The Ex Factor: A Novel Page 9
“Motel?” Sharief said. “Let me find out you got some niggahs up there tryna run a train on you,” he chuckled, “tryna get a li'l short stay and shit.”
“Do I have ha-ha-ha on my forehead? Do I look like I wanna fuckin' laugh? Get away from my car and back up that raggedy piece of shit you got.”
“Don't talk about Abdul.” Sharief shook his head. “Ab ain't never done shit to you.”
“I have heard it all—a damn truck named Abdul!” Monica huffed, but she was even more pissed that she felt like laughing at Sharief. “Such a stupid ass!” she seethed.
Sharief walked over to Monica's car and opened the passenger's-side door. He slid in. “You still mad with me?”
“Being mad with you is not on my mind right now.”
“Well then,” he whispered, “tell me you love me.”
“Are you crazy?”
“About you. Now tell me you love me.”
“I will not,” she said, tight-lipped.
“You don't love me?”
“Of course I do, but this is not the time. I can't stand this and I don't even know why I'm here. Celeste and I argue every time we see each other.”
“Cut it out.” Sharief frowned. “And stop acting ridiculous. You and Celeste need to stop arguing and focus on your mother. Now cut the engine off and get your ass back in the house.”
“Psst, niggah, please.” Monica waved her hand.
Sharief placed his hand on her knee. “What did I say?”
Monica glanced at Sharief's hand and saw that it was bandaged properly. “Did you go to the hospital?”
“Yeah, I went by my mother's and she had a fit …I told her I hurt it at work and she insisted that I go to the hospital.”
“Stitches?”
“Yeah, twenty inside and out.”
Monica couldn't hold it in anymore and started sobbing.
“Baby, don't cry; I've had stitches before.” Sharief held his head down. “See this scar on the side of my head, my brother pushed me when—”
“I'm not crying because you got stitches!” she screamed, cutting him off.
“Well, damn, you gotta say it like that?”
“Be quiet.” She chuckled in the midst of crying.
“Ahh, there it is, my smile.” Sharief wiped Monica's tears. “Tell me what happened, ma.”
“I just can't take it.”
“Take what? Me?”
“No…yes…I don't know…,” Monica sobbed. “It's just that some of the shit Celeste said really hurt me.”
“Oh baby, don't cry over that. It's me she hates, she's just taking it out on you.”
“No, Sharief, you don't understand. She's obsessed with this other-woman bullshit. And it's driving me crazy.”
“You can't fuck and feel guilty too.” Sharief turned Monica's face so that she was looking him in the eyes.
“What?” Monica said, taken aback. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Sometimes I wonder if you can handle this.”
“Handle what? You are so selfish; why does everything have to be about you? Plus, correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't you tell me that I was only your sister-in-law? So what is there to handle?”
“Oh, so you want me to step?”
“You're the one who stepped. I didn't tell you to go.”
“Yeah, ai'ight. I don't think you can handle this.”
“You know what I can't handle?” Monica pointed her finger. “I can't handle our relationship going nowhere and knowing that I can never wake up one day and call you mine.”
“Is that what you want?” he asked.
“In the midst of all this crazy shit—” She hesitated. “That's what I wish.”
“Be careful what you wish for.”
“Yeah.” She smirked. “I just might get it.” Tears flooded her eyes again and raced down her cheeks.
“Shhh.” Sharief ran his index finger across her lips. “Come upstairs please. It's late…you can sleep in the guest room. Just chill.”
“Don't tell me to chill.”
“Look, it's late as hell, I'm not letting you leave. Your mother is getting married tomorrow. Just calm down; you don't need to be driving like this.”
Monica looked at Sharief, and his eyes pleaded with her to stay. “Come on, baby,” he assured her. “It'll be all right. I want you to come upstairs… please…”
She gave in. “Okay. I left my things upstairs anyway… Let me help you with the girls.”
