Don't Ask My Neighbor (8 page)

Twelve

________

…Again On My Own

Samantha  

“SO, I’M GOING TO WALK YOU through this one more time, even though something tells me as soon as that phone rings, you’re going to forget everything we’ve talked about over the last week. Even though you’re acting like it’s the thing you least expect, you know he’s going to call, like he does every year around this time.”

             
I sat in my mother’s house like we always did on her birthday, after my father died, when it was just she and I. My younger sister, Sabrina, sat next to her, mimicking the brushstrokes my mother perfected in the vanity mirror. Joyce had gotten so good at being treated badly that she allowed the good Dr. Garrett to come into her life and do just the same.

             
“And what are you going to do?”             

             
“Ignore him,” she answered, staring at herself in the mirror.               “And if he leaves you another long-ass message about how he can’t help but think about how you and him used to celebrate, what are you going to do?”             

             
“Erase it without even listening to his first lying word.”              “’Cause what is he going to do?”             

             
“Break my heart, disappoint me, ‘cause that’s all he knows. It’s the only book he’s ever read; how to fuck me over every chance he gets,” Joyce said, imagining the laundry list of fuckery she been through with him.

             
“Ok. I think you’re ready. Breathe.”

             
I left the room and came back with a small birthday cake for my mother. It was her favorite: red velvet with vanilla icing.

             
“Happy birthday, Mother,” I said and then kissed her on her right cheek. Sabrina repeated and followed my gesture, kissing her on the left side of her face.

             
"Awww, thank you Sam," she said, her voice beaming with excitement. “You, too, baby,” she said, turning to Sabrina.              "You're welcome. Aren't you going to make a wish?"             

             
"I wish..."             

             
"No," I interrupted. "You're supposed to close your eyes and say it to yourself."
              "Those wishes never came true, so I'm trying a different tactic." She looked at me and smiled.

             
"Go ahead," I said, as if my mother needed my permission. It was her birthday, and she was going to make her wish the way she wanted to.

             
She used to swear on the good Lord that Dr. Niko Garrett was nothing like my father, but it didn’t take too long for him to show her that he was my father reincarnated. True, he had taken an oath to first do no harm, but that had nothing to do with the maltreatment Mother received at his hand.

             
She couldn’t tell me how she was going to ignore him when he found every way to infuse himself into our lives. After what I did, I thought he was out for good. He didn’t have to be present to have a presence. There was the birthday card she received two days earlier. It read like he spent some time making sure he found the one card that said perfectly what he was feeling, as if we even cared what he felt; at least I was reminding myself I wasn’t supposed to. The card contained a tidbit of information, a little surprise my mother didn’t need to know about, especially since what I did was for her own good. There was the bouquet of beautiful long-stem pink and white roses that arrived the day before that did nothing but add to the simple dining room décor; it wasn't even a surprise. And then there was the diamond necklace with the teardrop pendant in the blue and white Tiffany box. He must have spent half of last week’s paycheck on it, but he could more than afford it. It lay perfectly on my mother’s bronze-colored skin. It's like the birthday rendition of the “Twelve Days of Christmas”, except he was no longer Joyce’s true love. I’m sure by now he expected a phone call thanking him for the lovely gifts, but that gesture had topped her list of Don’ts.               I sat in the almond-colored powder room in front of my mahogany scroll leg vessel vanity with my cellphone in my hand. I inhaled, watching my breasts rise into my face, and then exhaled. I had spent the day in Victoria’s Secret shopping for the perfect push-up bra. Ok, I needed a little help in that department, and by the looks of my twins, this was money and time well spent. I picked up a few lace bras and matching panties in my favorite colors—crimson and spotlight pink—in preparation for a weekend with Jelani. I loved looking sexy for me, but even more, I loved looking sensual for Jelani.

             
"Happy birthday to you," I sang. Singing was definitely not one of my many talents, but I continued, my voice sounding like Freddy's sharp metal fingers scraping across glass in a really bad nightmare. "Happy birthday to my beautiful mother. Happy Birthday to you."             

             
“Thank you,” my mother responded, but her response lacked sincerity, “for that painful rendition, but my birthday was yesterday.”

             
“Mother, I’m sorry. I forgot.”

             
“You forgot? You’re so busy making sure your devious plan to marry that man works that you don’t remember the things that should be important to you. Hell, did you forget you left your daughter here, too? I’m done raising children, Samantha. This one is yours.”

             
“Mother, geesh. I simply forgot. And did you just call my daughter ‘this one’?”

