in the room the whole time or just heard what Dad said.
“Well, hello, Ashanti girl,” I say, giggling.
“Hey, my baby. Whose ass needs restructuring?”
“What is wrong with you, Mom?” Shaking my head, I start mashing my potatoes to finish my dinner as Mom starts singing.
“I’m from dha hood doe, like dha hood doe, like really, really, really, from dha hood doe,” Mom raps, causing me to start laughing hard enough to choke.
“Raise your hands, baby,” Dad says calmly.
It takes me several minutes to get myself together enough to respond to Mom and her shenanigans as my throat burns from coughing.
“You knowing that dang on song is so wild, Ashanti Weeks,” I say hoarsely.
*ding, dong*
The doorbell sounds before either of my parents can respond, and a wide smile forms at the knowledge of my guests.
“Who is that?”
“Did you accept that mothafucka’s request?” Mom and Dad ask simultaneously, causing my face to tighten as a frown wipes the smile from my lips.
“Uh… hell no, Dad. I gotta go, though.”
“Hm. Don’t make me have to pull up your camera feed, little girl,” Mom says sassily.
“This is why I’m about to change your access. That’s an invasion of my privacy.”
“Ain’t no damn privacy. We’re your parents, and it’s our job to ensure your safety,” Mom snaps.
Rolling my eyes, I place the pot of mashed potatoes on the stove and head toward the front door.
“I’m thirty and too old to have her parents spying on her. Y’all asses are gonna fuck around and see some shit you don’t want to. Keep playing.”
“Unless you plan to fuck on your front porch in front of the camera, we’re good,” Dad says.
Unlocking the front door, I quickly usher my guests inside while placing my finger to my lips.
“All right. On that note, I got to go, but I love you both.”
“Mhm. Tell us anything,” Mom says.
“Love you, baby girl. Enjoy your night,” Dad says.
Tapping my earpiece, I exhale while hugging the two people standing in my foyer with cheesy grins.
“I’m assuming you were talking to my second parents,” Mycah says.
“Or was it your fine-ass godfather?” Jordan asks.
Mycah Kincade has been my best friend since the ninth grade, becoming another sister and my confidante. Jordan Walters and I met our freshman year in college when we became roommates.
“Yes, it was my parents. I keep telling you, you’re gonna bust hell open for preying on God’s chosen vessel like that,” I tell Mycah before chastising Jordan and turning toward the kitchen as they follow behind me.
“Girl. Trust me, God understands me and knows how hard it is for me to resist a fine specimen. I’m surprised Big Daddy Renzo ain’t been snatched up by one of the pie and cake-baking floozies at the church,” Jordan says.
“Yuck. Please don’t give me any reasons to vomit before we eat. Papa Ren ain’t about that life as he believes only God can show him his wife.”
“Chile, God is taking too long, and I’ve been praying for that man for a long time,” Jordan says.
“Girl, what?” Mycah asks, laughing.
“Never mind. Y’all won’t understand,” Jordan says.
“You know what, let’s change the subject because I ain’t got time to continue this conversation with you. Your ass better stop playing with God, though,” I say.
“Fine. What’s up with you heffas?” Jordan asks.
“Hold up. Hold up. Baby sister is here!” Amari shouts, entering the kitchen.
“Where the hell did you come from?” Mycah asks the question hanging on the tip of my tongue.
Amari Weeks is my younger sister, who is five years my junior, and while I love her, she wasn’t invited to have dinner with me, Mycah, and Jordan.
“Sent from heaven,” Amari sings with a grin and a shuffle of her shoulders.
“Hm. That’s cute, but why are you here without announcing your presence? You’re just as aggy as your damn parents. I need to change my locks and camera permissions because y’all are making my ass itch,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“Well, I was on my way home, and Mom called to have me pop on you since her and Dad are already in their bed clothes. So, here I am,” Amari says.
“Wow. I think it’s time for you to get an impersonator or something to throw them off your scent, friend,” Jordan says, frowning.
