6. Cali
CHAPTER SIX
CALI
I t’s crazy to think how $5,000 could transform my life in so many ways at this moment. I could pay off bills or even start saving for a future goal. Yet, it baffles me that some people choose to spend that amount on a designer purse, a luxury I can't even begin to fathom.
As I pondered that disparity, I found myself absentmindedly scrolling through Facebook, my gaze flickering over posts and pictures, while the shop around me lay quiet without a single customer in sight.
“He’s just broken. I really believe I can fix him,” I overheard a woman on the radio express as she shared her relationship problems with the host, seeking advice.
I glanced over at my coworker Jarielle, who also happened to be the manager on duty that day, and as I figured, she was shaking her head in disapproval.
“Sis, he’s got eight other women trying to fix him. Don’t you dare become part of that construction crew!” she voiced, her tone both serious and playful.
I couldn’t help but chuckle at Jarielle’s bluntness.
“Cali, girl, I don’t care how bad my relationship is, I’m not calling no radio station for advice!” Jarielle added.
“I'm with you when you're right, girl!” I replied, nodding in agreement.
“Maybe it's my weight,” the woman on the radio continued. “I mean, he hasn't touched me in months. Yeah, maybe that's what it is.”
Jarielle had taken a seat with her brows furrowed at the woman's words. As a proud plus-sized woman herself, Jarielle couldn't stand the thought of any BBW feeling unloved or lacking confidence, so I knew she was about to respond to the lady's statement.
“Honey, that's a lie! I'm fat, and niggas still eat me up like a Debbie cake! You're just fucking with the wrong nigga! God, please free all my girls from the burden of acting like devoted wives to bums and ungrateful men!” she exclaimed playfully, her hands clasped together as if she were in prayer.
“That part,” I muttered in agreement. I found myself reflecting on Jarielle’s words while continuously looking at various posts on my feed.
“But what’s going on with you? You’ve been mighty quiet this morning!” she pried, leaning against the counter with a hand resting on her hip.
I closed the Facebook app and gave her my full attention.
“Girl, nothing really. Just tired,” I confessed with a weary smile. “I had a real struggle getting the twins ready this morning, especially with Zion. I swear, if I let him, he would sleep all day, every day.” A soft laugh escaped my lips at the thought of his adorable, sleepy face.
What I shared with Jarielle was completely true—anytime I found myself rushing out the door later than planned, it was almost always because Zion was slowing us up. Zuri, on the other hand, was my little sunrise. The moment she woke up, she was up and ready to tackle the day. I could already picture the future: Zion, the night owl, would happily stay up late, while Zuri would rise with the sun and start her day at dawn. But beneath my light-hearted banter lay a deeper reason for my silence―I was still pissed at Jayceon.
Although Jarielle was my girl and an absolutely amazing person, when it came to coworkers, I usually kept my personal business close to my chest. It wasn’t that I doubted her loyalty—far from it—but she was one of those people who just loved to talk, sometimes just to hear herself talk, I believed. She also had a knack for turning everything into a story, often with an added flourish. So, when it came to what went on between Jayceon and me, I preferred to play it safe and kept certain truths to myself.
“They’re just so darn cute! I swear your babies are the cutest set of twins I’ve ever seen! You need to bring them up here one day to visit me again!”
“Thank you, girl, and I will. As a matter of fact, I’m off tomorrow, so I’ll bring them then.”
She nodded with a smile.
“Hello, sir! Can I get you anything else today?” I asked with a friendly smile, directing my attention to the customer who had stepped up to the counter.
He looked me up and down, a smirk playing on his lips.
“If you’re not for sale, then no, that will be all. Damn, baby girl, I’m not a baker, but I’ll stay up late with you to make a cream pie.”
I rolled my eyes and cringed internally at the older man's inappropriate comment. It was just another day at the job—a routine I had grown all too familiar with. I encountered at least five men every day who felt the need to flirt with me, and on a really busy day, a good ten plus. While I recognized that I was an attractive woman, and I understood why some women might've enjoyed that kind of attention, it was not my cup of tea. I was just trying to do my job and get back home to my babies.
“Sorry, I’m not for sale,” I said with a forced smile, trying to mask my discomfort. I wanted to add, “Not now, not tomorrow, not ever, nigga,” but instead, I simply handed him his total with a practiced calmness.
