Tappin' On Thirty (12 page)

Authors: Candice Dow

BOOK: Tappin' On Thirty

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SCOOTER

W
hy did I think spending a weekend with Taylor would help me figure this whole fiasco out? It made it worse. I didn't even want to see Akua. The big question now is how can I tell her that we're not meant to be?

I walked into the house without going into the bedroom to see if she was awake. I sat on the couch and dropped my head between my legs. She walked in from the bedroom. “How was church?”

“It was cool.”

My eyes wandered around the room. How could I stare her in the face, knowing I eventually planned to hurt her? She asked if I'd eaten lunch. I took a deep breath. “Nah.”

“Do you want to eat?”

Her presence was irritating me for no reason. I snapped, “No.”

“What the hell is wrong with you, man?”

“I'm just tired.”

“I don't know why.”

Before I responded, I checked myself.
Scooter, chill out
. I flicked the television on to distract our conversation.

She fumbled in the kitchen. “I hope you don't plan to watch football all day.”

“Why aren't you sleep?”

She walked out of the kitchen with a sandwich on a paper plate and a beer. “I'm not tired. Plus, I don't have to work tonight.”

My neck snapped in her direction. “You don't?”

“No, my two weeks are up. I'm back on my regular schedule.”

Shit! How am I supposed to talk to Taylor? I'd been so wrapped up in my new relationship that I neglected to figure out when I could escape from my current one. Trying to shake my shock, I nodded. “Oh, I forgot.”

She plopped on the couch beside me. I wanted to scoot down. She put her feet on the couch, swung them around, and tucked them under my leg. Her toes made me cringe. She spoke to my profile. “So, do we have to watch this all day or can we go to the movies or something?”

With my eyes glued to the television, I said, “You can do what you want.”

She shoved her foot into my leg. “Nigga, I know I can do what I want. What are we doing tonight?”

My hope was to piss her off to the point she wanted to go out without me. I nodded toward the television. “This is what I'm doing today.”

She sucked her teeth. “Well, I guess this is what we're doing.”

No! Take your ass out. She mumbled under her breath, “I've been working for two weeks straight and I have to watch football on my day off.”

Pissed that my strategy didn't work, I ignored her grumbling. “You ain't shit,” she huffed.

“I know. You tell me every day.”

If I am so bad, why did she want to be up under me all day? Maybe she should go find a man that she thought was the shit. She stabbed her big toe into my thigh. “You're a smart-ass.”

“So are you.”

“You make me sick.”

After sitting through an entire football game, it became clear that Akua would be latched to my hip for the day. I pretended I wanted to run out to get pizza for dinner. Wouldn't you guess it? She wanted to ride too. I searched for every possible reason why it made more sense for me to go alone. As we walked out of the house together, it was obvious I needed to get swifter with stealth techniques.

It never dawned on me how much we did together until I couldn't get away. We stretched out on our living room floor, separated by a box of pizza. How did I manage to take this relationship so far? It would be so much easier if we didn't live together. After a few beers, she was as intoxicated as I was. I asked, “Do you think we'd stay friends if we ever broke up?”

Without second guessing the origin of my question, she responded confidently, “Hell no!”

“Why?”

“After all the flack I get from my family for your ass, we better not break up.”

“I'm just curious.”

“Don't be.” She joked. “I'll cut your ass with a scalpel.”

She chuckled like she could imagine it. I winced, because I could too. She finished chewing her food. “I'm just playing. If you want me to leave, just let me know.”

I shoved the pizza box into her. “Oh, so it's like that? You can just let it go like that?”

“I can't imagine my life without you, but I would never want to be with someone who doesn't want to be with me. If you're ever unhappy, don't do me any favors. Just tell me.”

I wished I could explain to her what was going on inside of me. Instead, I gave her a high five and said, “Deal.”

As if it finally hit her, she asked, “Are you trying to break up with me?”

“Nah,” I lied.

TAYLOR

I
called Scooter until I was too tired to continue. Finally, my home phone rang shortly after ten. I popped up. I picked up and sang, “Hello.”

My mother cleared her throat. “Taylor.”

Since it wasn't Saturday morning, I was a little off. I stuttered, “Hey . . . Ma. What's up?”

“How was your trip?”

Was I that excited? Hell, I didn't remember telling her about my trip. “I . . . uh . . . um . . .”

