Chapter Eleven
SYNTHIA “JUICY” brOOKS
Finally, we were landing. When the plane descended, I held my breath, feeling my stomach drop and clutching onto Romelo’s hands tight with my eyes closed until the plane came to a stop. It felt every bit of ten minutes, and Romelo was talking shit the entire time.
“This is my last time flying,” I retorted.
“Fuckin’ wit’ me, you’ll get used to it.”
“Did you call the car to come get us?”
“I got you so fuckin’ spoiled,” I heard him say as he retrieved our bags. I was in such a rush to exit the plane that I didn’t care about leaving him behind.
Gripping my phone, I turned it off to save my power.
I forgot to let it charge last night. By the time daylight hit, it was too late.
We could’ve stayed another day—another few more days—but Romelo had business to execute.
Powering my phone on, I entered the code to unlock it and frowned at the influx of messages Trecee was spamming my phone with.
I was so engaged in her maniac threats that I didn’t hear Romelo behind me, but his YSL cologne lingered past my nose.
“Why you lookin’ like somebody just died?”
One notification after the next, then another came from Yolanda, one chime after the next. Reading over her message, I frowned in confusion, and rereading it over and over didn’t help it make sense.
Check on your fucking cousin! The dumb bitch tried to kill herself.
“Bae, what’s wrong?”
“Check your phone,” I muttered.
“What you mean?” he frowned as he reached for his phone from his gray Nike Tech pants. Reading over the notifications that matched mine, I assumed he got the news too.
“What the fuck?”
“Did Yolanda text you too?”
“Naw, hell nah. My mama said she found Trecee passed the fuck out, sum’ ‘bout her goody ass might’ve overdosed.”
My heart sank to the pit of my stomach. I couldn’t move—my feet felt planted to the ground.
But Romelo was his usual self, with the phone to his ear, talking to his mom as he loaded our bags in the Uber XL.
I was trying to make out what he was hearing, but his phone volume was low.
When he told the driver to switch routes and take us to Methodist University, I knew it was a matter of time before guilt sucker-punched the fuck out of me, making me want to retract my steps and blame her suicidal attempt on me.
I smashed my head into the headrest after my seatbelt clicked into the latch.
Romelo was caressing my knee, muttering something that I’d tuned out.
I was so deep in my thoughts that I couldn’t focus.
He was the cause of this, and no matter how he dressed it up, it wouldn’t erase the facts.
I love my cousin to death, but I don’t want her dead.
Is it really worth dying over a nigga? Will I be her one day?
Is his love so sticky that one day we’ll be forced apart and the last thing on my mind is moving on?
“Juicy,” he snapped, giving my knee a hard squeeze.
My eyes tore away from my daydream and gazed into his handsome face.
Romelo is the sexiest man on earth. His eyes were something you’d see in a dream.
He was front cover of an Essence fine—a full fucking spread fine!
If he was in a ’90s guy singing group, girls would gawk over him, throw their panties on stage, and have him doing weird shit like asking him to sign their bras or something—he was fine, but is he worth all of this fine?
Is he worth my peace fine? Is he worth being in too deep with fine?
“What the fuck is wrong wit’ yo ass, mane?” he snapped with agitation.
“Romelo, please, not right now,” I mumbled. “Don’t fucking yell at me.”
“You was just smiling like a fat kid eating cake. Now you all in yo fuckin’ feelings and shit over some shit that ain’t got shit to do wit’ you or me!”
“How come it don’t? You see the timeline of events that led up to it, so how come it don’t? You’re the only one between us who’s acting like shit is copacetic and my cousin didn’t just commit a suicide attempt because of what we did.”
“So it’s my motherfuckin’ fault that she chose to sing melodies from Heaven?
Don’t put that foul shit on me.” He spat, leaning up and turning his body towards me.
“Bitches ain’t woman enough to take what they dish out.
You knew just like I did what the fuck was goin’ on.
It ain’t ’bout me not havin’ no fuckin’ heart.
It’s about knowin’ where the fuck I stood.
’Cause if I went broke fuckin’ ’round wit’ her, I wouldn’t be an inkling in her thoughts.
Fuck is wrong wit’ you. Now you want to be a fuckin’ saint?
Fuck outta here wit’ that stupid ass shit. ”
He sat back after waving me off.
“Sounds like you two dumb asses belong together because you tried to kill yourself.”
He stale-faced me, his eyes burning a hole through me. I stared back too, unfazed.
Reaching Methodist University, his mama was waiting on us at the door, pacing back and forth.
