Carmen Page 13

  “Whew.”

  Carmen looked cute. In a black knee-length dress, denim jacket and Gucci ballerina flats, she was comfortable and ready to enjoy herself tonight.

  On the drive over, Porter reassured her that everybody missed her, and it wouldn’t be awkward.

  “We family, you know that.”

  It didn’t feel that way though. Hopefully as time progressed through the night things would pan out.

  Carmen washed her hands and saw that there weren’t any napkins left in the bathroom, so she walked out and went into the kitchen for a paper towel. Demi and Nia were present.

  “Hey honeyyyy,” Demi spotted Carmen first and greeted her with a genuine smile.

  Nia turned around and there was a nervous look on her face. She didn’t know what to say so she waved. Standing near the refrigerator as if it was her security for the night.

  Their friendship hit a road block when Carmen went away. Nia failed her and she knew it.

  Demi walked over to her and gave her a warm hug which Carmen returned, tightly.

  She dried her hands and then cleared her throat, uneasily.

  “I’m going to take the ketchup in there. These people are starving,” she said in an attempt to give them some space.

  Tia was headed into the kitchen and Demi told her, “Wait a second. They’re talking.”

  She didn’t know who “they” were, but she turned back around.

  “How does it feel to be home?” Nia questioned.

  Carmen shrugged her shoulders, “I’m looking for a place now.”

  Emotions were at an all-time high yet neither knew how to move from this place.

  Seconds later.

  Simultaneously, they spoke.

  “Nia…”

  “Carmen…”

  They laughed.

  “You can talk,” Carmen gave her the floor.

  Nia took a deep breath, “I can admit that I got busy. Well, I’m always busy. It’s not enough hours in a day and every time I said I was going to call, text or even pop up on you, I didn’t.”

  It wasn’t an excuse; it was the truth. Nia would argue that.

  Excuses were tools of incompetence and those that excelled in them usually excelled in nothing.

  Nia Hudson was a mother fucking boss and she didn’t operate in excuses nor did she allow her children too. Or the people who worked with and for her. Carmen didn’t want to hear an excuse and that’s exactly what it was.

  “I wouldn’t have done that to you. If the shoe was on the other foot I would’ve been there. No questions asked. No need to worry about my schedule or what I had to do. In fact, I wouldn’t even have had to pick up the phone and call you because I would have been there. You would’ve never hopped on a plane.” It wasn’t hard to figure out if someone really fucked with you. Carmen could tell you easily what real friends did.

  Nia watched her leave and she never stopped her.

  Friendship hurt was on a different level. It hurt more than a nigga breaking your heart. Most times, women were closer to their friends than their men.

  Carmen felt an incredible heap of pain behind her “Friends” actions. She witnessed with her own two eyes what people would do when you stopped being the bigger person. When you weren’t the one always saying hello.

  And boy, did it fucking hurt.

  Nia pursed her lips together.

  Again, she was Nia Hudson. She was human yet; her feelings didn’t hurt often.

  People didn’t call her out on her shit.

  Not hardly.

  She was speechless.

  Carmen called her out.

  “You’re right,” she finally said something.

  “Thanks for the party though, it’s nice.”

  Carmen was ready to go home. She didn’t have an appetite, nor did she feel like kee-keing with folks. And where was Narie? These were really Casey’s friends who welcomed her in as his little sister.

  The little sister whose crazy ass husband shot her seven times.

  Casey was in rehab so what was she really doing here?

  Again, the devil had gotten the best of her.

  Porter watched her walk out of the front door, wondering how was she going to get home. He went behind her, “Carm!”

  “Wait up,” he shouted.

  She was too busy trying to call an Uber so she could get the hell out of there.

  “Why are you leaving your own party?” he asked her.

  She spun around on her flats, “Party for what?” she had tears streaming down her face.

  What was the party for? She desperately wanted to know.

  “Y’all are some of the emptiest people I’ve ever come into contact with. Your souls are empty. Hearts are full but your spirits are hollow. What is the party for? Please tell me. My mother died and not ONCE did anyone call me to see how I was doing. After the funeral, I heard from not one mother fucker in there--

  Tia walked out of the house after hearing someone shouting over the semi-loud music.

  “Carmen, honey come in.”

  She shook her head, “I was there for everybody. I’m always there and not one person. Not one,” she cried.

  No one knew how abandonment felt.

  On plenty of nights, she would type their names in on Google to pull their Instagram pages up and they were living their lives.

  Pity.

  Carmen wasn’t looking for that.

  Sympathy.

  Yes, she needed it.

  Concern.

  It would’ve been nice.

  A phone call.

  That could’ve made a huge difference in the present moment and maybe she would’ve received the welcome home party a little better.

  “Y’all showed me the meaning of friendship, and if this is what a tribe looks like I don’t want no parts.” She was done with the conversation and they could all leave her the hell alone.

  Porter was stumped.

  He’d been trying to make her feel better since she came back and nothing wasn’t working. But the thing was, he wasn’t listening to her.

  Carmen was right.

  They all knew it too.

