Single black female, p.28
Single Black Female, page 28
Noah balked. “King ain’t in no gang.”
Patsy continued her rant. “They got pictures from his Instagram.”
She looked at her sister-in-law regretfully. Patsy and Ivy were both tough mothers. It was one of the few things they had in common. So, knowing that, Patsy knew full well that what she was about to say would set Ivy off. She sighed.
“They got pictures of him smoking weed out of a bong with a few of his friends, and a picture of him with a beer bottle in his hand.”
Ivy frowned. She had never thought to follow her sons’ social media accounts. She thought she hovered over them enough physically, so she didn’t need to do it virtually, too. Now she felt stupid, hearing that King’s wild teenage antics were being twisted to paint him as a problem child. She looked at Noah helplessly.
“Ma … I don’t have no pictures like that on my Instagram page.”
“What about Facebook?” Patsy pressed.
Noah side-eyed his aunt.
Ivy felt a lump in her throat and a sense of intense doom. It felt like the walls were closing in on them. Now, she dreaded the results of the toxicology tests the doctors had performed on King immediately following the altercation.
Patsy had her hands on her hips and a frown on her face.
“Let’s stop fronting. These white people out here don’t want to tell the truth, so they’re starting to spread a bunch of lies. That man saw King out there. All tall and Black with his Afro. Out there with that nice car in that nice neighborhood. He made up his mind that he was a fuckin’ thug, and he went out there and tried to hunt him down. He thought he’d shoot some nigga and get away with it. And, instead, that nigga beat his ass!”
“Patsy—” Coco closed her eyes as she said it, suddenly feeling a headache coming on. She was sick of her sister’s loud mouth.
“No, ‘Patsy,’ my ass. It ain’t no fun when the rabbit gets the gun. King defended himself, and unfortunately, the man got fucked up. Now they trying to make it seem like he’s a bad kid, and that’s bullshit!”
Patsy was sick of beating around the bush.
“I’m not trying to tell you what to do, Ivy. But if King was my son, I would kill somebody before I let them railroad my baby. Dead ass.”
Patsy walked away before Ivy could respond. It didn’t matter. Ivy had no words left, anyway.
* * *
It was late in the evening. Patsy and her sons had gone back to Brooklyn. Noah had gone home to take a shower. Rashid had to get back to adhere to his curfew. Bree was curled up asleep in one of the waiting room chairs.
Alone now, Ivy, Deja, Coco, and Nikki sat in silence for a while until finally, Ivy looked up at them and spoke, her voice hoarse from hours of yelling and crying.
“I don’t know how to just … how can anybody expect life to go back to normal ever again after all of this? Even if everything gets cleared up and they let King go? Am I supposed to just act like nothing happened? Somebody tried to kill my son. And when he wasn’t successful, the cops came and tried to finish the job.”
Deja’s eyes filled with tears as she imagined the worst.
Ivy continued.
“Just because he was Black. Just because they decided that my son didn’t belong in such a nice neighborhood. That if he was touching a fancy car, that he must have been trying to steal it. As hard as I work! As tough as I am on my kids to do the right thing. Some grown old-ass man approached my teenage son and called him a nigger. Then he pulled out a gun and tried to shoot and kill my child.”
That truth hung in the air like a thick, heavy fog. Nikki locked eyes with Ivy and felt the pain she saw there.
Tears fell from Ivy’s eyes, and she shook her head, looking away.
“When I moved out here, I was looking for my little piece of the American Dream. That’s what we all want. Right?”
It was a rhetorical question, but Ivy looked at her friends expectantly nonetheless. Each of them nodded.
“I work hard. I pay my taxes. I keep my sons out of trouble. I handle my business, and I’m out here raising young men who have respect. And even though I go to work every day and mind my business, somebody shot my son because his car broke down in a white neighborhood. IN NEW YORK CITY! Not some backwoods Southern town. They’ve been staring at us like we’re exhibits at the zoo since the day we moved in. And I tried to just shrug it off. Tried to pretend like it wasn’t happening. Because that shit is just another part of life for Black people.” Ivy was yelling now.
