my curves looked in the dress. I wasn’t a flat-tummy, no-roll-having diva. I had meat on my skin and wore it well, along with clothes that fit me.
“It’s Auntie Tanya.” Porsha held my phone up.
I rolled my eyes. “Answer it and talk to her while I change.”
Tanya was one of my older sisters. She and I were the most different of all my siblings. She was a teacher who dated an accountant and went to church every day of the week like Jesus Christ be at the service too. First of all, I didn’t wanna be bothered with my own kids, let alone a bunch of snotty brats who got on their mother’s nerves when not at school. Secondly, I wasn’t never about to bust it wide open for a nigga in a Brooks Brothers suit. If a nigga wasn’t a thug, I wasn’t fuckin’ with him. And lastly, I’d probably blow up into a million pieces if I stepped into the house of the Lord. I was a sinner who planned to keep sinning until the day I died.
The extreme differences between Tanya and me kept us at each other’s necks like we were enemies with different blood. Yet and still, we’d link up in a heartbeat to beat an outsider’s ass. That was how all my sisters and I were for one another. Besides Tanya and me, my momma had Tiana, Trish, and Ruby (the oldest and named after my granny), all by the same nigga. She wasn’t a ho, but that didn’t keep him from not being shit.
He beat my mom until she stopped breathing one day. While Tanya was busy trying to resuscitate my mom and call 911, I was busy breaking a mirror over our dad’s head, then slicing his throat with a piece of the broken glass. I didn’t serve time or no shit like that for murdering my daddy. However, child protective services opened a case on my mom to make sure the well-being of me and my sisters was intact. I also had to undergo extensive therapy that only made the visual playback of his neck squirting out blood as he died more in depth and constant. Yeah, you can believe it. I’d been coldblooded since I was a kid.
Tanya called because my mom was losing the house we grew up in. She was off her rocker, popping pills every day. All of us daughters were supposed to pitch in and save the house we grew up in, but I was like fuck that ’cause that house was nothing but a representation of hell for each and every one of us. I’d told them time and time again that I wasn’t giving them one dirty dope dollar toward saving that house and that I’d feed her pill addiction instead, but Tanya kept calling me incessantly. Since we were kids, she’d been trying to boss me around because she was the older.
Fuck age. She knew good and damn well that, between the two of us, I wasn’t the weak link. Besides, my momma probably wouldn’t take the money if I offered it to her. She’d never said it, but I felt like she started disliking me the day I killed her husband. I wasn’t pressed about carrying that monkey on my back, however. If Calvin ever raised his hand to strike me, I would send him to the grave too. I’d never been cut out to get beat on. My momma shouldn’t have been either.
“Ma! Dang, what’s taking you so long in there?” Porsha tapped on the dressing room door.
“Here I come, girl.” I slid on the next outfit, then stepped out, grabbing my phone. “Hey, sis. What’s up?”
“We only got a little more time to pay the taxes on Momma’s house. Please tell me that you changed your mind about chipping in with the rest of us.” On the topic I’d expected, Tanya was ruining my mood. I hated repeating myself, especially about this.
“Damn, Tanya. How many times do I have to tell you no? No, no, no, no! Y’all trifling as hell to wanna save that house of terrors. Matter of fact, I should go over there when Momma is gone and light that bitch on fire.” I spat venom, meaning each word.
As soon as the words slipped off my tongue, my mind moved even quicker, trying to see if I could really burn the house to the ground and get away with it. I didn’t want to commit too many crimes surrounding my mom but really pertaining to my dad. Luck runs out, and I’d already walked away without even a slap on the wrist with one murder.
“Sis, you’re crazy as hell for one. For two, you’re going to have to get over what happened when we were young. What are you planning on doing? Carrying that burden on your back forever?”
“Yup. It ain’t nothing for me to do that, Tanya. What’s known didn’t have to be said.”
She huffed and puffed, irritated by me not giving in and being an asshole in the process. “Argh, I swear, if you weren’t my sister—”
“Yeah, whatever, Tanya. You better get off my phone. Goodbye.” I didn’t give her a chance to retort before hanging up.
“Here, put this back in my purse.” I handed Porsha the phone after turning it down to vibrate. I didn’t need any additional distractions while shopping. This spree was hella important.
Modeling back in the mirror, I was feeling myself the most in this dress. It showed the perfect amount of cleavage and half of my thick thighs, and it had a triangular dip in the back that showed my tramp stamp of Calvin’s name. I thought that was the part that made it a winner to me. I loved showing hoes I was branded along with my man. He had my name tatted on his neck.
“Ma! Hello.” Porsha snapped her fingers in front of my face. “Are you getting that outfit or no? We’ve still gotta hit the beauty supply, and the good one closes before dark to keep from getting robbed,” she rushed me.
“Yeah, damn. My bad. Give me your opinion—do you think I’m on fleek? Am I killin’ ’em? I’m trying to walk up in that party stunting hard,” I said, using a mouthful of young slang.
She rolled her eyes at my choice of language. “Oh, wow, Ma! You swear you’re the one about to be eighteen. Yes, you look fleek. If you get a killer pair of heels and a handbag to match, you’ll have the whole hood of ho . . . oops, I mean, women, talking about you in the morning.”
“Oooh, for real? Hell yeah, that’s what I wanted to hear. You know Momma likes to serve bitches nothing but the bomb dot com.”
She blew out a long, exasperated breath of air like I was annoying her. “Please, Ma, quit being corny and get the dress. We’ve been in this store foreverrrr,” she complained. “And you’re killing me with your corniness.”
“Shut ya ass up, I’m coming,” I sighed, giving in because I knew how it felt to be a teenage girl out with your wannabe-hip mother. “Matter of fact, g’on to the nail shop and put our names on the list.”
I heard her say thanks over her shoulder, but Porsha started heading out the door as soon as I’d said the word “g’on.”
PORSHA
Being that school was out for the day and most people were done with work, the mall was swarming with people. The nail shop was really off the chain. Every pedicure chair bowl had some crusty feet in it, and every nail tech was filing or designing away. I put my and my mom’s names on the list along with the services we wanted and sat down. I only needed a fill-in and maybe a polish change on my toes, but my mom needed a full set and pedicure. I texted her a picture of the waiting area so she’d be prepared for the long wait.
My phone was dry since it was still set on restricting Imani’s texts. I was, however, kinda salty that Street hadn’t called or texted me. Since we weren’t on our way back to the hood, I left the restriction on and stayed off social media, too. Imani was probably posting pictures there too.
All into my phone, I’d tuned out all the background noise and movement going on around me. When I finally set my phone to sleep and looked up, my mother was coming in with a sour look on her face. She hated being cooped up in a room with a bunch of women. I didn’t think we were going to stay, but she ended up giving the manager a few dollars extra in exchange for moving us up the list.
Another woman spoke up. “Um, excuse me! But I had an appointment for over an hour ago and have been waiting patiently. You can either seat me in a pedicure chair before or along with that lady and her kid or lose ya job. Don’t make me call the owner of this establishment on you. I don’t think Miss Woo will be too pleased about you running a loyal client away,” she threatened and complained.