             
“I did,” she answered matter-of-factly. “I raised my two children. Gari is your responsibility.”

             
“You have some nerve. Is that what you consider the half-ass job you’ve done with Sabrina and me? That Mother of the Year pat on the back you just gave yourself, I wouldn’t be so quick to give an acceptance speech. You weren’t exactly a role model.”

             
“I did the best I could with the daughters God gave me.”

             
“And we did the best we could considering we didn’t have a say in the woman we called our mother.” I shot back purposely to hurt her. “I watched you allow yourself to entertain these sorry excuses you called men. I saw you accept their unfaithfulness, their abuses, even my father’s insults toward me every time he allowed alcohol to get the best of him. Because of those experiences, I loathed men without even giving them the chance to love me, and the ones I did give that once-in-their-lifetime opportunity, I still made sure I fucked them over before they even had a chance to think about hurting me. So, thanks for being that shining example.”

             
“Sometimes you have to go through hell to get to heaven.”

             
“And is that what you call Niko, your heaven?”

             
“Look,” my mother began in her scolding voice.  

             
“Mother, don’t. I thought we could talk for once without arguing, but damn, I was wrong. Did I do
something to you? Clearly this attitude you’re giving me can’t be because I forgot your goddamned birthday.”

             
I stared into the mirror and held back tears that were right on the brink of falling. I got up from the chair, walked into the bedroom, and stood leaning against the wall just outside the room. My mother was silent. This wasn’t the first argument we’ve had over Gari, and I’m sure it wasn’t going to be the last. The day I packed my bags and headed to D.C., she screamed at the top of her lungs that I wasn’t leaving my child behind. Of course, I ignored her rampage. I was already in my car with the windows up and doors locked, so unless she planned on busting my window and tossing my child in the back seat, or using the jaws of life to pry the doors open, she was keeping Gari like we talked about. What was she thinking, changing her mind at the last minute?

             
“What is it, Mother?”

             
“I give you another month. You need to come and get your child. You were supposed to be back to get her years ago, Samantha. Whatever it is you’re doing in D.C. is going to backfire, dear. No deal you make with the devil ever works.”

             
“See, that’s where you’re wrong Mother. Jelani is going to marry me. I can feel it. It’s just a matter of time.”

             
“That’s your fantasy, sweetheart, not your reality. And even if he does marry you, once he finds out who you really are, and the things you’re capable of, he’s going to leave you.”

             
“You mean like Niko left you? I hate to disappoint you, Mother, but that isn’t going to happen.”

             
“Not everything is in your control, Sam. You don’t dictate how every event goes, or how every man in your life is going to treat you. You have a daughter you need to take care of.”

             
“Mother,” I called out. “Joyce, are you there?”

             
My mother never answered.

             
I don’t care what anyone says. My mother wanted me to be like her. She wanted me to be old and alone, never knowing where the next man was coming from. Unlike her, I had control. She would probably jump for joy if my plans to win over J.B. Graybourne fell through, but over my dead body I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of seeing me fail.

Thirteen

_________

It’s Not About You

Kennalyn   

IT’S FUNNY. I HAVE A HARD time waking for work, even with the help of the alarm from my cell phone. I stared at the three numbers displayed on the clock on the small chest next to the bed. It was early Saturday morning, 7:04 a.m. to be exact, and I had only one question for myself: Why was I up so early? The only thing I hated about fall was daylight savings time. Darkness came too early and morning seemed to get here way too soon. I longed for the winter solstice when we would be regaining one minute of sunlight everyday as we began our approach to spring. I rolled over to get out of bed and noticed I hadn’t been sleeping alone. Alexis had made her way into my bed at some point during the middle of the night. I should have felt her presence, but I was too tired to even feel her snuggling up close to me to quiet her fears. My
guess is she had another one of those nightmares she wouldn’t remember when she woke. They had been occurring more frequently since my divorce from Gage.

             
I brushed Alexis’ hair from her face, kissed her on her forehead, and slid out of bed. I grabbed my cellphone from the Victoria bench across the room, under the large window. Usually I would sit there and run my mouth with whomever I felt like disturbing, but trying not to wake Alexis, I retreated to the bathroom. I sat on the tile circling the tub, and dialed his number. I was wishing, hoping, and praying he picked up, and all three had been answered when I heard his voice after the first ring.               “What the hell are you doing up this early?” Parker asked.

             
His voice quivered.

             
“Honestly?”

             
“Unless your lie includes some man blowing his breath in your face, yes, bitch, honestly.” 

