Epilogue #2
“I don’t want her coming to visit me. I don’t want him coming to visit me either. I just want to be left alone… just left alone,” I spoke, barely above a whisper.
“You should let her come visit you…for closure.” She retorted.
I exhaled and shook my head. “It’s not that easy.
SYNTHIA “JUICY” JONES
During the drive, I felt like shit. I kept trying to find routes that would turn me the other way, but there were none.
I kept thinking about what I’d say to her when I saw her and how she would react.
Every day, I called to check on her through the nurses, and they gave me a little insight—no one was coming by to see her.
That type of feeling must hurt. It must hurt to feel like no one cares. I guess, aside from Mimi, no one had taken the time to come by. Yolanda was useless, Romelo didn’t see the point, and I’d put it off for the sake of them withholding her from having visitors.
I sat in the parking lot for a while, staring at the door and at the other people visiting their loved ones. Would any of this make a difference? Would she be able to forgive me? Probably not. I didn’t tell Romelo because I didn’t need him trying to talk me out of it.
Shaking the thought of what could go wrong, I exited the car and joined the other group of people walking inside Parkwood.
At check-in, they searched me for weapons, asked for my name, and who I was there to see.
I had to fight tooth and nail because I wasn’t on the visitors list. After what felt like forever, they let me through the doors, and I walked down the long hallway, treading behind a heavy-set woman.
It felt like the walls were caving in on me the closer we got. The further we walked down the hall, the darker it got—until she opened a door and light cast before my eyes, damn near blinding me. The AC wafted through the room, rushing toward us like a breath of fresh air.
Entering the room, dragging my feet, my eyes scanned the cafeteria, looking for her.
I’d almost given up through the crowd until I spotted her.
In that moment, her eyes found me, but she didn’t look the same.
Nearing her, she looked smaller, there were bags under her eyes, but nonetheless, she was still pretty.
I slowly sat down in the seat across from her and placed my elbows on the cool table.
She was wearing a green jumpsuit, black crocs on her feet, and her hair was pulled up in a bun.
A stress ball was in her hand, which she kept squeezing with her gaze focused on me.
Her hands were handcuffed together, and so were her feet, which I assumed was a safety measure.
“Hey,” I spoke first to break the ice. It was low, barely above a whisper.
My eyes became her focal point, as if no one else in the room mattered.
“Hey,” she spoke back, her voice groggy.
I took a deep breath, not really knowing what to say.
Her therapist, Dr. Moore, had called me and we talked about triggers—one in particular was me. According to Dr. Moore, she was supposed to face one of them. None of which involved Yolanda or Romelo, which was strange, but I get it.
I had prepared a five-page essay that didn’t matter now. Even after exploring my emotions and trying to transform them on paper, none of it mattered.
“Thank you for agreeing to this,” I mentioned.
She shrugged. “It’s whatever.”
“I brought you some clothes and stuff—”
“Take it back,” she blurted out, cutting me off.
I scrunched my face in confusion. My hand parted to prod, but I thought against it.
Instead, I reached my hand out. That motion made her jump, so I closed it into a fist until she held hers out and clasped mine.
I didn’t notice tears forming in her eyes because my vision was becoming blurry from my own.
We pressed our heads together and cried.
Our weeps spoke for us, and we didn’t care about the mass of people ogling at us with arched brows. Nothing else mattered in this moment but us.
We’d spent so much time hating each other and swept so many things under the rug, with no hopes of ever regaining our foundation for love.
People always say blood is thicker than water and all that shit, but there was a time when we hated each other, and blood being thicker than water didn’t matter.
Through the fire, I’d walk into a burning building and save her before I saved someone else—I knew that much.
It took a while for me to understand that Trecee was running from her own unhappiness—coddling a romance she yearned for. Romelo was her crutch; nonetheless, he saved her.
I can try to put myself in her shoes, but I can’t.
I’ll never love a man more than I love myself, and that was her first mistake.
Just like me, she was in too deep too… still is. And though I doubt she’ll ever forgive me, when she’s healed, I pray she can find it in her heart to never vow a man before herself and live up to her own standards.
ROMELO “ROME” JONES
“Don’t worry ‘bout counting the inventory. The truck come every other Wednesday. Me and Javon deal with that shit. Folks gon’ come in with all type of tech issues, and whatever the fuck you can’t solve, tell them to go to the Apple store, because by that point.
