Chapter 8 Raya
Raya
I follow Sisco out of the Glen Ridge apartment complex, where he lives with his family, toward the highway. There’s no telling where his ass is going, but I’ll find out soon enough.
I stay three cars behind him, but not because I’m scared he’ll notice me. I don’t think men are ever aware of themselves or their presence in the world. They just move through it like they own it with no fear.
Sometimes I envy that.
The sun is low, bleeding orange across the hood of my car as I follow. My fingers grip the steering wheel hard enough to make my knuckles ache. I shouldn’t be this angry yet, but I don’t need confirmation to feel pissed off that I even have to do this shit.
Why can’t men ever just be happy with what they have?
They’re like overgrown fucking toddlers.
Aniya is only five years old. She didn’t even have a full decade with a father who gives a fuck.
My phone vibrates.
I click to answer, and my aunt Tori’s voice fills the car.
“Hey, Auntie!”
“Hey, baby. Where are you?”
“Driving,” I say. “Where are you?”
“Right now, I’m in Miami, but I’m coming your way in a few weeks.”
I let out a little squeal. “I can’t wait.”
“I’ll let you plan something for us this time. So, how are things?”
“Things are good.”
“How’s my nephew-in-law?”
I smile at that. “He’s amazing, as always.”
“Mm hm. Still putting you through the mattress?”
“Oh my God. We’re not doing this, Tori.”
She laughs hysterically. “I love embarrassing you. Sweetheart, it’s okay. He’s your husband. I’m happy for you.”
“I appreciate it.”
There are many things I talk to Tori about, but sex has never been one of them. Too weird.
“By the way, I talked to Rashad. He’s gonna be here for the holidays.”
“To see who?”
She’s quiet long enough for me to understand.
“I don’t wanna see him," I say, my voice trembling so much I'm embarrassed. "I don’t know how many times I have to say this.”
“He’s your brother.”
“No, he’s your nephew. He’s dead to me. Forever.”
“Raya—“
“If you try to force this on me, you know I’ll react.”
She sighs loudly into the phone. “Which is why I’m telling you about it. I’m not trying to hide anything from you, sweetheart. And I’d never force him on you. But he’s family. You can’t keep avoiding—“
“Watch me.”
She's quiet on the other end. Then, a resigned, “Fine.”
“And don’t bring him up to me again. Please.”
“I won’t.”
“Good.” I pull into a parking lot a few cars behind Sisco. “I’ll see you when you get here.”
I hang up, breathing through the pressure in my chest. I love my aunt with all my soul, but I’d cut her clean off if she tried to get me to see my brother. That shit is bones.
My eyes focus on the marquee over the building we just parked in front of. Club Fresh.
So he’s probably meeting the side bitch here while his wife is home with their daughter.
Piece of shit.
He walks toward the door, adjusting his clothes, swaggering a little like he’s the little king of everything.
Yeah, we’ll see about that. If he walks out with a bitch, it’s game on.
My phone buzzes again. Since I’m probably gonna be here a while, I move my seat back and recline slightly, getting comfortable.
It’s Vanessa, answering my email.
I open it, eager to see what the Taylors had to say about my helpful suggestions.
Raya,
Thanks for getting back to me. You know, it’s so funny to me that you sent the email you did. I didn’t forward it because I knew it would be taken badly. Instead, I relayed it to my family in a more palatable way.
But what’s funny to me is that as harsh as it was, it kind of showed me that you and my brother are probably made for each other. Below, I pasted the email response he sent me a few days ago:
Hey Van,
You know I wanna be there. That ain’t even a question. But I need to make sure shit is cool for Raya before I bring her over there. That’s my wife. I’m not about to subject her to some bullshit just so I can enjoy myself.
So I need everybody to understand a few things before I commit to anything.
First off, Mama gotta be nice to Raya. And I don’t mean that nice nasty shit she does. I’m talking about actually welcoming her and talking to her like she does every other guest.
Second, Kam gotta be cordial. They might never be friends, but if she starts with the mean girl shit, I’m dubbin all y’all.
Pop gotta control himself. That’s all I’ma say.
And speaking in general, wipe the mf slate clean. We're gonna start this over, and y’all all gotta treat my wife with dignity and respect. Yall don’t have to love her, but I love her, and that should be enough.
Alright then, sis. If we can all agree on this, y’all will see us for the holidays. Love you, bighead.
-A
A slow smile breaks out across my face. I can't believe I’m sitting here on a stakeout looking stupid because I just read my husband’s words.
That man really loves me. He loves me enough to take a stand against his own family. My stomach flutters as tears well up in my eyes.
I wasn’t expecting that.
But I understand my reaction. He’s the first man, and the only man, who hasn’t disappointed me. He’s the first man to actually protect me. To keep his word.
I close my eyes for a minute, savoring the feeling, letting the giddiness bubble up inside me.
But it ends up being short-lived. The sharp, shrill sound of a horn honking next to me startles me out of my bliss. I open my eyes and look to my left, and there he is. My husband.
I roll the window down and try to play this off with a smile. But he doesn't look amused at all.
“I’ma ask you one time, and one time only," he says. "What the fuck are you doing, and who the fuck is Sisco?”