When He Cheatin' and You Still Love Him (8 page)

I would have respected him more if he had apologized and admitted that he fucked up. Oh, I would have still been mad, but knowing that he was sorry would have at least let me know that he cared. I couldn’t even get a fucking apology from him. Instead he laughed and told me that I was the one that was tripping, as if I had no right to be angry. Whether he knew Kendrick was in the house or not, doesn’t matter. He’s wrong, and there ain’t no way around it.

Just thinking about the fact that Terry got up and got his ass dressed probably not long after I left out for work. Then he walked right past my son’s bedroom and out the door as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Anything could have happened while he was gone. Kendrick could have really been hurt today, and I wouldn’t have known a thing until after the fact. Hell, I could have gone to jail behind this shit. There he was, a six year old that was not only left in the house alone, but covered with vomit and shit as well, due to being sick. All this went on while his mother was away at work.

The police would have locked my black ass up for neglect without a second thought. What would I have been able to tell them, that my boyfriend was supposed to be watching him? We both knew that wouldn’t have flown, because Terry claimed that he didn’t even know that Kendrick was here, so I would have really been up shit creek without a paddle. I can only imagine how the news would have portrayed me. I would have been known as the ‘deadbeat’ mother who thought that going to work was more important than her child. Lord knows I would have died if they had taken my baby away.

All this crying has my already hurt head, pounding and all I want to do is take a nap. I make my way to the bathroom to take a shower. After turning on the water, I start to remove my clothes, but before I can get totally naked my phone rings. I walk back inside my room and see that it’s Terry calling back. Since I have nothing else to say to him, I allow it to ring until my voicemail activates, before I pick it up and power it off. Like I said before, Terry can kiss my ass. We don’t have anything to talk about right now, so there’s no need for him to call. He can treat me like shit all he wants, because I’m grown and I can fend for myself. But I refuse to stand by and let him fuck over my son. Kendrick is my responsibility, and I’ll be damned if I allow another muthafucka to treat him like shit. Terry done fucked up.

After I’m finished with my shower, I get dressed and go down the stairs to check on Kendrick. He has the remote control clutched in one hand, and a saltine cracker in the other. The rest of the pack is scattered below him on the floor. I remove the remote from his hand and cut off the TV. “Teen Titans”
was showing, but no one is watching it because Kendrick is out like a light. Once I’ve cleaned and discarded the spilled crackers, I turn around and just stare at him while he’s sleeping peacefully on the edge of the couch.

I bend down, toss the covers off of his body and pick him up. After carrying him up the stairs and into my room, I lay him in the opposite end of the bed. If Terry decides to show up he can either sleep on the damn couch, or leave and go over one of his bitch’s house. I don’t give a fuck today. All I want is for him to stay the hell out of my face, because with the way I’m feeling, I might just end up in jail after all.

Chapter 9

Terry

It’s been almost a week, and I still haven’t spoken to Shanair. I’ve called a few times, but she has yet to answer a single phone call. Her silence is killing me. I’m not sure if she’s just mad, or if she’s had enough of my bullshit and leaving me for good. The latter is something that I am not willing to deal with. Instead, I’ll give her a few more days to cool down. I knew she was heated; why wouldn’t she be? I had fucked around and left her son in the house by himself for hours. In my defense, I really didn’t know he was there; if I had, I wouldn’t have left him. The mall and getting my haircut could have waited, because honestly the shit is never that serious. I’m just glad that the situation didn’t turn out much worse. 

I checked into a hotel that night because I knew that going home would not be a good idea. I ended up calling up the little hoe Charlotte from the shoe store, and she didn’t hesitate to meet me there. As soon as she walked in the door she attacked me. I can barely get my pants off before she had my dick in her mouth. She’s freaky as hell just like Brittany, but she takes her freakiness to a whole new level. After she finished swallowing my cum, she begged me to stick my dick in her ass. That shit was new to me, so originally I declined. I’ve never even thought about having anal sex before, so I told her she was tripping. Charlotte wasn’t giving up though, and asked over and again until I went on ahead and did it. Surprisingly that shit felt good as fuck. Her ass was a lot tighter than her pussy, so before she left I fucked her a few more times in her dooky hole, while making a mental note to try it with Shanair.

