20. Onesti
"I need to breathe. Go the fuck home, Onesti!" Asaiah shouts with flaring nostrils and a raging chest.
The base coming from Asaiah's delivery immediately made my eyes misty as I backed against the wall in his bedroom. What hurt more than Asaiah shouting at me was the cold and blank expression in his eyes. The man who had been retreating into himself one minute and uncontrollably crying in my arms the next had forgotten the love he had for me.
"I…" My words stall when Asaiah walks away, entering his bathroom and slamming the door without uttering another word.
While I understand that Asaiah is in the worst pain of his life, I can't understand his animosity toward me. Wiping the lone tear from my face, I gather my belongings to give Asaiah the space he desires.
Knock. Knock.
Jumping while grabbing my chest, I turn to see my mom standing outside my driver's window, assessing me with her eyebrows drawn together. Until this moment, I didn't realize that I had driven to my parents' house instead of mine. I had spent the entire drive playing back the incident between Asaiah and me, my lips trembling with each replay. Grabbing my purse, I exit the car once Mom has stepped out of the way of my door.
"Who did it, baby?" Mom softly asks, causing the dam to erupt, and I lean into her before crying hard. "Oh my." Wrapping me in a comforting embrace, she runs her hands up and down my back.
I'm not sure if my meltdown is a result of Asaiah's words or watching him suffer in the aftermath of losing both parents.
"Is she alright, Lachelle?" I hear, causing a slight giggle to cut off my crying, slowing Mom's hand glides over my back.
Mom and Dad's neighbor, Ms. Tillie, is like a bloodhound with how fast she sniffs out any sign of gossip. Had I been of a stable mind, I would have held back my emotions until I got inside the house.
"I believe so," Mom answers.
"I can make her one of my famous pound cakes if you think it'll help," Ms. Tillie offers.
"Oh, she'll be fine, but thanks anyway," Mom sweetly replies before guiding us toward the front door, mumbling so only I can hear her next words. "The day I let my baby eat that kitty litter cake will be the day dementia has set in."
According to a neighbor several houses down, Ms. Tillie is getting old and should be banned from her kitchen, because she's been known to get confused while baking or cooking. Thanks to her great-great-grandchildren, who had her watching Ratatouille , she believes her cat Dora is her cooking companion.
"Come on here so you can tell me why you're crying in my driveway for all the world to see," Mom says, entering the foyer.
* * *
I’m lying in the spare bedroom at my parents' house, staring at the ceiling while fighting against the fatigue, trying to sweet-talk me into taking a nap. I haven't given Mom the information that explains my emotional display because Dad came home with groceries. Mom had sent him for the necessities to make the perfect brunch, which led to assisting her in the kitchen as payment for sliding into the meal she and Dad were about to partake in. Mom's shrimp, salmon, and cheese grits have my eyes blinking slowly because I had two full bowls, eggs, and bacon. If I still lived at home, I'm positive I would have to spend time working to un-big my back from all the homemade dishes Mom makes.
Zzt. Zzt. Zzt. Zzt.
My phone starts dancing beside me, effectively pulling me out of the haze of impending slumber. Reaching beside me, I lift to see who’s calling to gauge if I'm up for conversation. Seeing Jarielle's name flashing, I sigh before sliding the button to answer.
"Hey, girl, hey."
"I was just thinking about you. What's going on, bestie?"
A small smile upturns my lips because mindless conversation with my bestie is in order. I need a distraction from thinking about Asaiah, so Jarielle's timing is perfect.
Humph. You should go show that ninja why Jasmine Sullivan had a hit record.
A frown replaces my smile at the thought of inflicting or causing Asaiah any other duress.
"Chile, Asaiah's parents died, so I've been trying to hold him down. This is part of new relationship topics on which folks don't write a cheat code."
"Oh no. That's so sad. Girl, I know your jaws are tired as hell," Jarielle comments, my face contorted, colliding with the wrinkles filling my forehead.
"What do my jaws have to do with this?" Blinking rapidly, I rub my chin, waiting for Jarielle to clue me in with an explanation.
"When Brent is going through something heavy or depressing, I suck the lining off his dick and give him another reason to shed some tears while forgetting about his pain. If your man needs a mental reset to overcome his torment, suck his dick. I promise it works every time, bestie."
Laughter explodes from my mouth at the mess coming from Jarielle because while I had an inkling of what her initial comment meant, I still didn't see it coming.
"Where is Brent while you're talking reckless?"
"In a post-release coma because I know how to practice what I preach. We're honeymooners," Jarielle provides while laughing.
"Bye, Jarielle." Without waiting for her response, I disconnect the call and shake my head. "My poor bestie ain't got a lick of sense."
Bzz. Bzz.
My text notification sounds before I can lay my phone beside me, and I go to the app to see a message that makes me frown.
937-383-0031:
Hi, Onesti. I hope you don't mind, but my brother gave me your number. Be at Eternal Horizons Funeral Home tomorrow at eleven for the family viewing. Also, I have you down for desserts and soda for the repast.
"Who the hell does this girl think she's ordering around?" I ask the empty room before rereading the demand coming from Asaiah's sister.