She was beautiful—drop-dead gorgeous. She was short and had a petite frame.
Her complexion was the color of shortbread, like Romelo, but he was a shade darker.
Her hair was in a black pixie cut, and the soft glam makeup only added to her beauty.
She was dressed simple but cute in a Future Hendrix graphic shirt, a pair of jeans, and laced on her feet were some purple Spezial Samba Adidas.
A purple Chanel lambskin single-flap purse was cloaked around her shoulder.
Her perfectly arched brows were knitted to match the concern washing over her face. Seeing us, she stood up and met us on the sidewalk near the wheelchair-accessible entrance.
“Mama, I tried to get here as soon as I landed. I don’t even want to ask you if everything okay ’cause the expression on your face is telling me that it ain’t,” Romelo stated. “How bad is it?”
She sighed, then darted her eyes over at me. The corners of her lips turned upward into a closed-mouth smile. I hated for this to be our first time meeting each other over tumultuous circumstances.
“Shit, my fault,” Romelo said. “Ma, this my girl Synthia. Synthia, this the love of my life, Ma.”
“I really hate to be meeting you like this,” I spoke up first.
“Same, baby, same,” she smiled. “Trecee is your cousin, right?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I nodded. “My first.”
“Oh.” She giggled nervously, looking from Romelo to me, then from me to him. I knew she was reading the room, trying to understand what the fuck happened and how it happened.
“Ma, I’ll explain all that other shit later,” Romelo chided amid the drama. “Where she at?”
He attempted to walk past her with his arm draped around her waist, but she patted her hand on his chest to stop him.
“Romelo, baby, hold on.”
“Ma, what we waiting on? What’s up?” His voice was etched with irritation.
She glanced back at me and released a deep sigh before opening her mouth to speak. I could tell she was hesitant about whatever she was prepared to tell us—me.
“Synthia, I think it’s best if you stay here or wait in the waiting room, sweetie,” her voice was soft and calm.
“Why?” Romelo asked, making her glance at him with a stern expression.
“It’s the last thing Trecee needs right now.”
“Can you at least tell me what they’re saying?”
“She overdosed on opioids.”
I gasped.
“How the fuck she get her hands on that shit?” Romelo hissed.
She shrugged. “They’re taking her to Parkwood—”
“The crazy house,” Romelo spat in disbelief.
“They want to keep an eye on her for the next seventy-two hours to get her the help she needs. I know you and her are at odds, Romelo, but she needs you.”
“What difference would that make? It wouldn’t solve shi—nothing. Trecee will think there’s an us, and she ain’t got that wit’ no more. I’ll support her because she needs it, but that’s a stretch.”
I was so full of hope, despite her being at her lowest point. I wouldn’t use this moment to mock her. The love was there, and I doubt we’d get over this hump because it was too steep. There was no mending anything, and the toughest pill to swallow was losing the one person I had love for.
They disappeared into the hospital, leaving me behind.
Tears stung in my eyes as I sat down on a nearby bench.
I didn’t want to cry. I didn’t want to be hurt—maybe Trecee’s energy was transferring over to me now.
It sucks that it had to come to this. I never wanted things to be this way.
Laughing at another woman’s pain would make me inhumane.
I just want her to heal and go on a journey where she finds herself a better life—one that she deserves—the one she was depending on Romelo to give her.
A week from that day
““Synthia, can we get some pizza after this?” Moriah asked kindly.
We were on the porch at Yolanda’s house, and I was doing her hair for school. Mimi had braided her hair into a cute ponytail while I put beads on the ends.
“Yeah. You know we can.”
“Are you excited to start school, Moriah?” Mimi asked.
She shrugged. “Not really.”
“Why not? I used to love school until it got to a point where I actually had to do my work,” Mimi joked, making me laugh at her bullshit.
“Hmm, I don’t know. Last school year, the kids at school used to make fun of my shoes. My mama didn’t buy me any new ones.”
My heart ripped open. I could hear the sadness in her voice.
Mimi shot me a look that said it all. Yolanda wasn’t here for me to curse her ignorant ass out, and I wouldn’t do it in front of her child.
I don’t know why I expected shit to change.
Some bitches have children just to be shitty ass mamas, chasing dick while their kids get nothing less than the world.
“Mimi, what time is it? My phone in there on the charger?”
“Reach for it in my pocket.”
It was 6:00.
We didn’t have time to get pizza and go to the store immediately after, so I came up with a better idea.
“Moriah, you want to stay with me and Uncle Rome for a while?”