Losing Romeo (7 page)

Leon—99 Problems

What
the hell was I thinking?

I pull in several deep breaths and then pace around in a circle. I have half a mind to storm back to Tyler's bedroom and remove the hinges off that damn door. Who in the hell does she think she is talking to me like that? I'm trying to calm down, but it's hard.
I hate you!
Those words are ringing in my head. Mainly because those are the exact same words Victoria shouted at me countless times.

“What? You want to hit me? Just like you used to hit Mom?”

She got that shit backwards. It was Victoria who used to do all the throwing and hitting. I don't know what the hell she's talking about. I was the one doing all the ducking and diving just like I was doing a few minutes ago. Tyler definitely has her mother's temper.

I know I need to try and finish this argument, but what else can I say? I'm not getting through to the girl. That's just a fact. I know it may sound jacked up, but for the gazillionth time I found myself wishing that Tyler was a boy. Boys are
easier to deal with. They mess up, you just pop them on the back of the head one good time. When your little girl messes up, it's like your heart is being scooped out of your chest with a jagged spoon.

You insinuated that her mother left because of her.
No. I didn't.
Yes, you did.
My mind hit an instant replay button and I hear myself saying,
“I don't know how she did it. I don't know how your mother put up with you.”

After hearing that, I start groaning under my breath. Damn, I'm starting to wonder if I'm causing just as much psychological and emotional damage to the girl as her mother did and I'm the one who stuck around.

Music suddenly blares from Tyler's bedroom. It's so loud it sounds like Jay-Z is performing in the apartment. A part of me wants to storm back there and demand that she turn that racket down, but another part remembers the days when I used to pull that same tired stunt on my own parents. She just needs to vent better with music than with throwing things at my head again. My daughter has a good arm on her.

I continue pacing around the living room, remembering how scared I was to receive that call from her from jail.
Jail!
I still can't get over it. How did I get here? I never imagined that I would be the kind of father who had to deal with a child who went to jail. That sort of thing happens to other people's children—not my own.

I shake my head, suddenly needing something to drink—something strong. Swiveling around, I storm out the door and give it a good, hard slam myself. The only problem is that Ms. Maureen, Anjenai's grandmother, is stepping out
of my neighbor's door, and she gives me a look that questions my sanity.

I clear my throat. “Sorry about that,” I say, embarrassed, and then quickly storm off.

Back in the car, I peel out of the apartment parking lot like a bat out of hell. However, I don't have any idea where I'm going. Sure, I needed a drink, but tangling with alcohol right now would not be such a good idea. I just need space.
We
need space.

Ten minutes later, I end up at the Waffle House. It's a small diner that's just slightly better than a truck stop. Most people come for the grease and not necessarily the food. Just seconds after walking into the brightly lit, square-shaped diner, I spot Deborah sitting in a corner booth. I ain't going to lie, just that cursory glance at her has brightened my day. I walk up to the breakfast counter and pop a squat on one of the small, round stools. All the while, I keep one eye trained on my beautiful neighbor. And I'm not the only one. Every dude up in here is peeping her out and probably trying to work up the courage to approach her.

Hands down, Deborah Combs is a stunningly beautiful woman. It's no secret in this neighborhood that she's the main attraction down at the Champagne Room. From time to time our paths have crossed, but not as much as one would think since one of her sisters is one of Tyler's best friends.
At least she was spared being called down to the police station.

I remember when Deborah first took in Kierra and McKenya, about three years ago. Actually, the Combses' situation made all the city papers. Michelle Combs, whom I
used to think I knew pretty well, was sent upstate for killing her husband, Kenneth Combs. Now, I didn't really know Kenneth all that well, but what I did know of him, I didn't like. I think it was the way Michelle took out her husband that surprised many of us who followed the trial. There was no screaming or hollering. No guns or artillery. She simply cooked him a feast of all his favorite soul food and laced it with some type of poison that I don't remember offhand. He died while sucking on some ribs.

Pretty cold-blooded.

If I remember correctly, Michelle Combs never gave a motive, and therefore she was sentenced to life in prison without the chance of parole.

