Page 3

“It’s not a sign of defeat,” she continued, sprawled out on the couch, legs splayed wide, totally manspreading, daring anyone to ask her to move her long legs out of the way so they could pass by. I busied myself on my phone, pretending I couldn’t hear her.

“They want to help. It’s the guilt,” she said.

I picked a bit of fuzz off the arm of the vintage couch. I found it up against the dumpster of the brownstone renovation down the block. It had lovely curves and would work that needed some tending. After making new cushions in a creamy brocade and gilding the legs, all its old charm was back.

“T, your family is a resource. It’s frankly dumb not to use them.”

“Can we not do this now?” I asked, trying to steer the conversation away.

“And I do meanusethem. Squeeze every last guilty penny out of them. Make them squirm and get paid for it, girl.”

Monique was transactional, always tit for tat and up for revenge. If someone hurt you, you find a way to make them pay. With my family, with all the shit they pulled? Monique was all hot for justice. That came with a hefty price tag.

“Taking their money would be…”

“Delicious and satisfying?”

“Wrong.”

It was usually at this point in the conversation that Monique gave up and stalked off. I wasn’t going to be that lucky today.

“Your one job as a parent,” anger tainted her voice, “is to make sure your offspring make it to adult hood. When they put you out on the street…”

“Monique, just drop it, OK? Even if I wanted to crawl back to them, I just can’t. Not enough therapy in the world would make that a good idea.” Not that I could afford a therapist now.

“The fuck you can. You’re just afraid of yourself. And this is why you’re in this mess, because you played small…”

“And lost. I lost, OK? I tried to play the game. I went for what I wanted. Took the big risk for the fancy corporate job with all the nice benefits, and then a pretty rich boy comes along and took it all away from me.”

“You lost because you played by their rules, not your own,” Monique said, as irritated as I was.

“The point is, I still lost.” I mumbled like a little bitch.

“Speaking of pretty rich boys…” Apparently, Monique was going all in today.

“For fuck’s sake, Mo.” I threw my hands up and slouched back on the couch.

“And then there is William.” Monique pushed on. I wasn’t even going to acknowledge that one. I groaned and squeezed my eyes shut, like I could blot out the memory of all the ignorant, pretty rich boys who I let saunter into my life like golden retrievers that leave slobber over everything.

“He literally owes you. And owes you a lot.” Monique stood and windmilled her arms around to stretch out her shoulders, before standing right in front of me so I couldn’t escape. “You were dumb enough to sleep with your professor as a TA. He was dumb enough to cut you a check to not tell his wife. It’s time to call in that chit.”

“First,” I poked her in the thigh with one finger, “I didn’t know he was married. Second,” another poke, “that smacks of blackmail, and that’s just gross. Third...”

“It’s not blackmail, it’s capitalism.” She said, cutting me off. “Profit from your mistakes. Silence is a very expensive commodity.”

“Third,” I continued, “I graduated three years ago. How awkward would it be for me to roll on up to his office hours with a ‘Hey, how are ya? How bout that hush money, my guy?’”

“Less awkward than defaulting on your student loans and getting evicted.” That tone was back. And I hated to admit she had a point.

“Could we not stroll through the graveyard of my disastrous relationships with men?”

“That’s why you need to date more women.”

“Mo. Like that was any better?” I muttered. “Girls make me so nervous I can’t get past a first date.”

“I saidwomen, notgirls.”

“Nope. I’m sticking to my New Year’s resolution. No online dating. No one-night stands. And absolutely no fuckboys.”