“I ain’t gave him no fruit,” I lied.
“Mmhmm,” she hummed skeptically.
I laughed. “Anyway, I’ll see y’all later.”
“Okay. Oh! How are your parents doing?”
I’d reached for the doorknob, my hand lingering there as I replied, “Good. Still arguing and stuff. You know,” without turning around.
“I do. Well, tell them I said hi.”
“I will. Uh…your mom?”
“She’s great, still loving her new place.”
“That’s good. Tell her I said what’s up.”
“Will do.”
“A’ight, uh…later.”
“Later, Ford.”
Krystle
After my ex-husband left, I did what I always did on those occasions. I stood in the middle of my living room fighting thoughts of how cute he looked in his usual daily uniform—a hockey jersey and shorts—and mentally reminded myself that the divorce was the best thing for us, that I’d made the right decision by ending our marriage. I told myself it was reasonable that I still had feelings for him, that I still cared about him. After all, I’d known him since we were kids. He was a big part of my life for a long time. You can’t just erase a connection like that, but none of that meant the divorce was wrong. It was right. I was sure of it.
As usual, I was eventually able to unglue myself from my living room floor and double check the locks on my door. Next, I turned the living room lights off, moving to the kitchen to do the same. After peeking in on LaDarius, I headed to my bedroom, lying across my bed to check the Nubian Love app, smiling when I saw a few guys had left me messages.
BlkKang069: Grand rising, my Kemetic source of salvation. You are a very beautiful Black queen goddess Mother Earth light. I hope you can over, inner, and outerstand this greeting. I believe we—
That was as far as I got with that one because HELL no.
I moved on to the second one.
BigTrigga2000: Yo you find as hail for a dark skin female woman. Is that yo hair? I can tell from yo pic that you getting that bag but I hope you don’t let that bag get you. Hit me back so I can hit it from the back. I got a long-ass tung.
And HELL no again.
HighValueSonOfKS: Hey, I am the host of the Alpha Males with Passport Cards Podcast. I just wanna say that you cute and everything but you need to know off top that if you don’t submit to me, you ain’t my type. Yeah, I work third shift at Wendy’s but that don’t mean I take back talk from females. If you want a real man, call me at 555-555-9008 after nine when my mama is sleep because I ain’t finna take you disrespecting my mama.
Hell FUCKING no.
KanyeFan2222: First of all, what do you bring to the table?
Fuck it.
Sighing, I fought not to throw my phone across the room and asked myself why I let my friend, Destiny, talk me into making a profile on this app. This shit was beyond sad.
Groaning, I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling until I found the energy to lift from the bed. I needed to shower and go to sleep. I had work in the morning.
Two
Ford
Eighteen years ago…
I was the youngest of six kids and what people in my hometown called a “change” baby, meaning my mom got pregnant with me when she was going through menopause. My parents, Son and Inez Ford, were both fifty-two when I was born, which meant now that I was twelve, they were both sixty-four, the age of most of my classmates’ grandparents. My older siblings were in their thirties and forties, so life for me was…different. It was also good, since I was everybody in my family’s baby and my siblings were always buying me stuff.
“Bean, come help me shell these peas!” my mom shouted through the open screen door. She was sitting in an old wooden kitchen chair she kept on the front porch.
I wanted to protest because it was a Saturday and I would’ve rather played games in my room, but instead, I said, “Yes, ma’am,” and shuffled out the front door.
“Here,” she said, handing me a bowl full of black-eyed pea pods. Sighing inaudibly—since I didn’t want to have to pick a switch—I took the bowl and descended the front steps, dropping onto the floor of the porch. I sat the bowl next to me and started shelling the peas in the hot, early September, Texas sun, my eyes fixed on my boy, Blake’s, house across the road from mine, soon shifting to our latest stray dog lying in the front yard with his head resting on his front paws. He was a mutt we’d actually given a name—Pooch. I figured it would only be a matter of time before Pooch moved on. They always did but usually hung around for months because my mom would feed them. My pops hated when she did that.
As me and my mom worked, the only sound providing us company was loud TV noises streaming through the closed screen door. My pops was watching a western, as usual.
When my mama yelled, “Hey, there! Come here, sugar!” I almost jumped from my seat. Pooch was startled, too, standing and letting out a tiny bark.
Looking up, I saw who she was talking to and rolled my eyes. It was Krystle, me and Blake’s third wheel. His mom made her hang with us all the time! She was so dang annoying!
In her yellow shorts and a Teen Titans t-shirt, she crossed the road, her white flip-flops slapping against the bottoms of her feet. Stopping at the foot of our front steps, she said, “Yes, ma’am?” while actively ignoring me.
Whatever.
“Tell your mama that we taking the RV to the blues fest next weekend. She welcome to ride with us if your daddy gon’ still be on the rig. I know she ain’t gon’ want to go if he’s home,” my mom said.
“Okay,” Krystle replied, sounding all sweet and polite.
Fake self.
“And let her know she can bring you and your brother. It’s plenty of room, and Bean’ll be with us,” my mom continued.
I groaned when I saw Krystle glance at me before saying, “Yes, ma’am…I’ll be sure to tell her.”
“Inez! Your phone in here ringing!” my pops bellowed from inside the house.
“All right!” Mama yelled back, lifting from her seat with a grunt. “Here I come!” Lowering her voice, she directed her next words to me. “Keep working, Bean. Be right back.”
Then it was me and my nemesis.
“You do look like a bean,” she sassed as if it was her first time hearing my mama call me that.
“And you look like a chicken,” I rebutted.
“Why are you so stupid?”
“Why you so ugly?”
She gave me her middle finger, the right one.
“Where’s Blake?” I asked, dropping my eyes back to the bowl of peas.
Plopping down on the porch on the other side of the bowl, she grabbed a pod, opening it and allowing its contents to drop into the container. “He’s on punishment…again.”
I frowned, lifting my gaze in time to see her shake her head. “Dang, what he do?” I asked. And why’d he do it without me? I wondered silently.
“He snuck out the house last night to smoke, and Mama caught him. Daddy gon’ tear him up when he gets home. When y’all start smoking?”
“I don’t smoke!” I protested. “I mean…I tried. Didn’t like it. I ain’t know he was still doing it.”