Then, I summarized the weekend. “Well, it was cool. I stayed in the Westin. He stayed at his place.”

“Aw! Did he discuss the relationship?” she cooed.

“Well, we're just kicking it.”

The empty feeling inside of me confirmed that I was lying to myself. She smacked her lips. “What is that supposed to mean, Taylor?”

I huffed, because I didn't know. “Ma, we aren't tripping. We're taking it slow.”

“The last I checked, you didn't have a lot of time.”

That comment was my cue to get off of the phone. I sighed. “All right, Mother, I'll talk to you later.”

“We're still praying for you. Okay?”

“Okay.”

I tossed and turned. Feelings of regret accumulated in my stomach. I went to the bathroom a million times throughout the night. I picked the phone up off the receiver and prayed there was no dial tone, hoping that could explain why my phone had not rung. Scooter promised me so much over the weekend. Maybe it was too good to be true. Coming to that conclusion didn't stop my body from popping up every hour, checking the caller ID.

My heart ached like it was broken. What's up with that? We spent one weekend together and I'm tripping.
Shake it off, Taylor
. I rolled back and forth in my bed trying to squash my feelings.

By the time the sun came up, I'd concluded that I could not be anyone's backup plan. So what if he's the only man I've ever loved. I'm too cool for this shit.

My phone rang while I was in the shower. When I checked my caller ID, it was Scooter. The message light blinked. I didn't want to hear a damn thing he had to say.

Before I left for work, I collected all of the business cards I'd accumulated at the CBC. My ego convinced me that I was in control of my situation, but my body knew better. If I planned to deal with Scooter, I needed a distraction.

On my way to work, I called Courtney. “Girl, dudes are no good. Why didn't I hear from Scooter until this morning?”

“Did you have sex with him?” she grunted.

“No.”

“Damn. That's pretty bad. At least we could say he only wanted your poom-poom.”

“Court, it's not funny.”

“Why are you tripping? You know he has a girlfriend.”

I huffed. She didn't share what we shared this weekend. He is not happy with his girlfriend. It's only a matter of time before it's over. Instead of explaining what we discussed, I threw in the towel. “You're right.”

“Taylor, I'm telling you girl. Don't get in too deep. We're too old to play games like this.”

Anything worth having is worth fighting for. As I fed myself affirmations, I sighed.

Courtney sighed, too. “Taylor, I just don't want you to get hurt.”

“I
always
get out before I get hurt.”

She laughed. “Yeah, okay.”

“Do you really think I'll stick around if the ball is not in my court?”

“Do you think the ball is in your court now? If he can't call you when you want to hear from him,” she argued, “the ball is not in your court.”

Did I call her for advice? Sometimes you just want people to listen. My head began to pound. “All right then Courtney. I'm almost at work.”

“I just don't want you to get hurt,” she warned.

“I won't.”

“You promise.”

“Uh-huh.”

How could I promise something that was clearly out of my control?

When I got settled at work, I paged Scooter. He called back almost immediately. Sounding out of breath, he said, “Taylor, I'm so sorry.”

“For what?”

“You know. I wanted to call you back last night, but she wouldn't leave me alone.” He chuckled. “I felt like she knew something.”

“And how did that make you feel?”

“It didn't feel good, but I know what I want.”

“Do you really?”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I want to be with you.”

I tried to bury Scooter's promise in the back of my mind when I flipped through my new collection of business cards, leaving the same message for everyone. “Hi. This is Taylor Jabowski. We met at CBC. Hopefully you remember me. If so, call me at . . .”

To my surprise, no one returned my call. I guess people had staked their claim by now. When I got in for the evening, Steven returned my call. I racked my brain. I know I called him, but he didn't ring a bell. I chuckled. “Hey, Steven.”

“I was hoping you'd call, since you refused to give me your number.”

“Yeah, I like to control the dating game,” I joked. “Don't call me. I'll call you.”

“So, it's like that, huh?”

“Not really. I'm just playing.”

We chatted for a while. He seemed pretty interesting. I found some of his jokes funny. But I was more interested in how he looked. I usually toss the ugly cards, so I assumed he was decent. Scooter began clicking into the line around seven. I decided to make him wait, since I had had to wait.

When I looked up and realized that Steven had exceeded my thirty minute first phone call limit by an hour, I rushed off the phone. As we were saying our good-byes, I asked. “Are you going to send me a picture?”