“$11.18.”
He pulled out his wallet, opening it wide to display his assortment of bills, as if showing off would somehow sway me. I stood there, maintaining a stoic expression. When he handed me a $20 bill, he allowed his fingers to glide over my arm. I reacted instinctively, jerking my arm back as if I had touched something hot.
Instead of placing his change gently into his hand, I slid it sharply across the counter, a decision that usually felt rude—but his actions made it feel necessary. There was something unsettling about him, a strong impression of a creepy old man. He gathered his money and winked at me before sauntering out of the store, leaving behind an uncomfortable silence that lingered long after he had gone.
“The nerve of his ass!” I said once he was out of the store.
“What happened?!” Jarielle asked, coming around the corner.
“An old creep trying to buy some pussy!”
Jarielle waved me off.
“Girl, you know how these men do! I guess it’s the opposite when it comes to me, though. They be buying pussy from other women but wanna cuff me. Nah, nigga, buy mine too!”
I laughed, and just like that, the situation with the guy was a distant memory. Jarielle always had the power to take my mood from shit to sugar.
“I’m serious, girl. Don’t buy your wants, then beg for your needs. While I’m thinking about it, let me send my ex a message,” she added.
“Your ex?” I quizzed.
“Girl, yes! For the last six months, I’ve been sending him DMs once a month just so him and his girlfriend can fight since I know she stays going through his phone. She’s usually the one to respond to the message.”
“What do you be saying?”
“I be messaging him shit like, ‘you looked fine today,’ and girl, I ain’t seen that nigga in a year! Just something to ruffle his girlfriend’s feathers since I know she be looking. If she was a smart bitch, instead of trying to catch him cheating, she’d go to his CashApp and send herself some money.”
“Hello!” I agreed.
“But after this month, I’ma stop. It’s time for me to find me a husband. I’m not a girl who requires much, just loyalty and orgasms. That’s all I want. And food… I can’t forget the food. As a matter of fact, what fabric store sells husband material? We probably got some in here. I’m about to knit me a nigga!” she said as she went sashaying onto the aisles.
I shook my head at her silliness as I watched a group of men enter the store. I braced myself because I already knew at least one out of the group would try to holla at me.
“Damn, you’re fine as hell!” the one who approached the counter first exclaimed.
I rolled my eyes inwardly, the same way I had done when the older guy tried to shoot his shot.
“Thanks,” I dryly responded, then rang up his few items.
“Damn, can a nigga call you sometime, beautiful?” he asked, leaning over the counter and licking his big lips.
Ugh, absolutely not!
Although I knew I was very attractive, I cringed at the term of endearment coming from him. However, instead of voicing my disgust, I opted for a more diplomatic response.
“No, but thanks for asking,” I replied, trying to keep my tone light and polite while making it clear that I wasn't interested.
What I really wanted to say to all of them in advance was, “Thanks for the compliments, but I’m not interested in none of you niggas!” However, I knew those words would’ve had me arguing with one of those niggas or all of their asses. Not to be mistaken, I didn’t mind going toe to toe with any man; that just wasn’t the place or time. Jayceon and I had fought once before, but I can guarantee all it took was one that one time for him to see I was that nigga, in a female body.
Suddenly, the doors to the store swung open, and a fine ass nigga burst inside, brandishing an AK-47 with a blunt dangling from his mouth.
He shouted, “Aight, everybody get the fuck down!”
At that moment, I knew we were about to be robbed. During my time working at the store, I had never witnessed a robbery or been the cashier when one occurred, possibly because most of them happened at night while I worked the day shift. Knowing I had children who needed their mommy, I complied by raising my hands and backing away from the cash register. What stood out to me was that the men who had entered before him were just standing there, seemingly unfazed; some were even shaking their heads.
“Nigga, you really came up in here on that shit! Man, put that shit away, scaring these innocent people. You gon’ cause one of these old folks to have a heart attack! Not to mention, you’re interrupting my time getting to know this beautiful lady.” The guy who flirted with me gestured toward me.
The one with the gun glanced at me, and his expression seemed to soften as he lowered his weapon. Within seconds, it was as if his whole demeanor had changed; however, that calm was only temporary.
