Heard It All Before (31 page)

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Authors: Michele Grant

BOOK: Heard It All Before
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“That's not true. You take that back!”
“Which part's untrue?” I really hated having to call her ass on shit like this, but she never wanted to admit when her ass was wrong.
“All of it!”
“Oh, you like rolling through the hood now? Just hanging out when you're not on your way to or from my crib?”
“Well, no.”
“And you feel real comfy walking down the street?”
“I don't feel ‘comfy' walking over
here,
player.”
“And you wouldn't mind packing your shit up and moving into my place?”
“Now, I do have a mortgage to pay over here. Makes more sense to—”
“Yeah, right. And how many inner-city black clients have you added on?”
“Dammit, Roman.”
“Dammit Roman what? For someone all gung ho on truth and trust and honesty, you sure don't wanna face facts. Tell me, Miss Jewel, did it ever cross you mind that I ain't exactly enamored of this bougey side of town? The fact that a lot of the other brothers I see are valet parking or pumping gas over this way? So progressive. How every time I run down to the Seven-Eleven to grab something, the li'l ole woman behind the counter keeps her finger near the security button? That lovely way these Northside cops have of following me down your street 'bout once a week? Did you think any of that?”
“You get that anywhere in the nation, Roman!”
“You think so? I don't. I think you get it more in the white neighborhoods than in those that are at least attempting a little integration.” I was good and fired up now.
“Why are we on this? What's this got to do with us?”
I sighed. “Well, let me tell you—it all comes down to this. You keep saying that where I come from doesn't matter. But it does. It's part of who I am and who I want to be. If you're thinking that one day I'm just gonna give in, chuck my house, and come over here with White Boy Roy living all up in my face, you wrong. That ain't who I am. So maybe you oughta rethink who and what it is you want around here. You keep asking about the future; did you stop to think of how we gonna live, where, and why?” I took the oven mitt off my hand and started looking for my keys.
“Roman, don't go. Not like this ...”
“I gotta go. I can't stay ... not like this. And while you're thinking about this, I gotta son to think 'bout. My child. His mama comes from the hood too. So it's part of who he is. You want me, he comes with me. I can't have him getting mixed signals 'bout what it is to be a black man nowadays. You understand what I'm trying to say?”
I continued. “Listen, babe, if you really buy in to the theory that the world you are comfortable with is the only way to live and that way is somehow better than my way, then maybe you
should
be with Tricky Rick.”
“Roman!”
“What? I'm giving you your options. You know what I'm about. I'm tired of justifying my shit. This is who I am. A little bit uptown, a little bit downtown. I don't have to be one or the other, and I'm not trying to getting locked down into that whole buppiefied mentality. Where to shop, where to eat, how to speak, what to drive. You hear what I'm saying?”
She was nodding when the back door flew open, and Stacie came running in. “I'm getting out of here. I just can't deal with this now.” She picked up her purse and was out the front door in a flash.
Tricky Rick was standing in the hallway looking at Jewellen. I had to give the man an A for effort, persistence, and out-and-out balls. I picked up my keys and headed to the front door myself. Miss Jewel followed me. She stood in the doorway, and Patrick was about six steps behind. Rising up out of there and leaving my baby, my
heart
, standing there with him was the toughest thing I'd done in a long time. I grinned a grin I really didn't feel. “Hey, like that Prince song says, ‘Do you want him? Or do you want me? 'Cause I want you.' It's just that simple.” I started down the driveway.
“Roman, I know what I want—I love you,” she said.
“Like I said once before, I wish you knew why. You let me know when you're sure.”
“Are you ... are you coming back?” she asked, tears glistening in her eyes.
Swear to God, this was the hardest thing I ever had to do. “Not until you convince me you know what you want ... who you want ... and why.”
I heard her last words as I climbed into the Pathfinder. “I can't believe you're really leaving.”
I couldn't believe it either. But that didn't stop me from closing the door, starting the engine, and driving away.
31
Mother Knows Best
Jewel—Monday, March 27, 8:43 p.m.
