Playing Hard To Get
“What is this?” she said, looking around for her friends. And then from behind her entered Tasha and Troy, dressed in their Dynasty, Diahann Carroll–worthy two-piece suits and floppy hats.
They led their friend and her flowing sari to a seat and kissed her on both cheeks.
Tamia was crying then. Her hand was holding her head up on the table and she just let everything go.
“Oh, Ms. Lovebird,” Troy said, “don’t cry. We came here to cheer you up!”
“That’s right,” Tasha chimed in. “You can’t cry. This is a tea. No one cries at a tea. Not a high tea. Right, Troy? You’re from bougieville. You know the answer.”
“She’s right,” Troy concurred, reaching over and wiping Tamia’s tears.
“You know, I’m supposed to say you guys shouldn’t have done this, but really, you should’ve,” Tamia cried, laughing a little while blowing her nose in the hankie Troy handed her. “I was so down—just a minute ago. Just before I walked in this door and saw all of this.” She looked around again at the floors and strange-looking musicians she didn’t know. “But this just, it just…it made me smile and I’m so happy to have friends like you.”
“Awwww,” Troy said. “Well, technically…we didn’t do it. I’m broke. Tasha paid for everything.”
The 3Ts laughed and joked like this, familiar and fortunate friends as a waitstaff carried out an assortment of teas and delectable desserts that birthed a sweet-smelling cloud of vanilla and cinnamon over the table. After sipping on English tea, they tasted, pie after cake after cookie until little more than crumbs remained on the table.
“I guess it was a good idea not to order dinner,” Troy said.
“Who needs dinner when you can have dessert?” Tasha joked. “That’s the new diet!”
Having told her friends about her meeting with Malik and how badly Charleston treated
her at the office, Tamia sat full and also relieved. Her girls reminded her that she’d done her part. She’d remained honest to herself and everyone around her. Now it was time for the men to pick up the pieces. She could rise in the morning with a clear head and heart and move on with her life—wherever it took her.
“I’m sorry for snapping at you guys like that the other day,” Tasha said, telling the other Ts that she was missing her family. “Lionel’s coming around, I think. He agreed to let me see the girls on the weekends.”
“That’s a beautiful blessing,” Troy said tenderly. “I want you to know that we both love you and we only want what’s best for you and your family.”
Tamia nodded in agreement.
“Troy’s right. I didn’t mean to hurt you with the things I said the other week,” she said. “I love you and I wasn’t judging you. I just had to say what I had to say.”
“Exactly,” Troy added. “You can always come to us.”
“And you can always come to me,” Tasha snapped at Troy playfully. “Child walking all around the city as broke as a Brooklyn roach like she doesn’t have wigs with money to burn. The next time you need a check or for me to check the asses of one of those chicks at the church, you call me!”
“Oh, no,” Troy said.
“I might be a mama, but I haven’t gone soft yet.”
“That’s not what Lynn said…Lynn or Bobby,” Tamia joked, tossing a sugar cube at Tasha.
“See, there you go messing up our tea,” Tasha said. “I’m trying to keep it classy and you’re over here throwing stuff.”
“Wait, wait!” Troy jumped in. “We forgot something!” She jumped up and ran to the gift boxes stacked on the floor.
“What’s that?” Tamia asked.
“Just some gifts for our guest of honor,” Tasha said, taking one of the boxes from Troy. “This one is from me.”
“You two!” Tamia purred, opening her gift with the speed of a six-year-old. “What is this?” she asked, looking at a white box.
“Open it,” Troy said.
Inside there was a wig of fine brown hair that looked in length and style just like Tamia’s old hair.
“What?” Tamia shouted so loud the harpist skipped a note. “A wig!”