“Nigga, get yo’ goofy ass out of the way!” The fine nigga practically pushed ol’ boy to the side as he approached the counter. “Besides, you know that God wouldn’t bless you with a beauty like her, and you damn sure ain’t got enough dick to handle an ass like hers,” he said, glancing across the counter at my booty. “So let a real nigga work his magic.”
Unable to help myself, I smiled, feeling an instant spark of connection in the air.
I had to admit, he was far better looking than the first guy. With a skin tone mirroring mine and standing taller than most of the people around him, that guy carried himself with an easy confidence that was hard to ignore. Even in a crowd, it was clear that he possessed a quiet strength that set him apart. His build was average but well-proportioned, suggesting he was active but not overly muscular. But his dreadlocks were what sold me. I was a sucker for a nigga with dreads, and his framed his smooth face perfectly, giving him a distinctive look and making him unforgettable to me. His voice, however, had a distinct quality that caught my attention. There was an intimacy in his tone that made me feel connected to him, as if we shared a history or if I recognized him from a dream or an old memory.
“Did I scare you, beautiful?” he asked, a sexy smile spreading across his face, revealing a hint of charm that piqued my curiosity. “If I did, I apologize. I tend to want to show my ass at times. But what’s yo’ name?”
“Cali,” I replied, surprised by my own willingness to share my name.
Normally, I would guard that piece of information fiercely, either refusing to reveal it or making up a false one entirely. Yet, there was something about him that encouraged me to be honest.
He nodded thoughtfully.
“Cali… I like that. It suits you perfectly. So, Ms. Cali, how is it that I like you, and you like me, but we’re not together? Somebody is lying, ma.”
I chuckled. “Well, it must be you lying to yourself then.”
“If I’m a liar, how come my pants ain’t on fire?”
I giggled. “Really?”
“I know that shit was corny as hell, but it made you laugh.”
“Yes. But who said I liked you, though?”
“Well, although I didn’t hear your conversation with that nigga,” he pointed at ol’ boy, “I have a feeling that you were ruder to him than you’re being with me, so I assume you see something in me that you didn’t in him. I’m Draelon, by the way, but most people call me Draco.”
Although it was true that I found the other guy uninteresting, I couldn't deny that Draco's bossy demeanor was somewhat of a turn-on. However, beneath that facade of charm was an underlying tension to Draco’s personality that raised concerns. His playful attempt at robbery, which didn’t come off as lighthearted at all, and the way he casually dismissed the other guy from further talking to me spoke volumes about his character. It suggested a life steeped in danger, one where he flirted with violence and had a troubling relationship with his emotions. While his actions—like shoving the other guy aside—didn't immediately project aggression, it hinted at a deeper, more chaotic side, with him often reacting more intensely than a situation warrants. That was a red flag to me, as I had always found aggressive behavior difficult to tolerate. I dealt with that shit with my ex-boyfriend, and it was exhausting, and I vowed to never get back involved with a nigga like that.
“Draco… that name definitely fits you.” I chuckled. “Well, Draco , what can I get you today? As you can see, there’s quite a line forming behind you,” I said, trying to redirect the conversation to a more professional tone while purposely avoiding his flirtatious remark.
Draco flashed a playful smirk, then leaned in slightly closer. “I’m going to act like you didn’t just ignore what I said.” He then turned his head to survey the line of customers behind him, a variety of eager faces waiting for their turn. Draco returned his attention to me. “Those muthafuckas will be alright. They can definitely wait another minute or two,” he nonchalantly added, clearly unfazed by the growing crowd. “You look familiar, though,” Draco observed me, his gaze taking in my features as if trying to place where he might have seen me before.
“Maybe it’s because you’ve seen me in here quite a few times,” I suggested with a slight chuckle, hoping to jog his memory.
He shook his head. “Nah, I just recently moved back to the city, so I’ve only been in here a couple of times. This is definitely the first time I’ve seen you. If I had before now, trust me, I would have remembered.”
“Well, I’m damn sure not famous, working here anyway , and I don’t even be outside much like talking about it, so you’re lying… again !”
“Pretty lil’ feisty thing,” he said, grinning as he bit into his bottom lip. “I would like to continue this conversation and get down to the bottom of where I know you from, but I know you’ve got a job to do, so I’ll just take three packs of backwoods and a pack of Magnums… extra -large.” Draco emphasized the last part with his gaze locked onto mine and his eyes twinkling with mischief.
So, this nigga is about to get high and then go fuck, I assumed.