             
“Hell if I know. Habit, I guess,” I answered and leaned against the wall surrounding the tub. “And what is your reason? You answered the phone as if you were expecting someone. Who were you expecting, Parker?”

             
“Why the hell are you over there whispering?”

             
“Alexis is sleeping in my bed, again. Another nightmare. You didn’t answer my question. Who where you expecting when the phone rang?” I asked again, since it was obvious Parker was avoiding answering my question.

             
“I wasn’t expecting Nigel, if that’s what you were supposing. I was hoping you were Keaton,” Parker said with no apologies to how I might react to his frank remark.  

             
“Sorry to disappoint you.”

             
I removed the phone from my ear and glanced at the date on the screen. It was Saturday, November 3
rd
, three days before Election Day, and two days before Keaton’s 4
th
birthday. Although I was certain Parker was looking forward to President Obama’s re-election, history repeating, he would give anything to spend Keaton’s birthday with him.

             
“You’re over there looking through pictures, reading greeting cards, and smiling again, aren’t you? Wondering if he meant any of the words written on them, especially since he signed them
Love, Nigel?”

             
Parker and I sat in silence. I was waiting for him to respond, but I knew him well. As long as I was right, he wasn’t going to waste time refuting. I looked at the time on the cell phone again. It was closer to eight.

             
“I stopped by the house yesterday after work,” Parker began, betraying his silence. “Nigel wouldn’t even let me see him. He spoke to me through the mail slot in the door like I was some damn stranger, a detective without a freaking warrant, and although I knew Keaton was right there next to him—he was always right next to him—he wouldn’t let him answer when I called his name.”

             
“Did you consider calling first?”

             
“What’s the point of calling when he won’t take my calls? He thinks I’m using Keaton to get to him, though I’ve already made it clear it’s not about him. I just want to see my son.”

             
Parker and Nigel adopted Keaton Chandler-Buckley when Keaton was just five months old, nine months after Nigel’s fifteen-year-old cousin, Shara, along with her mother, sat them on the couch and asked them for this small favor. That’s what she called it, as if there was anything small about raising a child for the next eighteen years. If it were, she wouldn’t have been sitting on their couch that hot August evening in 2008, with tears streaming down both sides of her face, talking about she made a mistake, she didn’t want to be a young mother, and she had her whole life ahead of her. I was there for a Friday night out with Parker, and sat in the kitchen, biting into strawberries, drinking wine, and listening to Shara’s admission, and agreeing, in silence,
Yes, little girl. You have your whole life to be a mother. You should be in no rush to start now.
She wanted to be certain her child stayed in the family and not brought up by strangers. She wanted to make sure two stable people, in a stable home, brought him up the right way. When she ran down her list of aunts and uncles, and other family members she could have asked, Parker and Nigel were the best parents Keaton could have. Now two had become one, but Keaton was still loved by both of his dads, though Nigel was making it difficult for Parker to show him any of that affection.

             
I opened the bathroom door and looked at Alexis, who had started to toss and turn in the bed as sleep was nearing its end. My little girl was growing up. Usually she would scream out my name in her sleep, and sit up in bed, and wait for me to lift her in my arms and carry her to my room. I had a couple of hours to prepare breakfast, drop her off at gymnastic and Cody at soccer practice, and then spend the evening attempting to get the house together before it was time to pick them up again. Every week, the moms took turns watching a few of the kids as they perfected their skills, giving the rest of us time to run errands. The next week would be my turn to play mother to five boisterous boys. I found myself ripping and running to keep my babies involved, but I couldn’t fathom not being able to spend one moment with them. I could only imagine how Parker felt, going from seeing Keaton every morning before he leaves for work and every evening when he came home, to now not being allowed to see him at all. I’ve seen how his eyes light up whenever he talks about him. I’ve seen how he watched over him with hawk eyes when he took him to Cody’s soccer or football games.

             
“I think I’ve earned the right not to have to compete to see my son.”

             
“Who are you in competition with?” I asked, pushing the bathroom door closed.

             
“Not who, what,” Parker corrected.

             
“Okay. What do you have to compete with, Parks?”

             
“His damn feelings.”

             
“Parks, what did you expect? For God’s sake, you texted the man a picture of his boyfriend, in a compromising position, and I might add, just before you slept with him.”

             
“In my defense, his boyfriend wasn’t exactly a paragon for what a lover should be. As far as I’m concerned, I did Nigel’s ass a favor. If it wasn’t me, it was going to be someone else. He should be thanking me that I wasn’t someone who didn’t care about him or what was being done to him, not holding my son hostage.”