By the second day I figured Shanair would have called and asked me to come home, but of course that shit didn’t happen. That second day came and went so fast, I had to keep checking my phone just to see if something was wrong with it. After making and receiving a few calls, I came to the realization that it wasn’t my phone; it was Shanair that wasn’t calling. I played it cool and waited another day. It was around eleven o’clock that third night when I hopped in my car and decided to do a quick drive by of our house.

Once I turned on our street, I cut my lights off and coasted past real slow, checking to see if anything was going on that I should know about. Now I know that I said that Shanair would never cheat on me, but since she wasn’t begging a nigga to come back home like she usually does, I had to check and see if things were okay. Her ass could’ve left me for good for all I knew. Fuck around and got another nigga. I just wanted to make sure that waiting on a call wasn’t me being played for the okie doke. After seeing that everything was the way it should be, I left the house and headed back to the hotel. As I was driving I got a call from Brittany asking me to come over. Since I didn’t have anywhere else to be, I made my way to her apartment and that is where I’ve been staying since then.

It feels good being able to kick it with Brit without having to sneak around and lie to Shanair about where I was. It kind of makes me feel like I’m single again. Of course I continue to creep past the house every night just to be sure that I’m feeling single, and not actually single. Each time I drive by, the only light on upstairs is our bedroom light and I’m pretty sure that it’s because Kendrick is sleeping in the bed with Shanair. It’s something that he always does whenever we’re into it or I have to take trips out of town. I guess he likes to be up under his mommy. I don’t blame him, because when things are good between Shanair and I, I like to be up under her too.

I’m hoping that this shit blows over soon because I’m ready to take my ass home. I miss my girl and Kendrick like crazy. If Shanair doesn’t call me soon, I’m going to pop up on her ass, and this time it won’t be a drive by. Like I said, it’s fun fucking with Brit but I have to get my ass back home.

Chapter 10

Shanair

It’s a dreary Tuesday morning, and I’m out and about. Thick clouds blanket the sky and there isn’t a ray of sunshine in sight. The weather fits my mood perfectly, because for some reason I don’t feel well. My head seems like it’s floating, my stomach has been doing flip flops, and no matter what I do I haven’t been able to keep anything down. I swear it kind of feels like I’m coming down with the flu, minus the body aches. Whatever it is, I pray that it’s not what Kendrick had. Speaking of Kendrick, he’s a lot better now and even back at school. Thank God, because I don’t know how much more of the throwing up I could take. I’m not sure what kind of virus he had, but whatever it was, it needs to stay the hell away because it was too much to deal with.

Even with me being nauseous, tired, and feeling under the weather, nothing can keep me from my bi-weekly appointment. I pull to a stop and wait for the car in front of me to reverse out of the parking space before maneuvering my truck into the same spot. After killing the engine, I run my hands across my face and mentally prepare myself for what is about to transpire for the next few hours. It’s crazy that even after all this time, I still don’t know what to expect. With my visor pulled down, I fish in my purse and grab my eye drops. I was able to make an appointment to see about my eye two days ago. Come to find out I had a broken blood vessel from Terry’s nail. My doctor gave me some drops and gave me a follow up appointment in two weeks to check on the improvement.

When I’m finished putting the drops into my eye, I open my driver’s side door with my umbrella in hand. The rain isn’t pouring, but it’s coming down bad enough to soak you if you stand in it for too long. Carefully, I step out and extend the umbrella that I’m holding so that it covers my head. Since my appointment to get my braids touched up isn’t for a few more weeks, I’m trying to keep them as decent as possible until then.

After closing my door and hitting the locks with my key pad, I quickly make my way to the entrance of the building. As I walk, water splashes all over my tennis shoes. I curse under my breath when I feel the ankle of my socks get wet, because it wasn’t even drizzling when I left the house almost an hour ago. If it had been, I would have surely grabbed my rain boots and a thicker jacket instead of these Adidas and this thin ass sweater.

“Thank you,” I tell the guy who’s holding the door for me.

“No problem beautiful lady,” he responds with a gold-toothed smile.