Deja futilely tried to calm her with gentle whispers of reassurance, but it was no use. All the rage that Ivy had been feeling for the past several hours was boiling over.
“I used to sit in that big-ass house I bought and read the local newspaper. The Staten Island Advance. And I noticed the difference in how they report the stories. The white boys who crash their cars into a pole while they’re high out of their minds on opioids—that’s on page sixteen. And they don’t release his name because he’s a minor. But a Black kid the same age from the projects who got caught with an ounce of weed—he’s on page one. His full name, picture, and everything.”
Ivy’s eyes were wide with amazement and disgust as she spoke. Deja, Nikki, and Coco sat enraptured, hanging on her every word.
“And I told myself that I was overreacting,” she continued. “That I was just being too sensitive. It was probably just part of getting used to a new neighborhood. This was supposed to be my new normal. I warned my sons about how different things are out here compared to Brooklyn. Told them to keep their eyes open and stay on point. And we all just went on with life. I kept working, kept grinding, even tried to go out and find a little romance after all these years.”
She laughed maniacally.
“I fooled myself into believing that I could have it all. As a Black woman in this country! That I could have success in my career, commas in my bank account, a nice house and car, maybe even find love. Be happy. But that shit is never really possible for us. That American Dream shit is an illusion that I allowed myself to believe in. Now my son is lying in here on a fuckin’ gurney with his ribs broken and his head cracked open. And I feel responsible for it.”
“NO!” Coco yelled it louder than she meant to. “No, Ivy, I’m not gonna let you do that to yourself. This is not your fault.”
She was pointing at Ivy, her expression serious.
Deja agreed. When she spoke, her voice was barely audible.
“Ivy, if anybody’s to blame, it’s me. I’m the one who convinced you to move out here. I sold you that house. And from the second you got here, it’s been one situation after another with your neighbors.”
Deja dabbed at her tears, weighed down by her guilt. It wasn’t just the fact that she had encouraged Ivy to move here. It was the secrets she had kept from her as a friend. Like Kingston’s party when the neighbors had called the police. Deja wondered now whether keeping Noah and King’s secret had been the smartest move.
“A few weeks ago, me and Bobby caught Noah and King having a house party with a bunch of their friends. It was the night of Nikki’s party. We went by there to pick up Bree after we left the party. And when we got there, the house was full of kids. Music blasting, alcohol, weed. Some of the neighbors called the cops.”
Ivy frowned.
“Of course,” Nikki said dryly.
“Bobby showed them his shield and squashed the whole thing. I promised the boys that I wouldn’t tell you. I chalked it up to typical kid shit. But you’re right. We don’t have the luxury of our kids doing typical teenage shit like having house parties, getting high, or underage drinking. For white kids, that’s a ‘mistake.’ For our kids, it can be a death sentence.” She looked at Ivy apologetically. “I’m sorry.”
Coco stared at her, dumbfounded. “Don’t you start blaming yourself, either.” Coco felt like she was stuck in a nightmare she couldn’t awaken from. “How is it possible that this … racist son of a bitch … tries to kill Kingston and we sit here and find ways to blame ourselves?”
She looked at Ivy. “You need to think positive. King would be so upset to hear you speak like this. This boy loves you with all his heart. He wouldn’t want you finding reasons to blame yourself for wanting a better life for you and your children. That’s why you moved out here. King is thriving out here. He likes his school. He’s making friends. Him and Noah had a party. So fuckin’ what? If it was any other house on the block, those neighbors would have ignored it. They know what happens when they call the cops on Black people. I’m just glad that Bobby was there.”
Ivy nodded. “I am, too.” She looked at Deja. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. Bobby stopped taking my calls now, so we might have lost our NYPD insider. Ever since he saw me and Rashid together, he’s on his Blue Lives Matter bullshit.”