For some reason, a twinge of jealousy coursed through me at the thought of him going to fuck another woman. It was a feeling that caught me off guard, considering we barely knew each other. Who was I kidding, though? As fine as he was, I was sure he had a girl at home waiting for him, not to mention a few side chicks, a possible baby mama, and perhaps even a wife hidden away somewhere. Keeping that thought in mind, I hastily grabbed the items he requested and rang them up so I could get him out of my presence as quickly as possible. While doing so, I could feel his eyes locked on me, filled with something that I couldn’t quite decipher.
After I gave Draco his total, he handed me a crisp $100 bill, then took my hand and said, “Today might not be our time, but I’m sure next week will be. So, be expecting another visit from me. Keep the change, beautiful. I hope you have a good day and an even better weekend.”
Draco grabbed the bag filled with the items he purchased and swaggered out of the store, leaving me momentarily speechless. I watched him go, the door chiming softly behind him.
It wasn’t until the next customer approached the counter, clearing their throat to get my attention, that I snapped back to reality, suddenly aware of my surroundings and the line of people waiting.
“I’m so sorry! Will this be all?” I asked, trying to shake off the daze and focus on the task at hand.
“Well, it seems like someone has been in an unusually chipper mood ever since that fine, skinny man left the shop,” Jarielle remarked after she finished counting my drawer.
I chuckled and raised an eyebrow, feigning confusion. “Jarielle, what on earth are you talking about?” I asked, trying to maintain an air of innocence.
“Don’t what on earth are you talking about me! I saw the interaction between you two. You were feeling him just as much as he was feeling you, although I’m sure you’re going to deny it.”
I glanced away to avoid her probing gaze.
As I fumbled nervously with my fingers, I became acutely aware of the state of my nails, ragged and in need of attention. I mentally reminded myself that I needed to set aside some time soon for a much-needed fill-in, that I would perform myself, but the thought barely registered against the backdrop of our conversation.
Taking a deep breath, I attempted to direct my focus back to what she was saying. “I mean… yeah, he was definitely fine,” I said, shaking my head slightly as if to clear my thoughts. “And there’s nothing wrong with finding a man attractive. But that’s all he will ever be to me―a fine nigga. I have a boyfriend, remember ?”
Even as the words left my lips, I felt a discrepancy between my outward expression and my inner turmoil. I felt like an actor performing on stage, reciting lines devoid of true emotion. The truth in my statement, while present, was overshadowed by a nagging feeling I couldn’t quite shake off—a flutter in my chest that hinted at something more complicated than loyalty.
“Yeah, I know. But the way you were allowing him to hold your hand, one would say differently,” she sang. “I was checking out his friend, though.”
“Which one? It was a lot of them?”
“The skinny nigga who you pushed to the side.”
I whipped my head at Jarielle. Not to be mistaken, Jarielle was my girl and all, but I was just envisioning her with that skinny ass nigga or hell, any to be exact, especially with all the hips and ass she had to offer.
“You mean who that nigga Draco pushed to the side,” I countered.
“Yeah, rude boy,” as she called him.
I chuckled.
“I didn’t think you had a thing for skinny dudes.”
“Girl, what?! I love me a skinny nigga, hunnie! And don’t be fooled, those skinny niggas love to cuddle with us big women, especially one with a lot of meat on her bones, and baby, I got plenty to offer! Besides, you know what they say about them skinny niggas, and then he’s bow-legged, girl!”
“Oh, I know all about them skinny niggas, and the rumors are definitely true. Yeah, they walk around with that third leg, but those pencils are the biggest cheaters ever. They love to write in everybody’s book. That’s another reason I’ll pass on the first one. Well, I’m passing on the second one, too. But make sure to shoot your shot if the skinny one comes back through here.”
She tossed her hair to the side. “You know I will. So, what do you have planned for today? Do you have a client when you leave here?”
“You know it, girl.”
In addition to my job at the store, I had developed a strong talent for doing hair, makeup, nails, lashes—the whole shebang!
“I have a set of lashes to do before I pick up the twins from school, so I need to get going. I’ll see you this Sunday, boo!”
“No, ma’am, you’ll see me tomorrow!”
I furrowed my brow in confusion. “Tomorrow?”
“Cali, you promised you were going to bring my babies by here to see me!” She pouted.
I slapped my hand against my forehead in realization.