” I spoke to Monterrius, showing him the ins and outs of Telo Wireless.
The lil’ nigga needed something to do besides be in the house playing video games and shit.
I didn’t need to talk to Synthia prior about my plans, though I doubt she’d have obliged.
Any nigga living under my roof needed some type of income, and Monterrius was at the age where he could make his own paper.
“I got you,” he responded once we finished the tour.
“Before I leave for the night, Javon should be giving you a few uniforms. We should have some in storage.”
“Cool,” he nodded, rubbing his hands together.
“You ain’t no thief like yo cousin is, are you?” I asked with a raised brow.
He looked up at me, matching my expression.
“What you mean?”
I stared at him for a second, then chuckled, hitting him lightly in the chest. “I’m just fuckin’ wit’ you, lil’ nigga. Javon gon’ close shop tonight. He’ll be the one to take you home. Hit me up if you need anything—I’m out.”
I had a good feeling about this—adding him to the team. Javon needed to get used to the idea of having other people around. He was too busy being afraid I’d snatch his authority away, like that would ever happen.
“Aye, Javon, I’m gone for the night, nigga.” I peeked my head in the office to let him know. “Take it easy on Monterrius—that’s bae’s lil’ cousin.”
“I got you,” he retorted, not taking his eyes off the spreadsheet.
Backing out of the parking lot, I headed to my flower dealer to pick up a bouquet. Instead of heading home, I went to my spot in Twinkle Town. Juicy and the kids were in my spot at Midtown. For the most part, all of Trecee’s things were gone—I’d put everything in storage for her.
Synthia was pressing me about getting her own spot, but in the meantime, I paid her out of her lease and put her things in storage too. She had no use for any of it now because my house was fully furnished—but that didn’t stop her from putting up a fight.
I liked the idea of her stepping up for her little cousins, because somebody had to.
Yolanda didn’t give her much grief because she knew better.
Synthia thought about being petty and stopping her welfare checks and SNAP benefits by ratting her out, but she chose the latter.
We didn’t do shit the legal way, and until we did, we had to accept our role as nothing short of babysitters keeping her kids well-kept.
Yolanda had to learn the hard way, because shit always plays out exactly how it’s supposed to.
Entering the compound, I glanced over at Roxx and noticed it was the flight attendant, Melanie, exiting her car wearing little to nothing while he waited for her at the door.
When he spotted me, he gave me a head nod with a playful smirk.
Nasty ass nigga gon’ fuck around and catch something if he don’t stop.
Just as I exited the car, Juicy was FaceTiming me. With a grin on my face, I answered the call.
“Wassup, Juicy?”
“Wassup, Juicy,” she mocked me.
I glanced down at the camera with a grin, then erased it with a frown when I noticed she wasn’t dressed yet. We had reservations for a rooftop dinner at five—that was the detail she needed to know. I’d already handled everything else.
“Why the fuck you ain’t dressed yet?” I asked.
When I said everything was on me, I meant that shit. I paid to get her pussy waxed, nails, toes, hair done, and brows arched. Going above and beyond, I picked out a dress I wanted to see her in because I loved the color on her skin.
It was a peach silk dress that exposed her back. There was a deep V-line cut between her breasts and a high slit that stopped at her thighs. If she moved the wrong way, her bare pussy would be exposed. That number was for me, and it was sexy enough for me to appreciate her body in it.
“I had to make sure the kids were okay before I left.”
I stale-faced as I entered the house and turned off the alarm. “I told you my mama is coming on the way to get them.”
“She already left with them.”
“Then you ain’t got no fuckin’ excuse,” I spat.
Facing the camera again, I caught her rolling her eyes and pouting her lips.
“Keep on rolling those pretty motherfucka’s—they gon’ be stuck.”
“I didn’t call my man to have him yell at me.”
“Your man,” I smirked. “I like the sound of that.”
“Can you at least tell me where we’re going?”
“Nope.” I set the phone on the island and staggered over to the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water. Twisting the cap, I gulped it down, finishing the last bit before tossing it in the trash and putting my face back in view of the camera.
“I’m scared to see how my hair is gonna turn out. I haven’t had a silk press in so long.”