Deborah seemed supportive at first, but then I think the stress of being so young and now being responsible for her two sisters is weighing down on her. I can easily relate, and I have just
one
child to deal with.

“What can I get you?” my waitress suddenly pops up at the counter to ask.

Hell, I haven't even looked at the lunch menu. Reluctantly, I pull my gaze away from Deborah and pick up the plastic menu. “Just, um, get me the number one with a Coke.”

“How would you like your burger?” she asks, not bothering to hide how bored she is.

“Well done.”

“All right. Coming right up.” She turns and yells my order to the guy working the grill, even though he's just two feet from her.

I steal another peek over toward Deborah's booth, but
this time my gaze crashes right into hers. I try to pass it off with a nod and a polite smile.

“Care to join me?” she asks, loudly.

Every man's head swivels in my direction. “Don't mind if I do.” I climb back off of my stool and catch my waitress's attention. “I'm moving over to the corner booth.” By the time I slide into the empty space across from Deborah, I have to admit that I'm a bundle of nerves. “I didn't know that you like to hang out at the Waffle House.”

“I don't,” she admits. “But I just needed to get out of that apartment for a while. I was beginning to think that the walls were closing in on me, you know?”

I bob my head while picking up the scent of vanilla clinging to her skin. “I know
exactly
what you mean.”

We fall into a comfortable silence, and I think her thoughts drift for a moment. When her gaze finds mine again, I think she just then remembers that I'm even sitting there.

“So how's the whole single-father thing going for you?”

I shake my head while my frustrations with my daughter start inching my blood pressure up a few notches. “I think the safe answer is ‘I'm still standing.'”

“Good.” She flashes me that beautiful smile. “That makes two of us.”

“Then things aren't going too well?” I inquire.

Deborah's warm, coffee-colored eyes drift off again. “It's just a lot harder than I anticipated. I mean I knew that it would be hard, you know. Taking care of a thirteen- and a nine-year-old is not for the faint of heart. I'm not naive.
I used to be those ages, but—” She starts shaking her head again. “It just feels like no matter what I do, it's never quite enough. Those girls have no idea what it's like to work to pay the bills. But working double shifts means sleeping when they're awake and working when they're sleeping. And the few times that I do manage to be conscious, I'm so bone tired and frustrated, and I just feel so—”

“Unappreciated?”

Her smile stretches wider, and two dimples wink at me. “You
do
understand.”

“More than you'll ever know.”

She nods, but her smile is fading fast. “I don't know if I'm doing such a hot job. I snap when I don't mean to and say things that I don't mean and I've done some things that I regret.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm, what?”

“Hmm. I'm starting to think that you have my apartment bugged.”

She laughs, and I'm enjoying its rich sound. I take a few seconds to drink in her strong profile: her small, heart-shaped face, her long hair and those mesmerizing lips. She doesn't have on that much makeup from what I can tell, and she's still just as gorgeous as the few times I've seen her leaving for work all decked out.

Suddenly, I start wondering if she has a boyfriend. A while back I'd asked her out for pizza, but I don't know whether she considered it a serious offer. Looking at her, I can't see how she wouldn't have a boyfriend. Still, I've
never seen any guys hanging around or her bringing anyone home—then again, I'm not always around myself.

“My mother lost her appeal today,” she says.

The change in topic throws me off guard a bit. “I'm sorry to hear that.” I watch so many emotions ripple across her face, all of them slowly breaking my heart.

She sniffs and wipes away a tear. “I don't know how much longer I can do this,” she admits, reaching for her coffee. “Sometimes I think that Kierra and McKenya would have been better off if they had been placed in foster care.”

“You don't mean that,” I tell her.

Silence.

I draw in a deep breath. “Are things
that
bad?”

Her eyes fill with more tears. “I'm not good with children,” she says. “I never have been. I mean, I've got my own set of problems, you know?”

I bob my head, but I'm put off a bit by the notion that an adult really thinks she has the option of walking away from her responsibilities. My waitress shows up and plops my lunch down on the table in front of me. “Thank you,” I mumble to the waitress.