“That’s right! I completely forgot! I will, girl! I promise!”
“I’ma hold you to it, but I’ll see you tomorrow, girl!”
After telling her goodbye for the day, I left.
The distance from my job to my house was a short, ten-minute drive, allowing me to arrive home at around 3:20 PM that day. The timing was perfect since my client was scheduled for 3:30 PM. Earlier, she had sent me a text informing me that she would be about five minutes late, which was perfectly fine since I offered all my clients a fifteen-minute grace period before considering them late. Plus, she was a loyal client of mine, so I was sure she would show up.
With the extra time at my disposal, I took the opportunity to tidy up the space where I conducted my services. It was important to me that the area appeared presentable and inviting, even if it was located in my home. That brought me to one of the main reasons I was so ready to get my own shop: I hated having to do hair at my house. There was an overwhelming sense of informality about it that made it feel unprofessional . The idea of transforming my home into a workspace seemed somewhat ghetto to me. Moreover, I found it uncomfortable knowing that clients became aware of where I stayed, especially being a person who valued privacy.
Additionally, Jayceon would often have his friends over, and they tended to get quite loud, which sometimes became disruptive during appointments. Fortunately, the area where I worked was somewhat isolated from the rest of my living space, giving my clients limited access to my home; they only saw the main service area and the bathroom if needed.
What I desired was to open my own salon one day, a tranquil and dedicated space that I could decorate freely and provide a professional experience where I could showcase all my skills. If only I had a reliable partner who would consistently help with the bills—or even better, cover them entirely—I was sure I would have already turned that dream into a reality. I knew the dream was within reach. I just needed to remain patient and focused on my goals.
Ding Dong.
When my doorbell rang, I knew it had to be my client, Jennifer.
“Heeeeeeeey!” she greeted me with a bubbly spirit.
“Hey, girl! Come on in!” I replied, stepping aside to let her in.
Jennifer leaned closer to me, lowering her voice as if sharing a juicy secret.
“Girl, you might need to call the police because they are going at it bad!” She gestured toward the outside with a flick of her wrist.
When I peeked outside, I noticed my neighbor and her on-and-off boyfriend, Jerry, locked in a heated argument on the front lawn. Their voices were raised, sharp, and tense, cutting through the otherwise quiet atmosphere. I shook my head as I recognized the drama that unfolded between them as a regular occurrence. Although I had a client to attend to, I found myself drawn to the commotion outside, my curiosity getting the better of me.
“If you ain’t got shit to hide, just unlock your phone, Claudette!” my neighbor’s boyfriend, Jerry, said.
“Okay, and if I do, and you see something you don’t like, and you hit me, we’re going to fight, and you’re going to jail, nigga! Secondly, if you touch me, nigga, your first boxing lesson with me is going to be free!” Claudette argued.
Claudette owned a boxing studio. Ironically, she wasn't a boxer herself, but it seemed like she had always dreamed of being one. One day, she shared stories with me of her younger years, recounting her reputation as a former fighter on the streets and in high school, earning her stripes during intense street fights and raucous school brawls. Even though she had matured and embraced a different path in life, there remained a flicker of that fierce competitor within her.
Despite Claudette's fierce attitude and technical prowess, I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of doubt about her ability to whoop Jerry's ass. With him having a significant height advantage over her and muscles that rippled under his shirt, even when he stood still, I sensed that in a fair fight, Claudette's instincts might be no match for Jerry’s overwhelming physicality.
“I ain’t trying to hear none of that jail talk shit, Claudette! Just unlock the damn phone!” His voice rose.
“Acting jealous, and you’re secretly cheating your damn self has to be a mental illness! How about this? I’ll unlock mine if you unlock yours because I know you’re talking to hella bitches, and I’ma find out!” Claudette replied.
“Trying to catch me cheating, knowing you can’t pay your bills on your own, is crazy. You might want to think twice before you go down that road, Claudette. Play it safe.”
“I can’t pay my bills on my own?” Claudette took a step back, shaking her head as if to dispel the absurdity of the statement. “Muthafucka, you sound stupider than that wack-ass music you make! Nigga, Claudette don’t need a nigga to do a goddamn thing for her! But if you want to go there and put it all out in the open, I’m the one who helps you with your bills, nigga! That lil’ chump change you throw my way is your doing, not my asking, wanting, or needing, and it damn sure doesn’t go on any of my bills, maybe on a new pair of panties or socks, but damn sure not no bills! Hell, I break more bread with you than you do me, but you’re not ready for that conversation, are you, brokey? Maybe if you let go of that not-so-promising rap career, you can be out here making some real money!”