Ivy frowned. She had noticed that Rashid was around all day and that Bobby was absent. But she had been too preoccupied with other things to comment on it.
“Are you two breaking up?”
Deja shrugged. “I don’t know what happens next. Right now I’m not sure if I care.”
Everyone’s eyes widened hearing her say that. Deja’s marriage had been as much a part of her identity as her pretentiousness for years.
“I love the life we built with Bree. But I don’t love Bobby anymore. I had to admit that I’ve been miserable for a long time. I thought having the picture-perfect life would make everything fall into place. For a while, it did. I thought I was happy. Then Rashid came back on the scene, reminded me of who I used to be. The things I wanted out of life.”
“Things like what?” Coco asked.
“Like real love,” Deja said. “Back when I was with Rashid, he excited me. Seeing him walk into a room got me hot. Hearing his voice—all of that excited me. He wasn’t predictable, though. I could never really get too comfortable with him. There was always the threat of some rival drug dealer, the cops, other girls who wanted his attention. Being with him kept me on my toes. Then he got sent away and I decided not to gamble like that again. I chose the sure thing. Bobby lives his life inside the boundaries. He loves me way more than I love him. I was able to get comfortable with him. But the downside is that I haven’t been excited in years. He doesn’t give me that feeling of being swept off my feet. He never did.”
Nikki smirked. None of this, of course, was news to her. “So, you think you want to be with Rashid now?”
“No,” Deja said. “Not really. I don’t even think it’s about Rashid. It’s about me settling for a mediocre life and then being bitter watching you live an amazing one.”
Nikki smiled. “Sounds like you’ve been doing some self-reflection, Deja.”
Deja grinned. She looked at Ivy.
“I thought the way to achieve the life I wanted was to conjugate my verbs in standard English and rub elbows with the right people. I thought all of us were immune to bullshit like this because we’d ‘arrived.’ But none of us are immune. Black men, Black women, Black kids, Black cops … to them we’re ‘still nigger,’ like JAY-Z said.”
Ivy nodded.
Coco sighed.
“It has me wondering if a white guy like Ziggy could ever really understand how it is for us. When I got the call about what happened to King, he was so supportive. We rushed here and found out all the details from Deja. And then the shit got uncomfortable. His whiteness stuck out in this situation. Patsy said it, but everybody in the room was thinking it. When I told him that he should go home, I could sense how relieved he was. So, is that what it’s gonna be like? When some racial shit goes down, we run from it?”
Ivy thought about it. “To be fair, you just started seeing him. This is a heavy situation to deal with in the early stages of a relationship.”
She thought about James, pleasantly surprised by the fact that this hadn’t scared him off. At least not yet.
Deja agreed.
“What’s the alternative? You go back to dealing with emotionally unavailable Black men who waste years of your life stringing you along the way Derek did? Do I go back to dealing with a Black man who has a felony on his rap sheet because he’s the kind of guy I’m most attracted to? Does Ivy go back to being lonely and single just so she can keep an eye on her sons twenty-four/seven? Why the hell do Black women have to make choices like that?”
Nikki clapped her hands. “Preach, sis!”
“Seriously, Ivy,” Deja said. “What’s the next step? What happens now?”
Ivy sighed. “The lawyer is gonna call me in the morning. I’ll find out then.”
“What about your house?” Coco asked. “You think you’ll sell it and move someplace else?”
“Part of me wants to do that. The other part feels like that’s letting them win. Should I leave the house of my dreams because my neighbors are a nightmare?”
“I don’t think you should leave, Ivy,” Deja said.
“She can’t keep living over there in that fuckin’ fishbowl with her sons,” Nikki pointed out. “She needs to move. The tension in her neighborhood was already thick. Now the white people on this fuckin’ island are gonna be coming after Ivy and her sons with pitchforks and tiki torches.”
“But if she leaves, they win. They get their neighborhood back and the message goes out that Black people aren’t welcome there. Nothing changes. If you stay, you shake things up.”
Coco nodded.