             
“But you slept with the guy, Parks. That doesn’t make you any different from someone who doesn’t care about Nigel,” I said, giving it to him straight, no chaser.

             
I got up from the tub, opened the bathroom door, and started across the room. The bed was empty. Alexis was probably in Cody’s room, lying across the bed, waiting for him to wake so they could have breakfast together. That was a routine she began with her father, Gage. Hey, he did want Cody to be the man of the house, right? I’m just glad Cody and Alexis, though they had many years between them, acted as if they were the best of friends. Just like her father had been, Cody was Alexis’ world. I walked the hall and checked in Cody’s room; it was empty. When I walked downstairs and into the kitchen, Cody and Alexis sat around the table eating cereal and fruit. Cody was learning his way around the kitchen. Heck, he was old enough. I gave Cody a momma-bear hug, ruffled his hair, and then kissed Alexis on her cheek.

             
“Good morning, Mommy,” they said in unison.

             
I winked.

             
“I have a confession,” Parker broke in.

             
I had the phone to my ear, but in this quiet, I forgot he was still on the line. I thought about Parker’s forthcoming revelation and prepared myself for a bombshell.

             
“Oh. What did you do, Parker? Do I need to sit for this?”

             
I didn’t wait for him to answer. I grabbed a chair from under the table, and sat next to Cody.

             
“I never slept with him. Even though the opportunity obviously presented itself, I didn’t want to, and I wouldn’t have done that to Nigel.”

             
“Didn’t you tell Nigel that? Why did you even send the picture?”

             
“I didn’t have to tell him that. He knew. He pretends he doesn’t believe it. What he doesn’t believe is that this man he trusted would do something like that to him, and with all persons, me, the ex. Now Nigel can’t pretend everything is rosy with their relationship, because I knew better. I don’t care that he never comes back to me, and maybe this is not my responsibility or my concern, but I don’t want him to be with someone who doesn’t mean him well. And this guy was not someone I want around my son.”

             
“It just surprises me that this guy, knowing who you were—assuming he knew who you were—would even put himself in that position; no pun intended. Did he honestly think you weren’t going to say something?”

             
“Trust me. He knew exactly who I was. I don’t know what he thought I would or wouldn’t do. Maybe he thought I was bitter at the fact that Nigel and I were not together and that was my chance to get back at him. Little did he know I wasn’t bitter, just concerned, and obviously a damn good judge of character.”                “Don’t you trust Nigel to protect Keaton from harm?”              “I trust him to protect Keaton, but he can’t protect him from someone he doesn’t know. Nigel was just a pawn to this guy. I don’t care if he hates me for what I did, but that’s not enough for him to keep Keaton from me.”

             
“I’ll have to agree with you there.”

             
I could hear the hurt in Parker’s voice, but I couldn’t do anything on this end. I knew Parker had a big heart, something I was sure Nigel would concur, and it was only a matter of time before he got over his embarrassment and allowed Parker to continue his relationship with his son. I want Parker to have his happy ending, whatever he wished it to be.

             
“If I’m not careful, I’ll spend my entire morning running my mouth with you. I may not have a man, but I have a life,” Parker joked.

             
“That makes two of us. I have mommy duties in less than an hour. I guess I’ll talk to you later. Let me know if you want to do lunch or come over for dinner.”

             
“Oh, so now you’re going to make it seem like you’re the only friend I have.”

             
Parker can be such a fool sometimes. I loved him even more when he was in that mood. If only he were into women. He would’ve made someone a happy wife. Not me, though. I knew too much about him already. Sexuality not included, we were too much alike.

             
“I’ll talk to you later, hon’,” I said, removing the phone from my ear.

             
“Wait. I knew there was something I needed to tell you yesterday. I called you during lunch and got your voicemail, again. I’m gonna need you to answer my midday calls one of these days. No one is ever that damn busy.”

             
“I was in the field.”

             
“I’m starting to think you ain’t got no job, Tommy.”

             
We both laughed at Parker’s ‘
Martin
’ reference. He still watched reruns of that show, and even when we’re on the phone, he laughs as if he’s watching an episode for the very first time.

             
“In the middle of all that happened at Nigel’s yesterday, I guess I just forgot,” Parker said, causing me to pause.

             
“You mean you had gossip to tell me. You have my permission to spill.”

             
“So remember you showed me that article last month about Samantha being named Trial Lawyer of the Year?”