I probably shouldn’t have laughed, but I couldn’t help it. I knew her harsh words had to hit a nerve with him. After hearing that, I realized I’d heard enough. I shook my head, shut the door, and focused on my client.
“Girl, they’ll be just fine. Trust me . They argue like that all the time. Come tomorrow, they’ll be all lovey-dovey again. But have a seat, girly,” I instructed as I patted the chair so we could get started.
Two hours later, I had my client looking more beautified than she was before she arrived. Thankfully, Jayceon had decided to stay away from the house during this appointment. Normally, I could expect him to come home blasting music or yelling at his homeboys over some intense gaming session, but that day was different. The atmosphere was serene and uninterrupted, allowing me to focus completely on my work.
“Lashes really do take you from yes to yaaaaaaaaaaaas,” Jennifer happily exclaimed as she admired her lashes in the handheld mirror.
“Yes, indeed, girl,” I agreed.
“I’m sending the payment to your CashApp!”
Once my phone chimed, letting me know the payment had been received, I informed her.
“I got it, boo.”
“Okay! Well, thank you, girl!” she expressed, then stood up.
“Always welcome!”
“I’ll see you in a few weeks for my fill-in!” she said as she headed for the door.
“Alrighty, girly. Drive safely.”
After Jennifer left, I glanced at the clock and saw it was time to pick up the twins from daycare.
“Perfect timing,” I muttered.
I felt relieved because their daycare closed at 6:00 PM. It gave me just enough time to wrap up at least one service on the days I had to work. Once I arrived home with the kids, I set them up at the kitchen table with their favorite meal—crispy chicken nuggets and golden fries—while I indulged in my own plate of chicken tenders and fries from Zaxby’s. I smiled as I watched them eagerly dig in, their little hands grabbing at the food with excitement. Upon waking up that morning, I had initially planned to cook a healthy dinner, but after the tense conversation with Jayceon, I decided to take the easy route and let Jayceon fend for himself.
After finishing our meal, I turned my attention to the twins. I led them to the bathroom for their bath, where the bubbly water quickly turned into a mini splash zone. We laughed as they played with their bath toys, their giggles echoing off the walls. Once they were scrubbed clean, I took them to their room for their bedtime story. Their eyes sparkled with excitement as I read, and they snuggled close, turning the pages with me.
Finally, it was time for them to go to bed. I tucked them in, gently smoothing the covers around them. Before leaving their room, I stood for a moment, staring at their peaceful faces as they drifted off to sleep. A wave of emotion washed over me as I reflected on how different their lives—and ours—might be if their father were part of it.
Reflecting on my past, I felt a mix of sadness and shame as I acknowledged I didn’t know who the father of my children was. It all began with a night that I could only describe as reckless . I had gone out, and feeling overwhelmed by what I was about to partake in, I decided to take an edible to help me relax. It was my first experience with it, and unfortunately, it was also my last. The feeling I experienced that night was far from what I had imagined. That edible took me to a place of poor judgment and outcomes that I would come to deeply regret. After that one night, I found myself facing an unexpected reality: I was pregnant.
My children were still young and innocent, oblivious to the complexities of their origins. I felt a sense of relief, knowing they wouldn’t ask questions and I could focus on raising them. Yet, in the back of my mind, I was acutely aware that as they matured, curiosity would inevitably lead to inquiries about their father’s identity. In the meantime, I did what any devoted mother would do. I poured my energy into nurturing my babies, ensuring they always felt loved and supported. They may not have had the stability of a father figure in their lives, but I made it my mission to provide them with everything they needed. I wanted them to always know that no matter what, I was there for them. They would always be able to say, “Mommy was always there, and she always made it happen,” regardless of the circumstances we faced.
An hour later, I had showered and was sitting on the sofa watching Power. The show had been out for years, yet I had never taken the time to watch it, but once I started, I couldn’t stop. It was so good, and I was hooked.