“Can I get you anything else?” she asks, chewing the hell out of a wad of bubble gum.

“No, thanks. That will be all.” When I glance back over at Deborah, I notice that her shoulders are slumping lower by the second.

“Can I tell you something?” she whispers, swiping the corners of her eyes.

“Sure.”

She pauses for a moment, but then starts talking in a low
whisper. “When I first got the call about my mother's arrest, I was actually thrilled. She'd finally done it. She had finally taken a stand against that bully.”

Now I'm just stunned speechless, but I sit and listen.

“That son of a bitch made my life miserable. I never thought she'd find the backbone to stand up to him. And when she did…well, let's just say that he never saw it coming. But the repercussions, I don't think either of us really thought about what those might be. Now it just all seems like too much.” She sniffs again and wipes at her eyes. “At first I thought I could do it. They would be a lot better off with me than growing up in that house with
that
man. His temper and the things he did when he thought that no one was looking.” She shakes her head. “I thought that—” She swallows and then falls silent for so long that I don't think that she's going to finish the sentence.

Even though I want to comfort her, I'm not sure how to go about doing that. She's talking about turning her sisters over to foster care to break up her family just because life is hard. Sure, I feel inadequate when it comes to dealing with Tyler but leave? Never.

“You know what? I gotta go.”

She grabs her purse, and I see my window of opportunity to help her closing.

“McKenya is going to be home soon, and I think Kierra is still at cheerleading practice.”

She fumbles with her purse so badly that she tilts it the wrong way and half the contents spill out of it. “Goddamn it!”

“Here, let me help you,” I say.

She's a nervous flutter of movement while she shoves things back into her purse. I reach over as well and then stop cold when I see a small vial of white powder. “Hey, that's mine.” She snatches it out of my hands and shoves it into her purse.

“I—I'm sorry. I didn't mean—”

“I'll catch up with you later,” she says, flying from the booth and racing out of the diner so fast that she looks like a blur.

I'm left sitting there wondering what the hell just happened.

Phoenix—The Bitch is Back

Things
are changing. I know this because Bianca and Raven, my two supposed best friends, aren't waiting for me by my locker before the homeroom bell. The reason this is significant is that we've always met up at my locker since we were in junior high. But I'm not going to completely freak out, because lately I have been missing a lot of days. Don't get me wrong. I know these girls think that because I'm pregnant or was pregnant they are clear to try to take my shine. Silly rabbits, tricks are for kids. I'm always going to be the number-one diva.

I quickly jerk open my locker and pull out what I need before checking my reflection in the mirror glued to my locker door. Behind me I see a few girls snickering and whispering, so I turn around and flash them all the bird. They gasp at having been caught and then quickly get out of my face with all that nonsense. These chicks got the wrong idea if they think that they can run a shame campaign on me. I don't play that crap.

Sure, when I slam my locker shut and make my way toward my homeroom I can feel just about every eye swivel toward me. But I keep my chin up and a smile on my face. Haters. Each and every one of them.

I reach my homeroom a couple of minutes before the bell and apparently catch my homeroom teacher, Ms. Hopkins, by surprise because she looks up from her desk with an overly sunny greeting. “Ooooh, Phoenix. I'm so happy to see that you're back today. How are you feeling?”

All the kids in the classroom stop what they're doing and turn to see how I'll answer. Clearly the gossip has finally worked itself up to the teaching staff.

“I'm doing great. Thanks for asking.” I give her a plastic smile and then make my way over to my desk at the back of the room while everyone starts whispering again. A few seconds later, Bianca and Raven giggle their way into the classroom and then stop cold when they spot me in the back.

“Close your mouths. You're letting flies in,” I tell them.

“Phoenix, you're back,” Bianca squeaks and then runs her gaze over me as if trying to see whether I'm showing yet.

Raven's smile turns into a slow smirk as she makes her way over to my desk. “Well, I'm glad to see that you're back. This place is never the same when you're gone.”

I roll my eyes at my little Puerto Rican ass kisser.

“Had we known that you were coming to school today we would've met you at your locker.”