After Monica helped Sharief lay the girls down, she went in the guest room and changed into her nightgown. She sprawled across the bed with the echo of Celeste's cruel words troubling her mind. Somewhere along the way she'd settled with not being able to have children, but now that Celeste had tossed the reality of it in her face she didn't know what to do. Almost instinctively, she pressed on her abdomen and felt the hardness. She made a mental note to have an ultrasound done, then quickly changed her mind: denial seemed to be easier to deal with.
“Monica.” Sharief peeked in the guest room after knocking repeatedly. “Are you sleep?”
“Damn, you scared me.” She clutched her chest. “I was thinking about something.”
“Like what?” He walked into the room, closed the door, and lay horizontally across the foot of the bed. “Tell me.”
“Sharief, get off the bed. Don't you think that's just a bit much?”
“Girl, please,” he laughed. “I'm not on no bullshit. I care about you. I really, really do. And you were so upset earlier that I wanted to check on you. I won't be in here too long.”
“You checked, I'm fine, now go back to your wife.”
“Cut that shit out. What things were you thinking about?”
She sucked her teeth. “You really wanna know?”
“Yeah,” he turned his head toward her, “I do.”
“I was thinking about the baby I had at fifteen.”
“Baby?”
“Yes, a baby.”
“And the baby is where…?”
“Dead… And now I can't have any more children.”
Sharief didn't know what to say.
“Speechless?” Monica asked.
“A little.”
“I'll be all right. I just didn't expect Celeste to throw it in my face.”
“How did the baby die?” Sharief asked.
“The cord wrapped around her neck in the womb, and she was stillborn.”
“But why can't you have more children?”
“When I was seventeen, I had two fibroid cysts and my left fallopian tube had to be removed.”
“Wow, baby, you've been through a lot.” “I know…Oh, and let me just tell you this: Celeste cussed me about my father. I could've slapped the shit out of her.”
“Why would she do that?”
“Because we have different fathers and she acts like I'm responsible for her father's death because our mother loved my father and not hers.”
“Don't take that on.” Sharief curled his lips. “That's Celeste's issue, let her deal with it.”
“Yeah, but damn. Hell, look at Imani, none of us knows who her father is. All we know is that her last name is Reid.”
“Reid? All these years I thought Imani was a Lewis.”
“No, Lewis is my father's name.”
“Wait a minute, now, Jamal's name is Lewis.”
“Yeah, 'cause that's his sorry-ass daddy's name. Walik Lewis. Imani is a Reid and Celeste was a Parker, trust me.”
“Yo, that's deep.”
“Well, it's not my fault, and I don't appreciate Celeste throwing it in my face!”
Sharief took two pillows and tucked them under his head, placed Monica's feet on his chest, and started massaging them. “Don't let that stuff bother you anymore.”
“Why not?”
“Because you got me, and I love you.”
“Oh, Sharief, please.” Monica frowned. “You don't love me, you just wanna fuck me.”
He chuckled. “I've been
fuckin' you for months and truth be told, it wasn't that hard.”
Monica took the pillows and snatched them from under his head. “Niggah—”
“Niggah what? Fucking you and loving you are different. I've been loving you for a minute. I can't put my finger on exactly when but it's been awhile.”
“Shhhh…,” Monica said, “talking like that could only make this situation even more fucked up.” She closed her eyes. “I'm going to sleep. Close the door when you leave.”
(Starr)
STARR STOOD ON the patio and took in the fresh summer air. It was eight o'clock in the morning, and today was her wedding day. She wanted to spend a few moments reflecting on her life and how far she'd come since her days of being a struggling single mother, looking for somebody to love her. “Thank God for better days.” She chuckled, fanning her face with her hand. She sat down in the reclining patio chair and crossed her ankles. As she closed her eyes and started to think of her handsome groom she heard a slight grunting: “Grrrrr.”
“What the hell is that?” Starr looked around but when she didn't hear it again she dismissed it as her imagination and instead started singing her favorite gospel tune, “Oh happy day…oh happy day… when Jesus walked, He washed my tears away—”
“Grrrrrrrrr…”
“Now, I know damn well I ain't losing my mind.” Starr leaned forward but didn't see anything. What the hell is that? Sound like somebody dyin'. She got out of the chair and started looking around.
“Starrla—Starrla—I need you, Milkway—I need you.”
