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“Hmm, you lying.”
“Why I gotta be lying? I’m not hurting anymore. I’m good.”
“You might be good physically,” she observed, “but emotionally? I don’t think so.”
Popping a piece of toast in my mouth, I gave her a wry smile. “Why? Cause I went to the casino last night?”
“No, because the only place you’ve been is to the casino. You haven’t been taking work calls. All you do is sleep, drink, eat, and brood. This ain’t you, son.”
I set my fork down and rested against the back of the chair. “I have cancer. I think I have a right to brood.”
“Had, boy.Had. And you better watch what you speak. You’re healed from that. You’ve just got to embrace your healing.”
I was forty-three damn years old, and she wasstillcalling me a boy. “How? I…look at me.” My voice quivered. I hated that shit.
“I’m looking, and you know what I see? My son. Vann King London. You are the same man you’ve always been. A little surgery didn’t change that, baby.”
I fought back tears because crying was fucking weird for me now and shook my head, feeling her reach across the table and grasp my hand.
“You are whole. Youare, Vann, and it’s time for you to start living again.”
I chuckled wryly. “You tired of me? Tryna get rid of me?”
“Naw, I just know you. You ain’t never gonna be happy here, so you can’t hide here forever. Above all, I want you to be happy.”
Squeezing her much smaller hand, I said, “I know, Mama. I know.”
BROOKLYN
I stood in my bedroom in a bra and panties, staring into my tiny closet at clothes crammed inside it. Clothes that had once been my pride and joy. Shit, who was I kidding? They werestillmy pride and joy. I still loved the feel of the fabrics and the look of the labels. Gucci and Prada and Louis Vuitton and Chanel—brands I could still pronounce perfectly. Brands that felt good on my tongue. Clothes, shoes, purses, I was able to keep all of that and thank god for it. I was a label whore, an unapologetic one. Always had been, and as hard as I tried, I hadn’t been able to shake it. That whoredom extended past what I putonmy body though, extending to what I put my bodyin. So it was fortune that I was also able to keep my vehicle, which I’d affectionately named Veronique, because her ass was sleek and exotic—a limited edition Lincoln Navigator that was my dream car or SUV, rather. And those items were the only remnants of my former life that I still possessed thanks to my stupidity. I had it all, and I threw it away.
“Mommy?”
I turned from the closet, my gaze falling on a mahogany-skinned angel with thick braids tied into a ponytail, my sweet little girl, Bailey. She was standing in my bedroom doorway, the room so small that I could nearly reach out and touch her. Smiling, I said, “We’re doing pink today?”
She nodded, pushing her bushy bangs from her eyes. “I’m doing, ‘Molly Ringwald if she was black.’”
At six, my baby was obsessed with eighties’ culture thanks to my Aunt Britta. Since Britta was one of my favorite people in the world, I was good with it. Besides, the pink sweatshirt and skirt were a cute combo. “Looks great. I’ll be ready in a few minutes.”
She stared at me with eyes that made me wonder if she’d been on this planet before. “Don’t be nervous, Mommy. You’re gonna do great.” And then she left, bouncing down the short hallway to the living room.
Taking a fortifying deep breath, I pulled an outfit from my closet as I prepared for my first day at my new job. I really,reallyhoped this one worked out.
CHAPTER3
BROOKLYN
Since losing my husband and former life due to my stupidity, I’d had several jobs—retail cashier, receptionist at a veterinary clinic, pre-school assistant. Nothing seemed to fit, and I found myself miserable in every position I landed. I was educated, but there wasn’t much I could do with a bachelor’s degree in vocal performance with a minor in dance. I was hoping the master’s degree I was pursuing would remedy that for me. It was going to have to because—
“You quit on your first day?!”
I squeezed my eyes shut at the shrillness of my friend Nadia’s voice and confirmed, “Yes. Isn’t that what I just said?” The attitude was unnecessary, but shit, I was on edge.
“Damn, attitude much?” That was Sharla, my other bestie whom Nadia had conferenced in upon hearing the tone of my voice when I answered her call.
“Sorry. I’m just so damn frustrated! I really thought this one would work out!” I groaned.
“You thought a job working the front counter at the welfare office would work out? Really, Brooklyn?” Sharla posed.