“I agree with Deja. If you leave, you give them what they want. They don’t get to decide who lives where. You worked hard all these years to give your boys the best life possible. And you’re doing a great job. I know you’re upset, but don’t make any big decisions right now.”
Coco rubbed her friend’s hand reassuringly. “Everything is going to be all right. You’ll see.”
Ivy nodded, wishing she felt as certain.
Flip Side
When Deja and Bree got home, they noticed Bobby’s car in the driveway. Both groaned inwardly at the sight.
They went inside, and Bree went quickly to her room. After the events of the past twenty-four hours, all she wanted was a hot shower and her own bed.
Deja found Bobby in the kitchen. He was leaning on the counter sipping a cup of coffee. Their eyes met as she entered.
“She okay?” he asked.
Deja was tempted to curse him out. Hours had passed since the shooting and Bobby hadn’t called or texted either of them. For all he knew, Bree could have been in a padded room losing her mind after all she had been through. But Deja didn’t curse or yell. She was past that.
“She’s fine,” she said.
Bobby cleared his throat. “A detective friend of mine got assigned to the case. Glover.”
Deja looked at him eagerly, hoping he found out something she could share with Ivy.
“They’re running ballistics on the gun and going door-to-door pulling camera footage across a four- or five-block radius. They’re trying to create a time line of events. They’ll see if they can spot the car as it got to the scene, see how it all went down minute by minute. So far, they got a bunch of footage to work with. The good news is that most of the homes have surveillance systems. It might take them a while to review all of it and piece it together. But if everything happened the way Bree said it did, this will all be over soon.”
Deja closed her eyes and let out a deep sigh. She was exhausted physically, mentally, and emotionally. Spent.
“I can’t forgive you, Deja. So, I don’t know where we go from here.”
Deja opened her eyes.
Bobby continued.
“I know you fucked him. Rashid. Even if you didn’t, I know you want to. And that has nothing to do with him being Bree’s biological father. That’s all about you and your unresolved feelings for him.”
She looked at him.
Bobby stared back at her. “So, you want to tell me the truth?”
Deja nodded. “Yeah. I do.” They sat down at the table and she began. “I haven’t been happy with you for a while. I wasn’t happy with this marriage.”
She looked him in the eye.
“I did fuck Rashid. And he’s not the first man I cheated on you with. I cheated with one of my clients months ago. I’ve been lying to you, living a double life. Publicly, I was your doting wife. But behind your back, I was doing my own thing.”
She could tell that he was furious as he listened. She didn’t care. What he had done to King was unforgivable. The man she’d thought she loved once was dead to her.
“When Rashid came back, I think I rediscovered myself. I feel more like myself when I’m with him than I’ve felt in years. I don’t have to fake it or pretend. And I like myself more. Bree and I have gotten closer. I think this marriage has run its course.”
Bobby had pain etched all over his face. “So, you want to be with some guy that just spent sixteen years in prison because he makes you feel like the old Deja?”
“I didn’t say that I want to be with him. I don’t think this has anything to do with him, honestly.”
Bobby agreed. “You’re right. It has more to do with your sister than anything else.”
“It’s not about Nikki, either.”
“Yeah, it is. I can’t understand why, but it’s obvious that you’re jealous of her life.”
She shrugged. “You know what? You’re almost right. I’m jealous of her happiness.”
The look on Bobby’s face was one of pure disgust and disbelief.
“You sound like a fool, Deja. What reason could you possibly have to be jealous of your sister? What? You want to be a reality show stereotype?”
“Is that what you think she is? Or is she a woman who’s not afraid to be herself? She’s out there living her dreams on her own terms.”
“And you’re jealous of that? All these years you haven’t been living your dreams, too?”
Deja felt like she was talking to a wall.
“Bobby, no, I wasn’t. My life sucks. You married me because I fit the part. The damsel in distress you could swoop in and save. We had a tidy little life together. But you don’t even know who I am! Or what I’m really like. Because I didn’t know until recently. It’s like you’re not hearing me.”
