“Oh come on! Have you even had sex since RuRu was conceived?”
No.
“Yes.”
“Bull fucking shit. With who?”
“My vibrator. He is quite satisfying.”
She’s quiet a moment, contemplating.
“Okay, you’ve got me there. Why didn’t God make real men with vibrating dicks? I bet the divorce rate would be much lower.”
I shake my head at her as I escape back to the bar.
Cole was the first person to want to be my friend. She was relentless in her pursuit of my friendship, and well, she reminded me of Everett, how he was in the beginning. Always trying to make me smile. She allowed me to have my secrets, but she also never gave up on me, just being present until I was comfortable giving them up on my own.
She and her mom also taught me a thing or two about how to take care of my wild curls. My mom never knew what products to use, how to brush them properly and care for them. She had fine, straight blonde hair, a complete contrast to my own coarse, curly dark-brown hair. But it wouldn’t have mattered if she had known how to take care of my curls.
Colette is one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. Her skin is darker than mine, and it's so smooth, sometimes I wonder how she touches it without breaking it. Like glass. Her almond eyes slant upward, and her smile is bright and radiant. Where I let my curls free, she has her beautiful black hair in goddess twists that go down to her mid back, little gold charms decorate her locks.
Also opposite of me, her attitude. She has more sass in her pinky finger than I do my entire body. She and I contrast in many areas of our lives, but this also makes us pull out the best in each other.
When the shop closes, Cole drags me to her apartment and we get ready. But worry has invaded my mind. She can read it all over me. I’m not very good at hiding my emotions anymore. Motherhood has made me the biggest cry baby, seriously, fuck those hormones that change you forever.
“What's on your mind, LJ? Is it RuRu? You know he is going to have a blast with Umma.”
Ru couldn’t say grandma, so he started calling Miss Dianna Umma, and it just stuck.
“I know. He has never stayed the night anywhere without me. I’m just a little sad, I guess, that he is growing up. He doesn’t need Mama anymore.”
Is a tear coming to my eye at the thought of my seven-year-old boy not needing his mama? You bet your fucking ass it is. That boy is my best friend, my everything.
“Oh, cut that shit out. That boy will always need you. You’re his best friend!”
I know she’s right. But it still hurts to think about him growing up. It seems like yesterday I was trying to fit a thrifted crib in the back of Miss Dianna’s Toyota Camry while I was seven months pregnant.
Not my best moment. I blame it on my pregnancy brain that I thought I could make it fit. I started crying in the parking lot, just sitting on the ground feeling absolutely defeated. I remember so clearly thinking that this was the moment I knew I couldn’t do this without Everett. I stayed strong for seven months without him. My anger fueled my independence, but trying to fit a crib into a car, I broke.
I almost got up and drove back to Aurora. But then I felt my son kick in my belly. Like he was reminding me and telling me,“Hey, it’s you and me, Mom.”
I took a deep breath and stood up—well, more like clawed my way up the car because my belly was so fucking huge. Stupid Everett and his giant legs and giant head. His son took after him in that aspect. I got up with a new determination. I knew I could do this. It was the two of us.
I did, in fact, get that crib home. I went inside, asked for a screwdriver, took that bitch apart right there in the parking lot, and loaded it up. And after I put it back together in our little studio apartment, I ate an entire box of mac ‘n’ cheese to myself and gave my coffee canof notes the middle finger. I’d thought,I fucking did it. Without you, Everett, just like you wanted it to be.
“Earth to LJ…”
“Huh? Shit. Sorry. Got a little lost there.”
She comes up to me now, one fake eyelash on, the other still lying on her vanity. Pulls me into a hug then holds me by my shoulders and looks me dead in the eyes.
“Let’s go fuck shit up, babe.”
Fuck me, that was a tough one. I hate abuse cases.
How any human could lay a hand on a child is beyond me. Oh wait. They aren’t humans—they are fucking monsters. Plus, the abuse cases always make me think of Leo and Gage.
With Leo, it makes me wonder, if she hadn’t had the life she did, would we still be together? Would we have ever gotten together? I’m not justifying it by any means, but would Leo be my Leo—my kind, generous, compassionate, empathetic Leo—without all that she went through? I guess in a sick, twisted way, her mother made her into the beautiful creature she is—was. Fuck.
