He never ceased to amaze me.
Pissed, I slammed my Iphone 5s on the counter and immediately regretted it. My insurance wasn't going to cover me for another replacement phone.
Demarcus's temper had been the reason I'd replaced the last two after he crushed one under the car tire and threw another out of the front door. I rotated the phone between my French-manicured hands, inspecting the screen to make sure I hadn't added another Nick or ding to the neon pink casing. I could feel myself getting worked up. Demarcus knew I had to be at work in four hours, he knew I had contracts to review, clients to meet, and a shitload of housework on top of all that. All I ever asked was that the nigga come home when he said he would.
Trey moaned and tossed on the couch in the living room. I walked over placed my cheek against his forehead, feeling a little bit of relief. He wasn't as hot as he'd felt earlier; maybe his fever was finally breaking. Bad enough I had to leave work early to pick him up from day-care, I couldn't afford not to go in in the morning. He hadn't been keeping food down at all and the daycare was certain it was a flu virus. Those daycare heffas were so quick to diagnose a child and send him home. But for all I knew my baby really could have the flu, and you would think his daddy would be a little more concerned. I hefted Trey up into my arms and carried him into his bedroom. My baby was getting so tall and lanky, big for a two-year-old. My cell phone rang from the other room just as I'd tucked the cover under his chin.
"Damn. Lissa, you watchin' this shit on TV? They runnin' a Love & Hip Hop marathon. Mama Dee ass need to stop treating Scrappy like a li'l ass boy" Larissa was talking a mile a minute, leaving me no room to respond. "Girl, and don't get me started on Mimi strong ass hanging from shower rods like a damn monkey-"
"Hi, Ris, I'm good. How are you and how did you know I was still awake?" That's how you had to do when Larissa was on one of her tirades. If I didn't interrupt she'd give me the rundown of the whole damn episode, scene by scene.
"Girl, I'm sorry. You know how my ass is when somethin' good is on. I knew you'd be up, 'cause I know you. How was your day today, sweetie?"
"Trey got sick at daycare and, as much as I didn't want to, I had no choice but to go see 'Heman-Shebitch' and tell him I needed the rest of the day off." I sighed heavily into the phone. Heman-Shebitch was the name I'd given Kenny Soloman, the regional manager of the bank I worked for and the only person hell-bent against me becoming VP of the mortgage group. He had the whole exotic mail-order wife, picture-perfect marriage, and fake-ass persona thing down pack. He was one of those identify-confused black men who simply had a hard time dealing with an intelligent and self assured black woman. His life's purpose was to point out to the entire senior management staff the fact that I was a twenty-four-year-old unwed black woman with a child and a hood-ass baby daddy.
"Oh hell. Not his bitch ass! Lissa, promise when you get in charge ya first order of business is gonna be to fire his whack, no-life-havin' self. He jus' mad he gotta look at yo fine ass ereday knowin' he ain' got the equipment to put it down!"
We laughed. Ris was always good at making me smile. "Um... so where da hell is yo' baby daddy?"
You could cut the sarcasm with a knife. She knee where Demarcus was, or what I should say is that she knew where Demarcus claimed to be.
"Same as last night and the night before, Ris. He's working." I didn't sound convincing, not even to my own ears. I'd been trying to give Demarcus the benefit of the doubt, but he was making it next to impossible for me to believe he wasn't out doing dirt.
"Okay, Melissa. So that's the game we playin' right now huh?
Otha than the afta-hours spot, there ain' a damn club in Virginia that stays open past two-thirty. I say we go find his ho ass!"
"No, momma. It's okay. Trey's fever broke and I need to try to get some kind of sleep so I can review this contact with these clients tomorrow. I'm just tired, Ris. I'm getting so tired." My voice caught in my throat and the line beeped with an incoming call. It was Demmarcus.
"Let me call you in the morning okay?" I rushed Risk off the line, anxious to see what excuse he was calling to give. That seemed to be my life these days. Wait for De to call, wait for De to come home, wait for De to fuck up so I could catch him in a lie; I was always waiting for Demarcus.
This was far from the life I grew up with. My momma came home from work every day and cooked dinner for my father, who in who in return brought his ass home every day at a reasonable time so we could all sit and have a meal as a family. My parents had what I liked to consider the real American Dream. They'd been married for nearly thirty years and were still each others best friend. As far as they knew, me and Demarcus were perfectly happy together. I couldn't bring myself to tell them I spent most of my time miserable and in doubt. I closed my eyes and silently prayed for strength. I slid my finger across "accept" button.
"Yes, Demarcus?" I waited but could only hear background noise. He was talking to someone and it was hard to make out his words over the background noise. "Rashad, hello?" No response. This nigga had actually "butt-dialed" me. Somehow his phone was in the back pocket, and since I was probably the last number in his call log, when he sat down the phone dialed my number back.
It felt wrong, almost stalker-ish to eavesdrop on his conversation, but I couldn't bring myself to press the end button. I could tell from the bumps every three or four seconds that he was driving. The radio was low and garbled and I still couldn't hear who he was talking to or what he was saying. I placed the phone on speaker and carried it with me into the bedroom as I tied my hair and got ready for bed. I'd listened to nearly twenty minutes of garbled noise and was debating on hanging up. Silently I dared him to give me solid proof. Let me hear him working or let me hear him doing dirt, either way I'd hear it with my own ears.
I turned off the lights and laid the phone on the pillow beside me, still on speaker, and closed my eyes. Why, God, was this man putting me through this? Every night he goes to work and he's doing Lord knows what and I sit here and wait on him to decide if, or when, he wants to come home. Frustration was becoming a very familiar feeling these days.
I'd actually started getting used to the unidentifiable white noise when the phone was suddenly quite. Turning off the speaker phone I turned the volume as far up as it could go, and pressed the phone so hard to my ear that it started burning. I could hear his voice clearly now. He was ordering food or something. My hands started shaking and I could feel my insides starting to boil. Every damn night I came home from work and, tired or not, I cooked for his ass. Chicken Parmesan, you name it. I couldn't believe he had the nerve to eat out somewhere knowing I was keeping a plate warm for him.
I sat up in the bed and stared blankly ahead. I couldn't help feeling as though the shadows of our darkened bedroom somehow were laughing at the fool this man was making me out to be. Narrowing my eyes, I listened even more closely to Demarcus as he asked someone a question. A woman answered. She sounded young. a waitress or a drive-thru chick maybe? She was laughing, saying something back to him. My blood ran cold as ice and my grip on the phone was so tight my fingers had gone numb. My heart tap-danced in my chest at a mile a minute as I listened and waited. The fabric of his pants rubbed back and forth across the speaker, indicating that he was walking. A loud thud followed, as he got into what I suspected was his car. The phone went silent as my piece of shit iphone 5 lost its signal, making me curse out loud.
I didn't bother calling Demarcus back, or fighting the tears that were slowly burning trails down my cheeks.