“Check your text messages,” I tell them.

“Oh.” Bianca whips her phone out, reads and then gives me an apologetic smile. “Our bad. Forgive us?”

“Yeah. Whatever.” I grab my purse and pull out my compact and lip gloss. Romeo should be here any minute now. “So what have you two bitches been up to?”

“Giiirrl,” Bianca says, dropping into the desk in front of me. “There's this new guy here at the school who is fiiiine.”

“Capital F-I-N-E,” Raven co-signs.

“Oh, really?” I ask, puckering my lips at my mirror.

Bianca pushes my mirror down. “No. You don't understand. I'm talking Romeo finally has some competition as being the finest brother in this school.”

“I know I wouldn't mind him being my baby daddy,” Raven says, chuckling.

Both Bianca and I cut her with a look.

“What? Oh.” At least she has the common decency to look embarrassed. “Sorry.”

I roll my eyes again.

“Anyway,” Bianca continues, “I got my eye on Kwan. That's his name, by the way. Give me one week and I'll be wearing his class ring.”

“Oh, I like your nerve.”

“Girl, chill out. You still have Chris sniffing behind you.”

“Please. Chris ain't nothing but a baby player trying to rub up on anyone that'll have him. I'm not stuttin' him, and that weak-ass game he spits all the time.”

“Too bad, Kwan's mine. You can have Shadiq.”

“What? This boy has been in this school for one day and you two are already fighting over him?”

“Wait until you see him,” they chime together.

Now I'm a little curious.

“I can't wait to show up at homecoming with him on my arm,” Bianca sighs like a Disney princess. “I'm sure that we'll be a shoo-in for homecoming king and queen.”

I clear my throat. “I think that'll be me and Romeo.”

“Yeah. I'm sure that maternity dresses will be all the rage,” she jabs.

“Please.” I fold my arms. “I can roll through there nine months pregnant with elephant feet and still outshine you two bitches, so stay in your lane.” I check Bianca's fast mouth with a hard stare and dare her ass to say something else smart back to me.

Romeo strolls into the room laughing with Shadiq. I glance up and smile over at him. He doesn't smile back. In fact, he just draws in a deep breath and looks like I'm the last person he wanted to see this morning. That is definitely not a good sign.

Our homeroom classes allow us to sit anywhere we want. And usually Romeo and his crew sit in the back with the Redbones. So how come this boy pops a squat into one of the vacant desks in the
middle
of the class? I blink in surprise at the open diss. My girls share a look and then glance back at me to see what I'm going to do about the situation. Soon after, the rest of the class starts whispering and snickering.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand straight up, and my face is so hot it feels like it's on fire. The morning bell
rings and Ms. Hopkins pops up out of her seat to start roll call.

I sit and simmer until she finishes, and then afterward we have about fifteen minutes to study or pray or take a nap. I, of course, spring up out of my seat and make my way over to Romeo's desk.

“Mind if I talk to you for a minute?” I ask and pretend that all eyes aren't on us.

Again, Romeo gives me this look like he doesn't want to be bothered.

“Please,” I add with a low hiss that lets him know we can do this quietly or at the top of my damn voice.

He finally pushes out of his chair and then follows me to a corner of the room. “Yeah. What's up?”

“I think I need to be asking, what's up with you?”

“Nothing.”

It's a bad lie and we both know it. I cock my head at him. “You want to try that again?”

He sighs and rocks his head from side to side while he licks his lips. “Look, I've been thinking.”

“Thinking?” I fold my arms. “Well, this should be good.”

“Look. I understand that you're pregnant.”

I look away from him.

“And I'm going to be a father to my child. It's just that me and you—”

“What?”

“We don't work anymore. We're not a good fit. And we haven't been for some time now.”

My heart stops and drops down to my toes. “What do you mean?”

“C'mon. You know exactly what I mean, Phoenix.” He draws in another breath. “Now, I admit that this whole situation threw me for a loop, and it took me a minute to try and clear my head, but after talking to my aunt yesterday, I think I've made some decisions.”

“Your aunt?”

