Chapter 4
4
brIAR
“ W hat are you telling me right now?” Zara asks.
“Leo Warner.”
“Yes?”
“I’m working for him.”
“But… why?”
I can hear the displeasure of my friend from through the phone. She’s never really liked football, and definitely doesn’t like Leo. “You know what a conceited prick looks like? Leo Warner, that’s who. Ignore that man, Briar,” she told me one time I dragged her to a game and Leo dared to wink at me afterward.
Not that I ever thought of him like that anyways. Leo Warner wasn’t ever anywhere near my radar. Me and athletes? I’m good.
“Because you know I need the money, Zara. I don’t want to move back out of the city again. I don’t want to ask Tony for more money. It’s just going to lead to so much shit I just don’t need in my life right now.”
Things with Tony were always bad. It was bad all throughout our marriage, and it’s bad even today, as he screws the woman he cheated on me with in our home, ignoring his daughter until it’s convenient to get back at me.
I don’t want anything to do with him, but that doesn’t mean that he won’t let me live in peace.
“That piece of shi?—”
“Exactly,” I say, rearing back as I sink into the cool, cracked leather of my old Ford Explorer.
I’m sitting in a parking garage, my phone held between my shoulder and my ear as I reach back to hand Elara a small water bottle. She has her headphones on, connected to my old Walkman I gave her when she was small. I’m not sure which CD she has playing, but I can tell from the way she bobs her head that it’s something good.
I look around the garage, watching as cars rev their engines, backing out of their spots carefully, narrowly avoiding being hit by someone zooming around the corner before making their way down the winding exit in the middle of the structure.
“He’s an okay guy. He has some issues, sure, but that’s why I have you.” I sigh, knowing that she’s either going to love this or hate this, and I’m really not quite sure which one it’s going to be.
“What do you need?” She sounds defeated, like she knows my mind is made up. And she does. Izara, or Zara as she likes to be called, and I have been friends for well over a decade. She was the only one in the room with me when I had Elara, as Tony was away for a business meeting and couldn’t get there in time. Or, well, so he says.
Elara was originally going to be named Zara, if I had my way, but of course I didn’t. Instead I went with Elara.
She was the maid of honor at my wedding, and the lawyer who helped me find the best divorce lawyer I could find. Sure, I didn’t get exactly what I wanted out of it. I could be a whole hell of a lot more well off right now, but I have Elara, and that’s what matters to me .
Now if I could only hold a job, which is why we’re here.
“I need you to come and look over this agreement with me. I need to make sure I’m not going to be stuck in it if anything happens, and that I’m going to benefit, you know?”
“Mmm I’m not sure about that. It may come at a steep price,” she says after a moment, a laugh in her voice.
I chuckle, hitting my head on the back of the seat. “And what is this price you speak of?”
“I want a girls night. We haven’t had one in forever. It’s on me, so don’t start with that I have other financial responsibilities bullshit. I want to take you out.”
I haven’t been out in a long time. Getting dressed up just to go to a bar, packed like sardines is not exactly something I personally find fun. But Zara loves it.
When we were younger, we’d make a whole night of it. But then I got married. And when things immediately started going south, I knew I had to get out. But as soon as I made an exit plan, I found out I was pregnant.
Elara is the light of my life, and one of the best things to ever happen to me, but it was one of the worst moments of my life.
Being trapped in that marriage was a death sentence, and the longer I was there, the longer I stayed, the more and more I felt like I lost half of myself.
I don’t think I’ve ever really gotten that spark back, and there’s not a single day that goes by that I don’t grieve for that part of me.
“Of course I’ll do it,” I tell her, closing my eyes. Part of me hopes she forgets, and part of me hopes she just asks me to dinner. That would be far better than anything else.
“Thank god. We’ll have fun and come back to the house and have miyan taushe, okay? Mom just dropped some off the other day.”
My stomach growls at the promise of one of my favorite foods. Zara’s parents are from Nigeria and moved here a couple of years before she was born. I’ve loved her traditional cooking since the very second I tried it the first time I was over.
Her mom is one of the most warm, welcoming people I’ve ever met, and although I’m absolutely terrible at learning new languages—I’m pretty sure it was the only class I ever bombed in school—her mother continues to teach me how to speak Hausa, and I welcome it enthusiastically. I love them as if they were my own parents.
“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” I say with a smile, excited now.
“Okay, when do you need me to meet you?”