Playing Hard To Get

“He doesn’t mean that,” Troy answered Tasha. “He’s just angry and he needs space. Like you did when you moved back to the city.”

“I didn’t want space. I wanted Lionel to follow. He was supposed to follow me.”

Feeling their friend’s pain, both Tamia and Troy reached out and held Tasha’s hands as tears slid from beneath her sunglasses.

“Tasha, I don’t know how to say this, but I think you need to know that there was nothing Lionel could do,” Troy said. “You boxed him into a corner. You know he couldn’t move back to the city with you. You two have children. It’s not that easy for him to chase you around anymore. He has other priorities. And you should too.”

“But what? What could be more important than us?”

“Your daughters,” Tamia said.

“What?” She pulled the glasses off and flicked them onto the table. “Are you two accusing me of not loving them? Of not caring for them? Because I love those girls more than anything in the world. I’m just fucked up. That’s all.”

“I know that,” Tamia said. “We both know that. But it’s not so easy for everyone to see. You put these walls up and—”

“What walls?”

“It’s not easy…I mean for other people…to see how good of a mother—”

“Look,” Tamia broke in, “what she’s trying not to say is that you abandoned them and your husband when you moved out.”

“I didn’t abandon anyone,” Tasha said.

“Really?” Tamia was frustrated and found it hard to placate her friend’s feelings. Maybe a soft voice and easy opinion wasn’t what she needed. It was the truth. “Tasha, you almost forced Lionel to have Toni and then after she got here and you were finally the great mother that you only wanted to be to get back at your own mother—”

“Tamia,” Troy said, stopping Tamia, “you’re going too far.”

“No, don’t stop her,” Tasha said. “I want to hear everything. I want to hear what you two really think of me.”

“It’s not about what we think, Tasha.” Tamia was raising her voice and the waitress taking orders nearby turned and came over to tell the table to quiet down. People were starting to look. “It’s about what any sane person looking at your situation would think. You checked out on those girls a long time ago and now you’ve checked out on Lionel for this…” Tamia paused and looked around the room at all of the people, their glasses held in their hands as they looked at her. “For this? Look at it. Look at it! It’s not everything. You know? It’s nothing. You have everything with Lionel. You always have. You’d know that if you weren’t so busy complaining about everything and worrying about yourself. You’re too fucking selfish.”

Tasha’s slap was so hard and so fast Tamia didn’t bother to block her or fight back. A hush fell over the room.

“You don’t judge me,” Tasha growled with tears so heavy coming from her eyes it was clear she was crying for both herself and what she’d just done to her friend. She got up from her seat and Troy jumped up to get between her friends, afraid of what Tamia might do next.

“Excuse us, ladies,” the waitress said, standing before a much taller, male waiter. “Do you think maybe you want to take this outside?”

“Oh, we’re okay,” Troy answered. “We’re just—”

“No,” Tasha said, plucking her purse from the back of her seat, “you two stay. Enjoy the rest of your meal.”

9

Every woman is a rebel, and usually in a wild revolt against herself….

—Oscar Wilde

Troy was embarrassed. For a woman who’d spent most of her life having everything, she now felt like she had nothing. And, really, aside from the touchy-feely things people say when they’re broke—love, health, and happiness—it was true. Her pockets were so deflated, the sides stuck together. What made it worse was that because she’d never been in such a place and didn’t know how to ask people outside of her family for money, she couldn’t even depend on her friends for support. She felt the shame of saying “I need” to anyone would certainly force her into a lifelong coma where Kyle was forced to wipe the crusted drool from around her lips while he and Myrtle made out in the bed beside her lifeless body.

Aside from asking the other 2Ts for financial support, her other smart option might be to sell some of her things on eBay or on the corner of Adam Clayton and 125th Street and make double what she owed, but that never even came to her, so she appealed to the best loan agency she’d ever known.

“Troy Helene, I can’t give you the money. I’m sorry,” Lucy said. Ms. Pearl was up on a brunch pillow, which sat in a chair beside hers at a golden bistro set in the middle of her rooftop atrium.

“But I—” Troy tried, but Lucy only waved her off.

“I promised your mother I wouldn’t give you any more money.”

“You promised?” Troy repeated. “But you never keep a promise to her.”