“Mama Byrd, is that you?”
“Yeah.”
“Where are you?”
“In the kitchen.”
Starr's heart started racing. All she could envision was the old lady from the commercial who fell down but couldn't get up. Starr said a quick prayer hoping that nothing was wrong with Mama Byrd. Over the past five years since she'd been dating Red, she and his mother had gotten along perfectly. Mama Byrd was the closest person Starr had to a mother, especially since her own mother died when she was a little girl. Mama Byrd had been senile for years, but there was something about her that no one could resist.
Starr's heart raced as she ran in the kitchen. She didn't see Mama Byrd anywhere. “Mama Byrd,” she looked around, “where are you?”
“Over here, in the corner by the 'frigerator.”
“Awwwl! Oh, hell no!” Starr screamed, spotting Mama Byrd. Buttah and Celeste, who'd just woken up, both jumped when they heard Starr scream.
“Ma!” Celeste panicked, running into the kitchen
“Starr!” Buttah yelled, running behind her. When they found Starr standing in the kitchen doorway, they peeked over her shoulder. They were both speechless. Mama Byrd was sitting on her porta-potty taking a shit.
“I need somebody to dump this. And I need some tissue too. These paper towels is too hard for my ass.” Then she started grunting again and passing gas. The cheeks on her face were sunk in and her eyes were bulging out. “Oh this is a big one.” She held on to the metal rails on the side of the toilet. “Oh goddamn… oh goddamn…”
“I'ma throw up!” Celeste gagged, running into the bathroom.
“Oh hell the fuck nawl, Mama Byrd,” Starr said. “Come on, Mama Byrd.” She scrunched up her nose. “Get up and let's go clean yourself.”
“All right, baby,” Mama Byrd said. “I guess that enema worked.” She got up from the portable toilet and pulled her pink floral duster down. Clearing her throat, she looked at Buttah. “Peaches, be a good daughter-in-law and dump that for me. And then tell Celeste to clean out the dried snuff from my spit cup.”
“Oh my God,” Buttah mumbled as they walked away.
After Starr helped Mama Byrd clean herself, she thought about Imani. I'ma kick Imani's ass! Starr thought. Where the hell was she last night? If her li'l ass got locked up again I'ma turn that damn jail out!
“Monica!” Starr yelled, helping Mama Byrd out of the bathroom. “Call that damn baby sister of yours! Monica!”
Starr started climbing the stairs with Mama Byrd behind her.
“Ma,” Celeste said, walking up the stairs behind Mama Byrd, “Monica got mad last night—”
Before Celeste could finish Starr pushed open the door to the guest room.
“Monica! What in the world?” Starr said, shocked. Monica and Sharief lay on opposite ends of the bed, with Monica's feet on Sharief's chest and both of Sharief's hands wrapped around them.
“And y'all thought that I had some shit with me,” Mama Byrd said, shaking her head.
“Monica!” Starr yelled, with her hands on her hips.
Monica was startled awake. She rubbed her eyes and looked around the room, seeing Celeste, Mama Byrd, Buttah, and Starr all staring at her like she was crazy. “What the hell is wrong with y'all looking at me like that?” As she tried to move her feet, she looked toward the foot of the bed and saw Sharief snoring, her feet on his chest, his hands wrapped around them. She nudged him with the heel of her foot. “Wake up.” Praying that he didn't wake up and start sucking her toes, something he liked to do before planting kisses between her thighs, she said, “Sharief, Celeste been looking for you.”
Sharief wiped the corner of his mouth and turned over to see the army of women watching him from the doorway. What the fuck? he thought. Immediately he sat up and glanced toward his lap, praying that he had his boxers on and his dick wasn't hanging out.
Celeste walked toward Sharief and stood in front of him. She looked at his lap and saw that his dick was hard. “You mother-fucker!” She raised her hand.
“Don't put your hands on me.” Sharief looked at Celeste. “I swear God it'll be on up in here.”
“Well, we'll be rollin', Sharief,” Starr assured him.
“Hump,” Buttah seconded. “Bring it on, baby pa. Bring it on.”