  Everyone stood in the doorway, watching as she walked towards her UBER and hauled off.

  When they made it back to the “party,” East was making a plate loaded with everything his wife ordered. He did his own thing so as they talked, he didn’t say anything. In fact, he was barely listening. His air pods were in.

  Jordyn said, “I know how she feels.”

  They all collectively agreed.

  “She’s punishing us though.”

  Porter was defeated at this point.

  “I even apologized,” Nia told them.

  Jordyn asked, “Did you mean it though?”

  Nia pursed her lips together, “Look, don’t start with me, tonight.” She wasn’t playing with this hoe. Now was not the time.

  “Start with you how? I’m asking were you being genuine, or did you just try to smooth over the situation like you always do?” It was a serious question.

  Jordyn was an ass, but she was an educated ass. She reads often and kind of…knows what she’s speaking of.

  East, who really rather make his plate and retreat to the basement was curious to know his wife’s answer.

  He looked over his shoulder, watching her process being put on the spot and shook his head.

  Porter noticed the exchange.

  East left the room without saying a word.

  Nia said, “Let’s eat, it’s plenty of champagne.”

  She changed the subject.

  Typical Nia.

  Jordyn chuckled, “I’m about to go.”

  “Great. Goodnight!” Nia was on the verge of losing it.

  “What the hell is your problem?” Jordyn snapped.

  Demi stood up and attempted to diffuse the situation, “Alright ladies. Let’s all relax.”

  Porter headed out. His wife wasn’t with him, so it was no point of him hanging around. He
called Carmen’s phone twice on his way home and she never picked up.

  Back at the Huffington’s residence, Nia saw everyone out and Demi was the last to leave.

  “Love you, get home safe. Thanks for your help tonight.”

  Demi didn’t need the praise, “Anytime. You and Jordyn need to talk. Y’all both are struggling to refrain from saying something that y’all will regret. Nip it in the bud before it even gets there,” she suggested.

  Nia wasn’t stunting Jordyn’s ass was right now.

  “Yeah, okay.”

  She didn’t mind cleaning up. The housekeeper would be back in the morning. After locking the house down, she showered and slipped right into the bed.

  Hours later, her husband joined her and asked her, “Are you still up?”

  She mumbled, “Yeah. I’m thinking.”

  “Can we talk?”

  Therapy made you vulnerable. Therapy opened you up. Therapy made you feel like…anything was fixable. At least, that’s how their therapist, Dr. Mighty-Moore made them feel.

  “Yes babe, of course.”

  “Jordyn was right. I agree with her and it’s something that you should talk to Doc about.”

  Nia rolled her eyes and he couldn’t see her doing so because the room was dark as shit.

  “What’s wrong with me avoiding conflict?” she would love to know because everyone wasn’t built for combat. It wasn’t her thing. She personally, didn’t feel the need to have to always be ready for war, on edge or defensive twenty-four seven.

  “It’s not real.”

  Eastland then followed his response up with, “You’re not being real with yourself or the people around you.”

  Nia didn’t agree with him.

  “If you say so. I had a long day and an even longer night that clearly was a waste of time and money so I’m about to go to sleep. Love you,” she reached over and gave him a sorry ass kiss before rolling on her side of the bed.

  East didn’t stay in bed for too many more minutes after that.

  She breathed out loudly once he closed the door behind him.

  Hours later, it wasn’t possible for her to return to sleep. She flung the covers back and got out of the bed.

  He was a writer now. He wrote how he felt, it was attractive to her.

  Finding him in her office with a cup of tea, a blunt, and his leather-bound journal made her insides quake, but she held onto her composure and calmed her hormones.

  “East, I feel like I’m always altering who I am.”

  She lived her life under a microscope. For goodness sake, she was on daytime television five days a week.

  “I apologized. I don’t know; what more am I supposed to do?”

  “Mean it baby. You lack compassion,” he admitted to his wife.

  East would never steer her wrong. He always wanted the best for her.

  Nia was his reflection and if her man couldn’t keep it one hundred with her at all times then who could?

  “Really?” she shrieked.

  He placed his pen down and motioned for her to come closer.

  “If you were in her shoes, honestly…how would you feel?”

  That’s all he was trying to get her to see.

  Across town, Carmen spent the rest of the night praying. She had to stay focused and calm. The minute she overreacted or felt as if she was getting overwhelmed she would run. She didn’t want to do that, so she had to stay prayed up.

  Her throat dried and her lips chapped, that’s when she ceased.

  “In Jesus name, I pray. Amen.”

  She wiped her tears and settled her spirit.

  Tomorrow, she was going to face her fears and stop by to see her kid.

  It had been a year since she’d seen him. Her expectations weren’t high at all on how he would react to her. She could only pray that he was open to working on their relationship. Carmen used to imagine herself as a mother with a house full minus her sorry ass ex-husband. But, if she couldn’t resolve the issues she had with her first born there was no way in the world she would bring forth another baby into the world.

  η

  “Have you guys spoken about remaining cordial after divorce?”

  The conversation came way too soon. In fact, it wasn’t a conversation that she felt the need to have…ever. Especially, not with her mother in law. For goodness sake.