The sister I learned was raised by my man due to their childhood circumstances. The same sister who left her brother before the funeral director arrived to pick up her parents' bodies. The absentee sister who has been plucking my nerves since she took over making the final arrangements last week.
Whup that trick! Whup that trick!
My evil angel hops up from her slouching position, bobbing her head while punching her right hand into her left palm.
Oh God! We can't do that.
Your lame tail can't, but I'm totally down for living out my Crime Mob backup singer dreams.
The good angel utters, clutching her pearls while staring at her counterpart with wide eyes.
In taking a breath, I stare at the text again in befuddlement at the nerve and audacity of this woman. It's amazing to me how you can come into town barking orders after fleeing the city to avoid dealing with the day-to-day issues of your parents' demons. Closing my eyes, I whisper my thoughts to God, hoping He's listening.
"Lord, give me strength because if you don't intercede, I might end up spending the night of the funeral answering to detectives at RPD."
Bzz. Bzz.
My stomach knots at feeling my hand vibrate from another message notification that further tanks my weary disposition. Peeking with one eye, I squint to see the sender before popping both eyes open upon seeing Asaiah's name. My breathing accelerates, and the hairs on my arms rise while my shaky hands open the text.
Asaiah:
I need you. Please come back.
Without thought, my fingers trip over themselves while I quickly type out a response.
Me:
OMW
"Alright, God, I'm going back in, but can you please subdue the Jekyll and Hyde persona this man wore earlier?"
Slowly climbing out of bed, I attempt to mentally prepare myself for whatever condition Asaiah will be in when I reach his house. Short of sucking his dick to soothe his pain, I have held him, fed him, bathed him, and listened to him, yet I'm grasping at straws, trying to find ways to ease the rip in his foundation. One of Ricky Dillard's songs about letting there be peace on earth echoes in my mind when I exit the bedroom.
God, please let peace rest upon Asaiah because I'm becoming weary in my efforts to nurture his heart.
"You're leaving? I thought you were taking a nap and then telling me about what's got you out of sorts," Mom asks when I reach the bottom level of the house.
"Sorry. I need to go see about Asaiah. Keep him and his sister lifted in prayer, though. Their parents died, and the storm has been tossing him around like a rag doll."
"My God! Okay. Let me pray now so you'll have the strength to do what you must for your man."
Lachelle Jeffries, you are the real MVP! You always know just what I need, and I love you for it.
Mom interlocks our hands before bowing her head, and I follow suit, exhaling the air gathering in my lungs.
"Father, in the precious name of Jesus…"
* * *
"Mama! Daddy!" I hear a loud, feminine wail upon entering the funeral home, and my eyes bounce from left to right before landing on the woman weakly smiling behind the desk.
"Good morning. How can I help you?"
"I'm meeting the Harrison family and was told their viewing time was at eleven," I hesitantly relay before my eyes balloon when another dramatic scream sounds.
"Mama! Oh, Mama!"
"Right this way, sweetie." The woman stands, escorting me toward where the commotion is coming, and it takes Herculean strength to keep from frowning.
Less than five minutes later, we're entering the chapel where Asaiah is picking Annalise off the floor.
"Oh God! Not my parents, Jesus!" Annalise cries.
What in the crackhead Whitney is going on?
Shid, she might have picked up what the senior Harrisons put down.
That's not nice. She's hurt over her parents.
Tuh. Nice and me aren't bedfellows. Now, let's focus on Annalise rolling around on the floor with her lopsided booty. I think her BBL might have deflated. I hope she's ready to write a check to cover the fat she's saturating in this good carpet like seasoning salt.
I choke down the shout of laughter that bubbles up in my esophagus at the last sentence, echoing in my psyche. I'm only fifteen minutes late, thanks to the unusual traffic coming to the funeral home. However, I didn't expect to walk in and see Annalise acting like a complete donkey. What's worse than Annalise's stage performance is her dry face. The guy Justin, who accompanied her, is sitting two rows back from the open caskets, nonchalantly scrolling on his phone.
"It's okay, Nal," Justin voices without the presence of his eyes.
Looking at the woman who brought me to the room, I stare at her before she shrugs and exits the room. My gaze follows her to the door before bouncing around the room to see if there's a video camera set up somewhere.
"Th-this—this is—too much," Annalise cries, collapsing to the floor again.
The award for the fakest display of heartbreak goes to… Annalise… absentee fucking… Harrison.
My conscience echoes the statement, and it takes everything in me not to agree verbally. Shaking my head, I move toward Asaiah, whose wet face and red eyes pull me like a magnet. Despite his sister's foolishness, my man is hurting badly, and it's my job to be here for him. Nonetheless, I want to karate chop Annalise in the throat for making this moment more unbearable for Asaiah than it already is.
"Asaiah," I softly call out.
Seeing me walk up and rub Asaiah's back prompts Justin to get off his butt because he moves to pick up Annalise. Like the bird she is, Annalise buries her head in his chest.
Lord forgive me, but this bitch is off her damn rocker.
"Thank you for being here," Asaiah leans over, whispering in my ear before kissing my cheek lightly.
"There's nowhere else I would be."