He continues to hold the door as I make my way past him and through the threshold, not even bothering to cover the fact that he’s staring at my ass. I sigh and roll my eyes when I see that he still has that goofy ass grin on his face, because I already know that he’s about to get on my damn nerves. I make an about face and I put my weight on the door while I shake my umbrella, and release the latch to pull it down.  

“I got it,” I tell him, wondering why he’s still standing in my face with that same goofball ass grin.

“Take ya time baby girl, take ya time,” he tells me, licking his large lips with his head cocked to the side.

The move lets me know that he thinks he’s sexy, and I’m hoping like hell that he doesn’t try to play his hand, because I really don’t want to be bothered right now. I don’t say anything in response, because I know that if I do, he’ll take that as an invite to keep the conversation going. He’s a cutie, but he’s not my type. I’ve never been a fan of gold toothed, pants sagging, dread headed, unlaced Timberland wearing boys who thought they were grown, and that’s exactly what he his. He looks like he was in his early twenties and after dealing with Terry at the age of twenty-three, I’ve already vowed to never mess with another guy that young. Just thinking of me turning thirty in two years, having a twenty-five year old boyfriend is embarrassing enough.

Once my umbrella is finally down, I give the guy a weak smile and turn to walk away. I only make it a few steps when I hear him clear his throat.

“Yes?” My head whips around and there’s a clear amount of annoyance dripping from my voice. “What can I help you with?”

“Where yo’ man at?” he asks, stepping back into the building.

“At home,” I tell him flatly.

“Baby girl, you don’t need a man who’s at home,” he licks his lips again. “Nah, you need somebody who’s at work right now making money for your pretty chocolate ass to spend.”

“First off, my chocolate ass can make my own money.” I’m now completely turned around, and taking a step back into his direction before I continue. “Second, you can’t possibly be that man who’s at work, because it doesn’t look like you’re on the clock either. So my question is, will you be asking for my number for someone else?”

A frown covers his face and he chuckles nervously.

“Baby girl, I don’t punch no clocks. I’m a muthafuckin’  boss.” I watch him as he pulls a knot of money from his pocket, before he fans it in the air.

“Is that right?” I ask. “What do you do?”

“I’m a businessman.”

“In what kind of business?”

“I do all kinds of work sweetheart,” he tells me, never fully answering my question.

“Exactly what I thought. You can’t even give me a real answer,” I snort. “I got things to do and you’ve wasted enough of my time.

“Damn, well excuse me!” he exclaims with his hands thrown up in surrender.

“You’re excused,” is all I reply before I turn around and make my way to my destination.

I can hear him mumble something behind me, but I ignore him as I continue my stride, laughing to myself at how some men just can’t seem to deal with rejection. As I make my way closer to the front desk, I put my thoughts aside and give the receptionist a smile. Her name is Daisy, and she’s a young black female who has been working at the nursing home since my mother has been admitted.

“Good morning Miss Bishop, how are you?” Daisy asks returning my smile.

“Good morning, I’m alright. A little under the weather, but alright,” I reply. “How is she?”

“She was doing pretty well these last few days.”  Daisy sighs and looks at me sympathetically before she continues. “Then last night she slipped back a little. She went from smiling and knowing who everyone was, to fighting off the guards and telling them to let her go home. The problem was that she didn’t know where home was.” She sighed again. “We tried to call you last night.” 

“I’m sorry. I was so sick I turned off my phone and slept most of the day away,” I told her. “Is she up?”

“Yeah, you can go on back.”

“Will do. Thank you Daisy.”

“You’re welcome.”

As I walk down the hallway, I swallow the lump that’s in the back of my throat. I hate not knowing what to expect when I come for my visits. When I round the corner and enter my mother’s room, I see that’s she sitting up in her bed. Her eyes are glued to the TV that has one of the many court shows playing. Once she notices that I’m standing there, she grins and motions for me to come in.

“Hey baby, how are you doing?” my mother asks. She uses the remote on the tray beside her bed to mute the television, before giving me her attention once again.

“I’m doing okay, how are you momma?” I smile, glad that she recognizes me.

“Momma?” She runs her hand through her unkempt afro and shakes her head. “Girl, I’m too young to be somebody’s momma. You must have me mistaken sweetheart.” When those words leave her lips my smile drops, because I know that she has no clue know who I am. “Aren’t you Loretta’s kid?” she asks referring to our old next door neighbor. Mrs. Loretta had four daughters, one of which my mother believes I am. “Where is she anyway?”