  Carmen looked at her sleeping baby.

  She was a new mom and was told by every other mommy that she was supposed to sleep when the baby slept. However, with her in-laws living practically right around the corner, it was likely that she never got the chance to do so.

  Her mother in law had a key that was given to her by her son. Carmen’s input wasn’t requested, and she’d never had the balls to ask her husband why did he give his parents a key to their home.

  She was taken back by the question and it showed. Her eyes fluttered to the carpet after checking on her son.

  “Why would we be discussing divorce?” she questioned.

  His mom laughed heartily, “Do you think y’all are going to be together…Forever? That rarely happens these days.”

  She wondered why would she say that to her being that she was in a loving marriage. What mom didn’t want the best for her son?

  “When you’re dedicated and committed to making a marriage work then it is possible, no matter what happens these days,” Carmen added the latter, sarcastically.

  True enough, she wasn’t madly in love with her man. She didn’t think she was even madly in love with herself, which was where the problem started. But divorce? It wasn’t a possibility right now. She was happy. She supposed.

  Honestly, she didn’t know. Carmen didn’t know shit.

  She felt as if her mind was trapped in a daze.

  “Girl please. If you guys make it to Kniko’s fifth birthday I will be shocked.”

  And boy, had the joke always been on her mother in law…

  She nervously tapped the door since the doorbell was broken. It’d been broke since she met her husband.

  “Who is it?” a frail voice greeted her from behind an oak door.

  She cleared her throat, “Carmen…it’s Carm.”

  This was harder than identifying her mother’s body at the coroner’s office.

  “Carmen?”

  Her mother in law made the inside of her ass itch.

  She never liked her, and the feeling was mutual.

  “Yes.”

  She wasn’t saying shit else until she opened the door and let her in.

  “Girl, what do you want? Coming by here…”

  She had some nerve.

  “I came to see Kniko.”

  This was going to be as difficult as she assumed it would be.

  “For what?”

  They were really having a conversation on two sides of a door.

  “Ms. Debra, can you please let me in?”

  If she had to beg, she would.

  “No, I can’t. Kniko isn’t here and even if he was I’m sure he doesn’t want to see his estranged mother.”

  Estranged?

  The word probably could be associated with her role as a mom. However, it still stung.

  “When can I come back?” she didn’t want to argue with her.

  The power was in her hands in this moment.

  “Never. My son is rotting in a damn jail cell because of your conniving ass. Now get off my porch before I call the police.”

  Now, Carmen was brewing. She wanted to knock the door down and kick that old lady’s ass.

  She didn’t provoke Keiter to shoot her. She simply told him that she was fed up and was finally going to leave him. She didn’t deserve to be shot for making a personal decision.

  It wasn’t fair and the mother fucker got what he deserved. Period.

  Nine

  Won’t gain no empathy from me. Don’t check on me – Justin Bieber

  He didn’t want to “polish his image,” he was unbothered by the disgusting looks coming from Ju
ice and his posse. He thought he was fly and honestly, he wasn’t even that nigga. Neezy stayed low. He didn’t need the diamonds and was not caught up in the hype of what would possibly come from the fame. He was a humble cat. But, what he was not about to do was conform to what was popping in today’s society.

  “You’re not understanding where we’re coming from and you’re not trying to either. That’s what has me frustrated.”

  Juice was at his wits end.

  They’d been preparing for this moment for a year. Neezy was being difficult.

  His team had brought in several different looks. Visuals and mood boards galore covered Juice’s office place and not one had appealed to Neezy. He shook his head every time they lifted up a poster to show him.

  “I’m a rapper, why do I have to wear this shit?”

  The outfits they’d showed him were stuffy and shiny. He didn’t want to wear leather pants and a biker vest with military boots. That wasn’t his style.

  Juice shook his head, “You’re more than another fucking rapper but what I can’t make you see is this vision. You gotta see it yourself.”

  He sighed, “Look man, where do you see yourself in five years? Still just hitting the booth?”

  He posed the question for him to really think about what the hell he wanted to do with his career.

  “I don’t waste my time, energy or efforts on just…rappers. I create superstars. Moguls. Businessmen. You can’t and won’t rap forever.”

  One of his interns added his unsolicited opinion, “Hey you know what they say, it’s a new weirdo every week.”

  Juice laughed while nodding his head, “Facts. Youngin’.”

  He wasn’t as old as he acted.

  Neezy took a deep breath, “Alright. But bring me the best. If I’m going to switch it up. I want it to be worth it.”

  He refused to look like a clown. His name meant everything to him. He had to stay true to himself.

  “Alright, Alright. I got someone in mind. I’m waiting on Porter to make it happen for me. In the meantime, you have an interview in a few days with The Breakfast Klub.”

  He shook his head, “No interviews.”

  Everyone gasped. Interviews were mandatory. They were trying to build his image.

  “Dawg, you are killing me,” Juice groaned.

  Nehemiah couldn’t compromise on everything, “Y’all want me to wear MC Hammer pants anddddddd be asked a million questions?”