Prologue #3
I twirled my arm, loving the twinkle of my wrist. The stacked diamond tennis bracelets were a perfect pair. So was the anklet and shopping experience that immediately followed his absence. The very next day, I was in the stores with his card in my hand.
“I like that,” he said, clearing his throat. “Eight? Your place?”
“Eight. My place,” I agreed, calculating the time it would take me to get from my post to our family’s loft.
“I’ll see you then.”
“See you then.”
I ended the call and placed my cell next to the Chanel bag, anxious to see what was inside.
Bzzz.
Bzzz.
“Fuck.”
My cell buzzed again. I contemplated answering the call as I lifted it from the counter to see who was attempting to reach me.
Rou.
My eyes rolled involuntarily. Not answering the call could prove to be painful in the end.
Roulette held grudges, and she wouldn’t let you forget it.
Not ever. Ignoring her call would only force her to call again or possibly appear at your doorstep.
One never knew where her head was, but I always knew where her heart was.
With family.
I slid the bar across the phone, accepting the FaceTime call.
“Yes?”
As soon as her pretty face appeared, it vanished.
Bzzz.
Bzzz.
“Yes, Roulette?” I answered the phone a second time.
“Okay, I thought I dialed the right number.”
Bullshit would follow. There was hardly a doubt in my mind that she had anything decent to say for the rest of our call. I contemplated ending it prematurely and dealing with the consequences.
“If you’re trying to reach Range, then yes.”
“I was, but see the problem is, Range is a beautiful, flawless figure that I’ve seen countless times. The woman on this phone looks like a science experiment. Something fresh out of a dumpster. She even looks like she stinks,” Roulette claimed. “Bad lashes, bad hair, bad breath, bad brows–”
I pushed out a heavy breath. Immediately, I pulled back. Roulette was right.
“Yeah, exactly. It’s ten o’clock and you’re looking like you just put your hand inside the socket. I’m going to need you to get yourself together.”
“For your information, I was thoroughly fucked last night and have been in no hurry to get my shit together this morning.”
“I am thoroughly fucked almost every night and still don’t look like roadkill in the morning. Rhea would be disappointed.”
The sound of my mother’s name rolling off Roulette’s tongue tugged at my heartstrings. I missed her dearly. Every day. All day.
“I’m almost certain you reapply lipstick mid-stroke. I can see you now with a brush in the bed, making sure your sew-in still looks good from Israel’s point of view.”
“I need him to understand he has the best seat in the house, no matter the angle.”
“He literally doesn’t care, Rou.”
“So, I do. When have men's feelings ever mattered to me? I will wait.”
“Did you call to get on my nerves or did you actually want something?”
“I didn’t. Or maybe I did.” She sighed.
“What’s up?”
I dug into the bag and retrieved two boxes. One was massive, requiring both hands. I set the phone on the counter and propped it up so that I was still in Roulette’s line of vision.
“Malaya.”
“Um hmm. I’m listening.”
I opened the smaller box and found a pair of Chanel frames that I would be taking to the optometry center to add my prescription.
“She’s becoming her own little woman, now.”
“That’s what you’ve been striving for. Independence. Confidence. Style. Standards. Va–”
“I know, but damn, maybe I’ve been teaching a little too much independence. She’s hardly ever home anymore. The house feels so empty and quiet without her.”
“You’ve lived alone since you moved from our family home. What’s the problem, Rou?”
“I guess I started to get that feeling back– you know– us girls all home? And, I didn’t know I missed that until Malaya came into my life. Now, it feels like the damn girl is about to jet off into the sunset.”
“She’ll be off to college soon. Is it that you want to spend more time with her before she leaves, or you’re dreading her leaving for school?”
“A little bit of both.” Rou sighed. “I feel like a sucker.”
“You feel like a mother. It doesn’t matter that you didn’t birth her. You love her as if you carried her for nine months and pushed her out. Your feelings are valid.”
“Israel’s old ass is boring.”
“That man is not boring, and he is not old. He’s just not Malaya.”
“Exactly. Gives old and boring.”
“Then why are you on his dick every other night, then?”
“Because that part is fun. Exhilarating. Quite the experience.” She chuckled.
“Seriously, babe. I understand where you’re coming from.
I’m sure Rhea felt the same when it came to us gaining our independence as we grew older.
My piece of advice is–” I paused and kissed the skin of my teeth, knowing that Malaya was Roulette’s pain point.