 
 
“I
can't believe you're still at the office, Jewellen Rose.”
I reached back to rub my neck. “I know, Mom, but I've got to get this last thing done. Then I'll go home.” Of course, home was a pretty empty place to be right about now, but I wasn't admitting
that
. What would I be going home to? My spices were alphabetized, my closet was color-coded, and I had made a database to log my DVD collection. I used to be a more exciting person. Even before Roman, I had to have had other interests besides work and organizing my house, didn't I? Sure, I used to read, surf the Web, go to movies with friends, work out ... very exciting life. Was this it? Life without a man ... again?
She clucked her tongue. “Still on the outs with Roman, hmm?”
I winced. “Mom, I don't wanna talk about it.” I hadn't seen or heard from him since the day he left me in the house with Patrick. The more I thought about it, the more pissed off I got. How dare he act like I was some sort of possession to be passed back and forth between the two of them? After he left, I unloaded all my wrath on Patrick. He was real clear on where we stand now. Absolutely nowhere together. I talked to Stace last week, and we managed to patch things up. Of course, she took him back. All I could do was sigh over that one. At least Patrick was better than Oliver.
But as for Roman, here we were with the same issue again. Who was in control? Who had the power? It was either his way or the highway? Dammit, I couldn't give in all the time.
Mom broke into my musings. “I don't care if you don't want to talk about it. I'm your mother, young lady. I don't understand what the problem is.”
“The problem is, I refuse to be the one to break down and apologize—again. Why is everything my fault? Why do I have to be the one to give in? Why do I have to make the sacrifices?” Point of the matter was, I felt like I'd already sacrificed and changed up my lifestyle to mesh with his. I couldn't see the point of compromising. I wasn't moving to the hood; he wasn't moving north. And that just outlined the geography problems. My head spun every time I thought about the problems we had with trust and compromise. All I knew was that I was determined not to be the one to admit fault again. My reasoning was, if he really loves me,
he'll
make the sacrifice for me. Like Chase was going to lose his sense of black maleness growing up in the suburbs? Roman's view was narrow-minded and unrealistic. His idea of integration was 85 percent black, 15 percent other. For me? I was just happy to get one or two of us in the same five-block radius. What did he want? For me to give up my home, buy some hip-hop clothes, and hang out at the rec center every weekend? Wasn't gonna happen. Course, that sounded kinda like when he said I expected him to put on khakis and loafers and hang out at the Galleria all the time. Problem was, I was confused over which one of us was wrong. Maybe we both were. But I was too stubborn to back down this time. If I kept bending, I'd never stand tall again.
So this was how it was gonna end—he wouldn't call me and I wouldn't call him, and all of a sudden, all the emotions we feel for each other, all the dreams we harbored for the future are just gone? That was what I couldn't get past. A week ago, I was happy and in love; this week I was alone and depressed. Damn this. A woman could be happy and fulfilled without having to sacrifice her soul for some controlling-assed man. I wasn't going out like that. What the hell was the point of educating myself, building a business, and trying to do something if I was just going to submit to some man's wishes? Shit, I could've done that straight out of high school.
This was what they meant when they said sometimes love was not enough, huh? Well, that sucked. You spend your whole life thinking that if you just meet the right guy and love each other, everything will be fine. Well, apparently it won't! I met the right man and he expected me to re-create myself for him again and again and again. I couldn't live with that shit. Maybe I wasn't meant to be married. All those songs make sense to me now, “What's Love Got to Do with It,” “When Something Is Wrong with My Baby,” “Since I Fell for You”—all that shit was true. And it stunk.
“Jewellen, listen to me.”
“I'm listening, Mom.”
“This is what women do, dear. They meet a man and make a few sacrifices. You think Eve wanted to leave the Garden of Eden? No, sweetie, but someone has to be the sensible one and keep the peace, no matter who was wrong and who won the argument. You know what Ephesians Six says, don't you?”
Lord help me, she was gonna whip out the biblical scripture on me. “No, no, I don't, Mom.”