“Yeah, what's your e-mail address? Can I get a picture of you?”

“Sure, what's your e-mail address?”

He spelled it out, “OVERDATHO at yahoo dot com.”

“What does that mean?”

“It doesn't mean anything.”

When we got off the phone, I decided to give Scooter a taste of his own medicine. Let him worry about me tonight. My plan backfired when I woke up and there were no new calls on my caller ID. My mind reverted back to the weekend. Maybe it was just my imagination running away from me. I thought we'd made a connection.

He called before I got to work and explained that Akua is no longer on nights, which is going to cut our communication by eighty percent. I wasn't down for that. I shooed him off the phone, and logged on to e-mail Steven my picture.

When I hit the send button, I was prompted to save the address in my address book. As I began to change the default alias to something I could actually remember, it registered, “Over Dat Ho!”

That's serious. In the hour and a half conversation, he said very little about his ex-wife. If he felt the need to make that his e-mail address, he was bitter. I called Courtney.

When I described what I thought his e-mail was stating, Courtney laughed. “Oh yeah. He's bitter as shit.”

“Court, you think?”

She laughed harder. “You don't think? That's funny as hell.”

“He seemed cool, though.”

“He might be cool . . . bitter cool,” she said, still laughing.

“Maybe it doesn't mean that.”

Courtney's amusement subsided. “Maybe it doesn't. I would damn sure ask him about it, though. It's one thing to create an ignorant-ass e-mail address like that, but another to actually give it out.”

“I know. That is the crazy part.”

Steven called around five o'clock. Knee-deep in work, I asked him to call back around eight. At 8:07, my cell phone rang.

Ten minutes into the conversation, I got enough nerve to ask about the e-mail address. He chuckled.

I looked at the receiver and frowned. “Well, are you going to tell me what it means?”

He chuckled again. “What do you think it means?”

“Um. I think it means over that ho.”

“You're good.”

Was something funny? Did he not know that sounded bitter? Just for confirmation, I asked again, “Is that what it means?”

“Yeah. That's what it means.”

I thought about hanging up, but figured I'd get to the bottom of it. “So, are you really over her?”

He growled, “Yeah, I'm over that bitch.”

I mouthed, “bitch?” and looked at the receiver again.

Without me prying, he began to rant. “Yeah, she was one

of those independent heifers. You know the type.”

I put my hand to my chest.
Like me
. He continued. “You know a hard-working brother like me wasn't good enough.” He snickered. “I wasn't driving a Benz. I wasn't making six figures. I don't have good credit.”

I mugged at the phone. Who the hell does he think gives a damn how hard he works if he has bad credit? We could have ended the phone call with that statement, but I figured I'd let him finish.

He continued, “You know how y'all do. She just wanted to get married and change me.” He paused. “Why do women do that?”

“I don't know. I've never been married.”

“Yeah, she wanted me to look for another job. She wanted me to go back to school. She wanted everything that I wasn't.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah I hope you're not like that.” He sighed. “My mama always said stay away from y'all overly independent women.”

Well, I prayed that he took her advice, because I had plans to stay away from him. When I didn't respond, he joked. “I'm just playing with you. But that bitch,” he spat out with emphasis, “had the audacity to say she never loved me.”

Just to give him ammunition, I said, “Are you serious?”

Sounding as if he was angry with me, he snapped, “Hell yeah, I'm serious. She said that I wasn't man enough for her. See, y'all independent women judge a man by the money he makes. If he ain't making what you make, you figure you can do without him.”

“That's not true.”

Why did I say that? He ranted for another thirty minutes about why it was true. I just prayed for the right opportunity to get off the phone with the lunatic. He had issues that I was not willing to help resolve. The moment his hysteria subsided, I yawned. “Whew, I have a long day tomorrow.”

His gentle twin returned. “Okay. Well it was good talking to you.”

Talking to me
? I was under the impression that he was cursing all women like me. Anyway, I lied, “Yeah, it was good speaking with you, too.”

“Did we make a date for this weekend?”

I stuttered, “Um. I don't think so.”

“Well, I'll talk to you tomorrow. We'll set something up then.”

Steven, speed on
. Knowing I'd never talk to this lunatic again, I lied, “Yeah, we'll talk tomorrow.”