“It's not even that serious.” Monica sucked her teeth.
“What the fuck is going on then? When did you come back here, Monica?” Celeste screamed.
“What do mean come back here?” Starr asked, confused. “When did you leave?”
“Last night—and nothing is going on!”
Monica snapped. “Monica was crying last night and I came to comfort her and see what was wrong,” Sharief said.
“I'm your fuckin' wife and you go to my sister and see what's wrong with her? We're the ones with the damn problems.”
“Watch your mouth, Celeste!” Starr snapped. “I told you 'bout your man sleepin' out too many nights anyhow.”
“I second that motion,” Buttah agreed.
“Uhmm-hmm,” Mama Byrd interjected. “Tell 'em. And Buttah and you ought to know, 'cause that's how your man got stolen. And if you ask me, this look like a ménage del'rios.”
“It's a ménage à trois.” Monica rolled her eyes.
“Oh y'all just nasty, huh? Let me find out that y'all a family of freaks and ain't nobody hooked a old bitch up. I'll have y'all to know that I still got a clit.”
“It's not that kind of party, Mama Byrd,” Monica said.
“Yeah,” Mama Byrd said, “it might not be, but one thing's for sure and two things for certain: pussy don't have a face, and in the midnight hour a stiff dick ain't related to nobody.”
“Look,” Sharief said sternly, “Monica was outside about to leave, it was late as hell, and she didn't need to be driving all upset and alone. I talked her into coming back into the house, then we started talking and I fell asleep.”
Celeste looked at Sharief, her eyes filled with rage. “You have boxing shorts on and she has on a short-ass nightgown—”
“Your imagination is ridiculous! You need to write a book! I fell asleep, that's it. Period. Now I'm tired of explaining it.” Sharief got off the bed.
“Hey big dog,” Mama Byrd hissed, cocking her neck to the side and winking.
“Mama Byrd,” Starr said, “ain't no dog in here, now hush.”
“I wasn't talkin' to no dog, thank you.”
“Who were you talkin' to then?” Starr asked.
“Sharief. The slit to his boxers is open.” Mama Byrd grinned.
“Ai'ight, that's enough, Celeste.” Sharief looked at her. “We fell asleep talking. That's it, nothing else!”
“That better be it!” Celeste screamed. “I ain't one for no bull-shit! I'm his wife, not you.” She pointed at Monica. “Understand?”
“Oh how privileged you must be.” Monica got off the bed. “Excuse me,” she added as she approached the doorway, “I need to use the bathroom.” She walked briskly into the bathroom and slammed the door. “Fuck y'all!” she seethed. She leaned against the back of the bathroom door and took a deep breath, the pit of her stomach in knots. Looking straight ahead and rubbing her temples, she stared at a picture of a smiling baby sitting on the toilet, tissue strewn all over the floor. What the hell are you doing, Monica? she said to herself. This has to stop. Fucking a woman's husband that you don't know is one thing, but doing your sister's husband is triflin'. Tears flooded her eyes. I'm sick of crying! I'm sick of it!
“Monica.” Starr knocked on the bathroom door. “It's me, open the door for a minute.”
Monica slowly opened the door and peeked through the crack. “Yes.” She wiped her eyes.
“Let me come in.”
“I'm using the bathroom.”
“I'm ya mama, let me in.”
Monica opened the door. Starr stepped in and closed it. “I don't want you to say a word, I just want you to listen.”
“Ma—”
“Be quiet. Now, I'm not stupid, and whatever sparks are flying between you and your sister's husband better stop right now!”
“Oh God, what did I say? There is nothing going on!”
“This is the second time that I've seen you and Sharief in a situation that didn't look too copacetic. I don't expect to see it anymore. Understand?”
Monica sucked her teeth.
“Do you understand?”
“Yeah, I hear you.”
(Imani)
“OF ALL THE goddamn things to say, the bitch said she was married to you, Walik.”
“On the real,” Walik sighed, “I just let go of a serious nut and now I'm trying to get my sleep on. Aren't you tired? Don't me grabbing your hair and knocking the lining out your pussy make you tired?”