Not wanting to confuse her further, I play along.

“She was busy Lola, so she sent me instead. I came to braid your hair.”

“Oh…okay.” She looks around nervously before leaning closer. “Do you think when you’re finished you can get me out of this damn hospital? I don’t know exactly how I got here, but they are holding me against my will.”

“I’ll see what I can do momma—I mean Lola,” I correct myself. “Come sit over here and let me get started.”

I grab the chair from the corner and slide it closer to her bed. After helping her to sit down, I open up my purse and remove all the items that I need to get the job done.

“Please do, because I don’t like this place,” she tells me, adjusting the small blanket on her lap. “I’m sorry. I didn’t get your name dear.”

“It’s Shanair,” I reply.

“Shanair huh? Loretta sho knew how to name her babies some pretty names.” My mother smiles, “Shanair…I like that, I like that a lot.”

I watch as she once again aims the remote at the TV, and unmutes it. She goes back to watching her show, while I begin to part her thick gray hair.

My mother, Viola Washington, who is also known as Lola suffers from Alzheimer’s. Her illness was first diagnosed right before I got pregnant with Kendrick, but it didn’t get bad until about three years ago. In the beginning, she was able to take care of herself and Kendrick with no problems. Other than the occasional memory loss, everything was cool. I didn’t think much of it until things started to get a little weird. I would stop by the house and it would be a mess. Plates of food would be scattered all over the floor, and the house would look a mess. When I would ask her about it, she would only tell me that cleaning up the house must have slipped her mind. Since my mother was a perfectionist, that was weird to me. Soon after that, I noticed that things of that fashion begin to happen more often than not.

I continued to try to ignore the obvious, until I could no longer turn a blind eye to it. Once day I was at work when I received a phone call from the police station, telling me that they had my mother. Fearing the worse I rushed there, only to find out that they had picked her up when they found her wandering aimlessly down the street looking for her house. After asking who she was and not getting a good enough answer, they found my name and number on her medical alert bracelet and called me. I remember asking about my son, and only receiving confused glances because they had no clue that she had him at the time.

With two squad cars leading the way, we made it to her house in record time, only to find Kendrick sitting on the couch watching cartoons. Since there was no one to watch him, he had gotten into all of the snacks that were in the cabinet, and there were wrappers scattered all over the floor. That day I freaked out because I realized that allowing what I knew was coming, slide, I could have put both my son and mother in a dangerous situation. I ended up locking up my mother’s house and bringing them both back to my apartment with me. That only lasted a few days, because once I went to work my mother left and ended up getting lost again. Once that happened, her doctor admitted her to the nursing home and she’s been there ever since.  

I hate that this disease is affecting my mom the way it is, and it saddens me that there is still no cure. Some days when I come and see her she thinks I’m someone else, like right now; while others, she doesn’t know who I am. On days like that she’ll kick me out her room, and tell me never to come back. I’ll leave in tears, but I always return. I don’t care how many times I’m forced out the door, I’ll always come back. If my mother is here, then I’m here. It’s not all bad though, because sometimes she actually remembers me. When she does, we’ll laugh and talk about old times. She’ll bring up the funny things I did when I was little, and compare those things to Kendrick. It hurts my heart that I can’t bring him up to see his grandmother, because I’m afraid of how she’ll react. I can’t have him seeing her when she’s panicky and flipping out, because I know that he’ll panic too. 

When I finish with the last braid of her bun, I hold the small compact mirror in front of her face and allow her to see herself. Even at the age of fifty-four, my mother is still very attractive. There are a few small age wrinkles around her eyes and lips, but not enough to take away from her beauty.  Her deep brown eyes are piercing, and when she smiles it takes me back to much happier times. People have always told me that we could be twins, because other than our different skin tones—she’s a few shades lighter than I am—we look just alike.

After praising me for a job well done and even offering to pay me, we watch a few shows together and I leave. I kiss her on her forehead and let her know that I’ll be back in two weeks, and she tells me bring Loretta with me the next time. As I walk out of the door I let her know that I love her, but only loud enough for me to hear because I don’t want to freak her out.