Her weakness. Her soft spot. Her sensitive subject.
“Pivot. Pivot with her. If she’s always out of the door, start sharing a calendar. And, when she has a spot for you on her calendar, request time with her. Not force it. Request it. Her independence will remain intact, and it won’t feel compromised or imposed on.
“If that doesn’t work for you, then try dedicated days. You know, dinner with Mom every Thursday night. Or, Mexican with Mom every Tuesday. Create a day, and you guys will know that’s your day. She will adjust her schedule accordingly.”
Quietly, Roulette nodded to agree.
“Designated days– I like that idea.”
“Me too.”
“I’m going to give you some time to get yourself together because you could use it. Thanks for the chat, girlfriend. Loves ya.”
“In ever–”
Click.
It was to be expected. It was always expected with Rou. I smiled at the blank screen, secretly thanking the heavens for the work it had done in my sister’s life. Israel and Malaya complemented her world so well, as if they’d always been there.
In every lifetime.
Malaya was her daughter from another womb. Israel was her true, deserving mate. I couldn’t imagine a more perfect suitor.
Nothing changed for Rather.
Or Rugger.
Or Rome.
Or Royce.
Priest. Psalms. Saint. Ishmael.
They were perfectly paired with men who would burn down the entire city to defend their honor.
My eyes wandered toward the mirror. My reflection gazed back at me. Kason’s face darted around in my brain. And a question I hadn’t asked myself before came at me like daggers.
Would he do the same for me?
My hand fell onto the large Chanel box, startling me from my thoughts. I exhaled slowly and flipped the lid. Inside was a beautiful caviar briefcase.
I removed it from the dust bag and held it up in front of me. She was such a beauty.
Stunning.
Classic.
Sophisticated.
And the perfect dimensions.
While I didn’t have the answer to the first question I’d posed, I knew the answer to the next one.
Is this man trying to get me on my knees tonight?
Garage door open.
Dressed in the contents from my duffel, I stepped into my home with my new briefcase in my hand. My shoes tumbled to the ground, landing sideways. The new frames slid from my face with ease. I placed them on the counter and barged through my home in pursuit of my study.
Double doors greeted me, sliding backward to welcome me inside.
Endless shelves filled with law material, books, and studies lined the walls.
A round, black table created to seat six was in the middle of the floor.
To the left of it was a printing center.
To the right of it was a reading nook. Just above it was a beautiful chandelier.
On top of it was fresh roses and two beige candles.
Mail spilled inside from the system I’d created. It fed mail from my mailbox through an underground fixture that released it into my home. It was dispensed in a small tray right next to my print center.
Visitors weren’t allowed on my property.
Not unless I’d invited them personally. However, I hadn’t invited a single being since I moved into the six-bedroom dream home.
The people who’d visited had forced their way through my gates, shamelessly.
They all shared the same blood as me. So, in many ways, my home was our home.
They were all welcome. They were always welcome.
“Nothing. Nothing. Nothing,” I rattled off, tossing the solicitation mail in the shredder one piece at a time.
I wasn’t stunned to discover there was nothing of interest to me in the pile. It hardly ever was. Still, it was a habit of mine. My way of pausing the clock. Forcing time to stand still. Taking slow, unrushed strides toward nothing. A moment that reminded me not every second required progression.
As soon as my hands were free, my fingers landed on the keyboard of my desktop. Physical mail didn’t materialize anything of interest, but my emails always promised a great time. They often led to conflict, which drew me in quicker than the opening line of a suspense novel.
Good. Good.
Delete.
Mr. Roberts? What are we requesting today, Mr. Roberts? Do you have any good news for me?
I opened the email, hoping to discover new information about his upcoming hearing.
Ms. Childers,
It’s Danielle, the sister of Daniel Roberts. I’m emailing you because I wanted to be the first to inform you that Daniel was found unresponsive in his cell this morning. He suffered from a stroke. They rushed him to the emergency room and the doctors have done all they can for him.
But, our family has decided to pull the plug that’s holding Daniel here on earth, though his soul has already exited his body. Thank you for the hard work you put into getting justice for Daniel. We were all hopeful. So was he. Sometimes things just have a different ending than we expect.
I’ll never forget you. You’re pretty hard to forget. Beautiful inside, out and unlike anything I’ve ever witnessed. I hope my daughters grow up to be as fierce, confident, and educated as you. Your parents should be proud. As a fellow Black woman, I am proud. Keep up the good fight.
Take care of yourself.