When I heard movement at the door, I knew it had to be no one other than Jayceon. Sure enough, I was right. However, when he walked in, instead of acknowledging me with a greeting, he headed straight for the bathroom. Jayceon’s rushed demeanor was a dead giveaway that he must have been with another bitch. On any other day, I would have stormed after him, demanding an explanation, but that night was different. Honestly, I had long since exhausted myself with the drama and had emotionally checked out of that relationship months before.
Fifteen minutes later, Jayceon emerged from the back room, stretching his arms and yawning as he made his way directly to the kitchen. His face lit up with anticipation as he envisioned a warm plate of food waiting for him in the microwave. I couldn't help but chuckle quietly to myself, fully aware that his hopeful expectation was about to be dashed. After opening the microwave, I noticed him glancing around before approaching me, his brow furrowed with irritation.
“You didn’t cook tonight?” he asked, his voice laced with disappointment.
“Nope!” I shot back, punctuating my response with a pop of my lips while my focus remained glued to the TV, refusing to give him the satisfaction of my attention.
“Are you going to?” Jayceon pressed, his audacity surprising me.
There he was, walking through the door at eleven o’clock at night, expecting me to jump up and whip something up for him as if he had forgotten the argument we had earlier. At that moment, I decided enough was enough. I turned off the TV and hopped off the couch, ready to confront the situation head-on.
“Jayceon, I wouldn’t boil half a hotdog for you! You better go eat them laughs, hearts, and comments from your posts on Facebook!”
“Damn, like that, Cali?” he responded, clearly surprised by my reaction. “You must call yourself still mad from earlier.”
With a roll of my neck, I crossed my arms tightly over my chest, scoffing at his words. “Baby, I’m not mad at all.”
“Then why a nigga can’t get nothing to eat?!”
“You could eat if you cook yourself something, or better yet, go and buy it yourself. You see, Jayceon, you didn’t put in on any of this food that’s in here! What’s the saying… if a nigga don’t work, or provide in your case, he doesn’t eat. So, until you start picking up the pay around here, you’re going to go to bed hungry plenty of nights if I have anything to do with it! Oh, but if you’re truly hungry, go ask whatever bitch house you just left to cook for you.” I looked him up and down in disgust.
“Why you assume I was over a bitch’s house?”
“Because I know you, Jayceon! Anytime we have an argument, you stay gone from the house for hours, and then days later, here comes some bitch hitting me up in my inbox saying you were either with her or you were trying to holla at her! It never fails, and I’m just waiting for the message! But if you weren’t out with a bitch, this time, then I assume you were busy making some money. If so, that means you have something to show for it. So, let’s see how much money you made us today. I mean, that’s if you weren’t in a bitch’s face.”
“Man, Cali, you trippin’ for real right now. You always think a nigga be out doing you bad when I really don’t be doing shit but chillin’ and trying to make some money.”
“A nigga that always says, I don’t be doing shit be doing everything. Hell, the most !”
“Man, gone! I was with Leek all day! Call and ask him if you don’t believe me!”
“ If you don’t believe me and believe what you want are typical lines that liars use, and you just so happen to say either or both every time we argue. Adding to that, Leek is your brother! That nigga would not only tell muthafuckas that you’re dead, but he’d have you a whole closed casket funeral, saying you were burnt too badly, just to protect you from whomever! So, using your brother as your alibi doesn’t work with me. Smooth game; wrong chick to try to play it on! Get out of my way, Jayceon!” I was about to walk away, but I had one more thing to say. “Also, find you another place to do your little nickel and dime sales! My house ain’t no muthafuckin’ trap house!”
I wanted him to try to further argue with me because of that comment. I was going to tell him, “Go argue with your Mama; she cares, I don’t!”
I stepped away and headed to the bedroom, ready to unwind and prepare for a restful night. One of my nightly rituals before bedtime was to read my Bible. I settled into my cozy bed, letting the soft sheets welcome me. The glow of the bedside lamp illuminated the pages as I engrossed myself in the comforting words. Once I finished reading, I closed the book and took a moment to reflect. I tossed my head back against the pillow, staring up at the ceiling, lost in thoughts about my life’s journey, the challenges I had faced, and the dreams I still held dear.
In that moment of contemplation, I affirmed my determination by saying aloud, “Either I’m going to make it, or I’m going to make it. There are no other options.” That mantra echoed in my mind, reinforcing my resolve as I prepared to drift off to sleep.
Welcome to a day in the life of Cali Love.