My Daughter's Boyfriend (9 page)

Tracey 12

Has there ever been a day where everything works the
way it’s supposed to?

It was Wednesday morning. I knew things would probably go strange when I decided not to go to work. I took a too-trifling-to-come-to-work day, but dubbed it a sick day for the record. After calling in, I really did hug my pillows for a few hours. But around ten o’clock I hopped out of the bed, splashed some lukewarm water on my face, and threw on the first clothes my hands touched: stonewashed jeans and a Powerpuff Girls T-shirt. Ten minutes later I found myself behind the wheel of my car. I was heading north on Gessner.

Destination?

Memorial City Mall.

Even as I entered the virtually empty shopping center, I felt like the walls were staring at me and they could read my pathetic thoughts. Even though our last few disappointing encounters made Steve seem insensitive, if he saw me today, what if he took one good look and realized he owed me some respect? Besides, being around Aaron felt good, yet I knew he was trouble. Maybe getting back with Steve on a friendly basis was the escape I needed to stop what probably shouldn’t have been started. Maybe Steve was my only way out.

The aroma of every perfume you could name crashed against my nose as soon as I entered Foley’s. I shook my head at the employee who brandished a perfume sample at me, and rushed through the cosmetics department like a woman on a mission.

I saw him from a distance.

He was helping a roly-poly, fortyish-looking Hispanic woman try on some shoes. Once I reached his department, I paused and stared at him like he was standing on a stage. Scream-Machine still looked the same. Except the glasses. This time he wore a pair of wire-framed designer glasses.

He didn’t notice me until I stood quietly before him. Crouching to assist his customer, he looked up and the color drained from his face when he saw me. I couldn’t tell if his reaction was “it’s been so long since I’ve seen you,” or a
Fatal Attraction
heads-up.

I clasped my purse close to my hip and waited quietly for Steve to ring up his customer. Kept looking around, but no other shoppers seemed to be in the area.

Once the lady departed, I thought Steve would at least ask, “May I help you?” but I didn’t even get that. Instead of acknowledging me, he disappeared into the stockroom without one word. What? Did Steve think I was coming to Foley’s to stab him with a butcher knife? He didn’t have to worry. If necessary, my way of cutting ties would draw no blood.

I waited and waited. Abandoned like a customer who looked like she had no money.

Spewing “Forget this,” I walked right into the stockroom and got a side view of Steve standing there like he wished he could do that abracadabra stuff, as if that would help. He was muttering quietly and facing a floor-to-ceiling shelf that was crammed with inventory.

“Can somebody help me, please?” I asked.

He jerked and whirled around. Instead of giving me a “Hey, Tracey,” all I got from Steve was a monstrous look.

“What are
you
doing here, Tracey?”

“Looking at shoes,” I said, looking at him.

“If you really want to look at shoes, you can drive to the Foley’s at Sharpstown. Don’t have to come all the way out here.”

My ears bristled and I stepped farther into the room.

“I didn’t want to go to Sharpstown, Steve. You’re not at Sharpstown,” was my soft yet forced reply. Steve groaned so loud I felt his voice penetrate my belly. And just that quick I went from thinking how much I missed his unworthy ass to not believing he was behaving this way. He acted as if we’d never had a relationship, like I was Ms. Who-the-Hell-Are-You? Or maybe the brother was pissed because I never offered to replace his eyeglasses. Yep, that had to be it.

“By the way, how much do I owe you?” I asked, grabbing my checkbook.

“Owe me for what?”

“I was wondering if you wanted me to offer to pay to replace those glasses,” I said, connecting the dots.

“Oh no. I don’t want you to do anything except leave, Tracey. This is my job and you don’t belong here,” he said, shaking his ponytail wildly and pushing his new glasses against his prominent nose.

“Steve, what the heck is wrong with you? You mean to tell me that I’m not even welcome in the shoe department at Foley’s?” When my heart made the connection to those words, I shuddered at how much it hurt even to get that out, like hearing truth is something that’s nothing but a lie.

“Do you understand Black English, Tracey? We’re through.”

“No, we’re
not,
” I said looking at him and hoping he was joking.

“Yes, we
are,
” he said with quiet and calm finality.

Steve isn’t playing. The man who used to want me doesn’t want me anymore. And he’s not going to give me the closure I wish I could have.

While the tension mounted between us, I glanced at Steve’s chest and noticed this solid gold rope I’d given him as a gift a few months ago. I stared at the jewelry and realized that at one time the chain had represented my feelings for him. But now it didn’t look right anymore. In a quick move, I reached out and yanked it, grunted, pulling hard and swift, until the thing snapped off his neck and rested in my burning hands.

“See, that’s what I’m talking about,” he said, scowling and rubbing his neck. “You don’t have it all. I’m calling security.”

I got right under his nose.

“Call security and I’ll make you wish you’d never met me.”

“I already wish that.”

I spat at him, a poisonous liquid that streaked his cheek and spotted the surface of his lenses.

His eyes widened and he clutched a corner of his shirt in his hand and dabbed it across his cheek.

“Dammit, Tracey. You think you’re acting like an insaniac is going to make me fall in love with you again? No man on earth would want your crazy ass.”

As much as I don’t like quitting, there are times when there’s no other choice.

I laid his lifeless chain on a table next to the stockroom’s cash register.

“Look, you don’t have to call security. I’ll leave.”

He looked like he wanted to say something, but changed his mind and simply placed down the receiver.

“Steve, whether you know it or not, it was a good thing that I came out here. I had to see for myself, know in my heart, that I can finally put whatever we had behind us and go on with my life,” I said.

His eyes were red and grimy-looking, and I could see his chest rising up and down.

“Look, Steve. I really didn’t mean to—oh, forget it. I’m gone.”