“Shhh. Keep your voice down.”

I grind my teeth. “Your
aunt
is not the one who knocked me up. You did.” I stab him in the chest with my finger. “Therefore, she doesn't have any say in the matter.”

He refuses to look me in my eyes.

“What? She told you to leave me? Did she tell you to let me do this shit on my own, is that what you're telling me?”

“No. She didn't say anything like that.”

“Oh. Well, she said something. Because a couple of days ago we were in this together.”

“She was just asking me how I
felt
about things. You know, something that you never did ask me. You've been making all the decisions from the giddy up. From whether to keep the baby to us walking down the aisle.”

“Whether to keep… Did she suggest that I have an
abortion?
”

“NO!” Romeo glances around and then lowers his voice. “She just got me to see that just because we made one mistake there's no need for us to make another by trying to stay together.”

“Let me tell you something, Romeo. I didn't get into this
mess by myself, and I'll be damned if I just let you turn me into some pathetic baby mama while you're free to go off and party hearty through your high-school years like you don't have a care in the world. Knowing you, you got your mind fixed on chasing after that hood rat Anjenai.”

Guilt flushes his face.

“Naw. It ain't going down like that. It's me and you like it's always been and how it will always be. So get your mind out of the clouds and focus on your responsibilities!” It isn't until I turn around that I see that everyone is straining the hell out of their necks trying to put their noses in our business. “What the hell are y'all looking at?” I snap. I rush over to my desk, grab my things and storm toward the door.

“Ms. Wilder, where do you think you're going?” Ms. Hopkins calls out.

I don't pay her any mind as I race out of the room. I'm a hurricane of fury as I make my way to the front office.

“I need to speak with Principal Vincent,” I thunder at Ms. Callaway.

There's a line of kids sitting in plastic chairs, but I'm not about to wait to say what's on my mind.

“Wait, Phoenix!”

Wait, hell.
I shove the door open and announce, “We need to talk!”

Principal Vincent and Vice Principal Palmer spring away from each other so fast it's damn near comical.

“Sorry, Thelma. She breezed right past me.”

“Hmm, huh.” I jab my hands on my hips and tap my foot. “I guess the rumors are true.”

Principal Vincent's eyes narrow on me as she settles her own hands on her hips. “Thank you, Ellen. I've got this.”

I glance back over my shoulder, and Ms. Callaway gives me the stank eye as she shrinks back out of the office, closing the door behind her.

“Ms. Wilder, I do believe you know not to just barge into my office like that.”

“I do believe that you know to keep your nose out of my
personal
business.”

Mr. Palmer steps forward. “Check your tone, Ms. Wilder.”

“What part of personal business don't
you
understand, Mr. Palmer?”

Fire leaps into this man's eyes, but I hold my own. I don't give a rat's ass if I hurt his girlfriend's feelings. She needs to keep her nose out of my business.

“Mr. Palmer, can you excuse us for a few minutes?”
Thelma
asks.

He hesitates, but I simply lift my brow as if to ask what the hell he is waiting for. Finally, he backs off.

“Call me if you need anything,” he tells Thelma and then slowly strolls out of the office.

“Now. What seems to be your problem, Ms. Wilder?” she asks, folding her arms.

“I'm talking to Romeo's
aunt.
You know, the one who was just free to give advice on something that doesn't concern her. The one who thinks it's her place to suggest that I get an abortion!”

“I did no such thing!”

“Well, that's how I'm going to tell it to my parents, the
school board and then all those lovely people down at the local news stations if you don't back the hell up and stay in your lane.”

The color drains out of Thelma's face.

“You think I'm playing? Do you really want to call my bluff? Try me. If I lose Romeo over your big mouth, I'm going to make damn sure you'll never find another job as a principal again.”

Silence.

“Are we clear?” I challenge her. I stand there glaring back at her so that she knows that I'm not playing. Abortion is a hot potato here in the South, and the last thing she wants to do is stir up the Bible Belt's Christian soldiers. “Good,” I say after taking her silence as a clear understanding. “You have a good day today.” I wink, turn and stroll out of the office with my head held high.