“Go home, Amari, and if you tell your parents about who is at my house, prepare for me to share one of your secrets,” I say.
Amari’s face drops as her skin instantly turns beet red, because the idea of our parents finding out about any of her dirt has her damn near shaking.
“Damn, you don’t fight fair. Can I at least get a plate?” Amari asks.
“No. Bye, Amari.”
“Fine. My lips are sealed. I’ll see you at brunch on Saturday,” Amari says, hanging her head and leaving the kitchen as I watch her retreating back, sighing upon hearing my front door closing minutes later.
“Have you told them that you’re moving next week?” Mycah asks a few minutes later.
“Hell no. Their nosy asses will get the surprise when they attempt to access a camera they no longer have access to. I’m all for protection and shit, but damn, they be doing too much,” I say, sighing.
“No kidding. When we were growing up, I thought it was cute, but now, as adults, it's creepy and invasive,” Mycah says.
“For real. I would flee the state if my parents acted like yours,” Jordan says.
My parents and their need to check on me for safety reasons have caused me not to renew the lease on the house I’m renting. Instead, I’m moving to a gated townhouse community where individuals have to be announced or added to a list of approved visitors. I’m too grown to be monitored like I’m ten, and this is my first step in breaking free of the unnecessary hold from Ashanti’s and Jeffrey’s clutches.
“Anyway, let’s eat before this food gets cold,” I say, returning to the purpose of my friend coming over this evening.
“Sounds good to me. What did you cook today?” Mycah asks.
“I air-fried a whole chicken. We’re also having asparagus and mashed potatoes. I also made some brownies,” I say, smiling.
“Ooh, did you put the parmesan cheese on the asparagus when you baked them?” Jordan asks with her brows hiking.
“You know I did. I know how your greedy ass likes them,” I say.
“Okay. Did you put nuts in the brownies? I can only eat them filled with lots of nuts,” Mycah asks, smirking.
“Yes. I know about your love of all things nuts,” I say, smiling.
“Baby, speaking of nuts. Let me tell y’all about this nigga whose nut had me throwing up last week. I ain’t never had a nigga’s nut smell like two-week-old bath water while tasting like cow manure,” Jordan says as we begin making our plates, causing me to stop and look at her.
“Uh, how do you know what cow manure tastes like?” Mycah asks again, taking the question from my mouth as if she has an inside track of my thoughts.
“Focus. I met ole boy on Facebook’s dating page, and my intentions were only to find a little dip I can hit up when I want a release. Chile, this nigga should have come with the warning label… may endanger your esophagus or something because his ass had me throwing up for fifteen minutes,” Jordan provides, frowning as if she can either taste the man’s nut now or her stomach is remembering the incident and causing her some discomfort.
“Facebook has a dating page?” I ask.
“Yes. I ain’t interested in dating anyone, but the tomfoolery hitting my page is enough to request the site be banned,” Jordan adds.
“Couldn’t be too bad if you found someone’s dick to put in your mouth,” Mycah says, shrugging.
“Girl, desperation and horniness almost had my ass placing ads in the paper. Shit. I should have after fucking around with Gag Caddy Eddie.” Jordan’s curling lip and wrinkling nose have Mycah and me laughing as we continue making our plates.
“Why the name, girl?” I ask.
“The nigga said he works at a golf course, so yeah… Gag Caddy Eddie is who he’ll always be. His stupid ass had the nerve to hit me up on Messenger, talking about don’t tell anyone we were together. I cussed his bitch ass out and told him that I wouldn’t tell the devil we were together and to forget what my mouth couldn’t do. I blocked his bitch ass after making a post warning other women about his lack of water intake and proper dick hygiene,” Jordan says.
“Let’s pray over this food before we go any further because more than this food needs God’s blessings,” I say once we’re sitting at the table with our food.
“Wait, you ain’t even in church. Let’s call Big Daddy Renzo to pray,” Jordan says.
“Father, in the name of Jesus. Before anything, slap Jordan as only you can.” I start praying, and laughter fills my kitchen, causing my lips to upturn as I petition God in prayer.