“That's because you don't attend enough church, but we're not going to get into that now. Ephesians Six tells us that the wives should be subject to their husbands as they are to the Lord. ‘Just as the church is subject to Christ, so also wives ought to be, in everything, to their husbands.' ”
I was really too tired and depressed for this speech, but I forged ahead anyway. Hell, if she didn't say it now, she'd just call back and say it later. “Okay, hold up, Mom. First off, I'm not married to that boy. And second, I didn't see you being subject to Dad when you drop-kicked him out of the house and divorced him.”
“You need to read your Bible. The devil is busy.” That was Mom's way of saying, “why we have to go there?”
“That he is but I still make a good point.”
“Jewellen, I hate to bring this up, but in the eyes of the Lord, you are married to that man. I know you think I don't see things, but I know you spend a lot of time in that boy's house and vice versa. You practically live together as man and wife right now, and you know what I'm talking about. You can't split hairs with the Lord, baby. And on that second point you didn't have to bring up, let me say that the Lord didn't mean for me to act no fool over my husband. You know your father was out there doing wrong and desecrating every vow he ever took. That's why I ceased to be subject to him.”
There comes a time in every argument when you know you've either won it or lost it. I gave this one up as lost. “Okay, Mom.”
“You're just trying to rush me off the phone because you know I'm right.”
“No, no, I understand you're making valid points.”
“But you still aren't going to be the one to give in.”
I remained silent.
“I know you think I'm just old and don't know anything, but men like Roman don't grow on trees, sweetie.”
“I know, Mom.”
“Don't you want a strong man? Isn't his strength part of what attracted you to him in first place? You're going to lose that boy if you don't let go of some of those rules you've made for yourself.”
I exploded. “He's gonna lose me too! Why doesn't anyone bring that up?”
“Face facts, sweetie—good black men are hard to find. And with the white women out there waiting to snatch them up, you can't afford to blow a good thing.”
I hated that argument more than anything else in the world. If one more person told me how there was nobody left for me and I could easily be replaced by a white girl, I was gonna scream. It was time to end this conversation. “Be that as it may, Mother, I'm not making that move.”
“I may have had some reservations about Roman, but over time I've come to see him as a good man. He's strong, intelligent, and a hard worker, with good morals overall. He overcame some early setbacks, and he comes from a good family. He's got a solid future ahead of him; anyone can see that.”
“You call him and apologize, then.”
“You can watch that tone, Jewellen.”
“Sorry, Mom. I'm just not backing down on this.”
“Okay, what started the argument?”
I wasn't about to tell her that I had propositioned Patrick to prove a point. So I just stayed silent.
“Okay, who was wrong?”
“Well, initially I was, but—”
“Stop right there. You start out apologizing for whatever thing you did. Then work toward a compromise on the other things.”
Made sense but I just couldn't get there yet. “Can't do it, Mom.”
“Well, if you want to live alone, unfulfilled and childless, it's your life. I can't tell you how to live it. Sooner or later, you have to prioritize. What's really important? What can you really afford to lose, and what do you really want to have in this life? You are given only so much time, you know.”
“Mother, I am not calling him—I can't and I won't.”
“How do you know that if you just take that first step, he won't meet you in the middle, Jewellen? Are you not willing to risk it?”
“No, I'm not. I put myself out there before. Hunted him down, apologized, and where'd it get me? Right back where I was before I swallowed my pride. No, I'm not calling.”
“That's really too bad, Jewellen. You're going to let your stubborn pride stand in the way of something precious and rare. I'll pray for you, baby. Talk to you later.” She hung up the phone.
I sat there dazed for a second. It was the first time in a long, long time she had sounded disappointed in me. Doesn't matter how old you get—that sad, let-down tone of voice from your mother could still tear you up inside. For the first time since the boy walked out on me, it really hit me that he was gone. Gone and not coming back. A sexy dress and a come-hither smile wouldn't do.
I'd tried to be brave about the whole thing, but truth be told, I was devastated. I loved him and he was gone. I put the phone back on the cradle, put my head down on the desk, and wept.

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