I ran, not walked, out of that room. Blinded. Scorned. Unaware of what my next move would be. Whereas before the shoe department was empty, it seemed now everybody and their momma had come. I had to rush past a sea of probing faces. I felt so heartbroken, so ashamed. Couldn’t believe my desire for this person had brought me this low. Wasn’t sure I deserved the love of a man anymore. Once I got inside my car, I let out weeks of pent-up tears. Warm, salty, flowing, and long overdue, the tears at last came.

THAT EVENING, AARON AND I MET
at the Golden Corral, as agreed. It’s an all-you-can-eat joint featuring fried and baked meats, all kinds of steaming hot vegetables, breads, garden and pasta salads, and desserts. On any given night the restaurant is packed with seniors, families, and single men and women who want to get their grub on.

Aaron arrived before I did. He lingered in front of the restaurant as I pulled up. After greeting me with a warm smile, he escorted me into the restaurant, paid for our meals, and asked me what I wanted to eat. He made the rounds and returned handing me a plate filled with one large piece of baked chicken, a butterless roll, and a ton of vegetables.

As soon as he got back with his food, I had a revelation for him. “Men are such assholes.”

“Hey,
some
men—”

“No,
all
men are assholes. How’d you think the word ‘asshole’ was created in the first place? I’m telling you, whoever made it up was referring to a man.”

“Tracey, I’m a man,” he replied gently.

“No, you’re not.”

He gave me a come-again look.

“Well, yes, you are . . . oh, you know what I’m trying to say.”

“Yep, I know, but just because things didn’t work out with Steve Monroe doesn’t make all men assholes.”

“Okay, then how about ninety-nine percent?”

“You’re just hurt. You can’t mean that.”

“Who are you to tell me what I mean? Have
you
ever slept with a man?”

“Hell nah,” he said, and leaned back.

“Then you don’t know what being mistreated by one feels like, do you? You don’t know what it’s like to be treated well as long as you’re giving a man what he says he wants, and then when he finds out he can get it from another woman and doesn’t need you anymore, you’re kicked—no, make that buried—up under the freaking curb.”

He sat up and raised his hand. “But, Tracey—”

“And another thing—the fact that that
punk
would try and call security on me, like he can’t defend himself, like I’m some psycho off the street. What? He thinks I have nothing better to do than hang around Foley’s shoe department?”

“Well, you did go off on the man in the past, and he probably didn’t want to take any chances.”

“If he didn’t want to take any chances, the fool never should have gotten into a relationship with me in the first damn place. Shoot, you’re taking chances just going out the house every damn day. You’re taking chances every time you sit your naked booty on somebody’s toilet.”

Aaron reeled back and gave me an odd look, which quickly turned into a warm smile. “Okay, okay. I give up. Apparently, you feel you have a right to be hurt. And I’m sorry things didn’t work out the way you hoped, but maybe it’s time to move on with your life.”

“What life?”

“
Your
life, Ms. Tracey Davenport. Think about it. You were there for Steve, but you didn’t exist for him. Don’t forget, you were breathing before you ever knew homeboy existed.”

Hearing him analyze the situation made me feel uneasy. Maybe I shouldn’t let Aaron see this side of me. I patted my forehead with a cloth napkin and then focused on the food before me. But before I could put the fork in my mouth, Aaron smiled and placed his hand over mine.

“May I tell you what I think? I think you’re much more beautiful than you realize, Tracey. Feisty, sensual, strong yet vulnerable. And even though Steve wasn’t the one, you’re entitled to someone much better,” he said gently. I believed he was sincere because he didn’t customarily pour out the compliments, and it felt good to hear him say that.

Whereas one person’s words can make you feel like dirt, another person’s are like seeds of hope that’s planted within the dirt. With every positive and affirming word that Aaron fed me, I felt my strength return and my worth rise within my soul. I held up my head and adjusted my posture, sitting straight in my seat, and looked in Aaron’s eyes.

“Tracey, I don’t care what Steve Monroe did to you or how he made you feel. Regardless, now’s the time for you to believe you’re a flower, a gem. You
are
. There’s no other woman on earth like you.”

“Please don’t say that,” I said, feeling my posture give way.

“Yes, I will say that. And I won’t stop saying it until I have you believing that you’re a special person. I know this.”

“But I feel
so
stupid. I gave so much, and for what? And this thing with his ex-girlfriend, and how he didn’t defend me. Well, that let me know that maybe things weren’t as solid as I thought they were.” I couldn’t believe that my voice wavered, my emotions unearthing what I wished could stay buried.

“Hmmm! Okay, maybe your judgment was a bit off in that relationship. Everybody makes mistakes, Tracey. Hey, as my mom tells it, you really don’t stop screwing up until you’re in your mid-fifties. So you still have a long way to go, more lessons to learn. But I think you’ll be all right. You’re going to be better than you ever were before.”

I laughed.

“Aaron, listen to the things you’re telling me. Steve hardly ever said uplifting things to me. I wonder why I never noticed that.”

“Probably because you looked at him through rose-colored glasses. The sex was the bomb, so you thought the man was, too.”

I leaned toward Aaron and moved my hands toward his. He shook his head and held me at bay. After a while he began feeding me my vegetables. He scooped them up with a fork and placed them inside my mouth. I ate slowly, making sure I could taste every little fiber.

I made a face, though, when he tried to feed me some of his spinach.

“I don’t do spinach.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” he smiled, and held the fork in midair. I wanted to know what he was implying, yet I didn’t.

“So, Mr. Oliver,” I said, scraping up a forkful of broccoli, rice, and cheese. “What makes you so knowledgeable about women?”

“Hey, I’ve been there and done that.”

“Meaning?”

“I’ve had my share of relationships.”

“How many?”

“I’m sorry, Tracey, but I don’t have a counter on my—”