Page 4 of F*ckin’ With Me

I rushed out of the room at lightning speed. Instead of going to the bathroom, I went to my childhood bedroom. I needed a minute to regroup, but what I wanted to do was jump out of the damn window. My room door opened, and I jumped to my feet. “Oh, I’m sorry. I was just . . .”

I stopped speaking when I realized it was my father. “Hey, baby girl. How are you doing?”

“I’m ready to go home and do the things that make me happy. You know your wife and daughter are a lot.” I sat back down on the bed.

He came and sat next to me with a sigh. “My love, if you want to leave, then leave. I know they are a lot, but you don’t have to deal with them. I tell you time and time again that you don’t have to be around anyone that mistreats you.”

He was right. That had always been his thing.

It was hard though because they were still my family.

“I know, Daddy. I just don’t understand why it has to be like this.

I like my life and what I do. I have all of my own, while Lanette still lives here with y’all and does absolutely nothing. How does that make her better than me?”

“It doesn’t, baby, but you know your mother can be superficial when it comes to things like marriage and image.

I’m sorry that they do what they do,” he apologized on their behalf.

My mother and sister would never apologize.

“Baby girl, you know that I will defend you until my lungs can no longer do it, but you have to defend yourself. Me defending you means nothing if you don’t defend yourself, sweetheart. ”

He told me that all the time as well. I huffed before I spoke. “I know, Daddy. I just want to get past this wedding weekend coming up, then Mother will be too engulfed in being in Lanette and her new husband’s life that she’ll forget about me.”

He laughed because he knew that I was right. “Well, you got me there.” His eyes softened once he finished his chuckles. “If you want to leave, do that, Simonette. Never allow anyone to make you feel small, because you are a hell of a woman that I am proud to say is my daughter.”

“Thank you, Daddy. That means so much to me.” I hugged him tightly before I stood. I glanced down at my watch. “The party should be over in an hour. I think I can survive.”

He stood and gave me a final hug before he reminded me that I could leave at any time. I left my room and descended the stairs. When I returned to the room where all the ladies sat, they gawked at me like I had two heads. That told me I was a topic of conversation while I was gone.

“We thought you fell in,” my sister said with a giggle. “If it takes you that long to just go to the bathroom, I know why it’s taking so long for you to get a man. Well, outside of the other things.”

She just refuses to let up. I thought it was her bridal shower.

Why was all the attention on me? It felt like they planned a get-together to just poke fun at me.

The words came out of my mouth before my mind caught up with them.

“If you must know, I have a man. I just don’t feel the need to flaunt it. ”

The room went quiet. They were in shock, like I was. I can’t believe I just said that.

“Since when have you had a man?”

“That’s not the most important question, Mother,” my sister said with a turned-up nose. “Who would want to be your man? Plus, if you have a man, why don’t you have a plus one for my wedding weekend?”

My mother scoffed. “He must be broke and can’t afford it. That sounds like the only man that would put up with you.”

Wow! I’d officially had enough. I shot up out of my seat.

I felt like there was smoke coming out of my ears.

“If you must know, I didn’t want him to come, because I didn’t want him to be around the toxicity that is you and Lanette.

Why would I want my man around women like you? ” My arms crossed over my chest.

“Well, if he’s not broke, then he should accompany you to my wedding.” Lanette completely ignored my previous statement. It was like my words went into one ear and out the other.

My mother sat back in her seat, then crossed one leg over the other. “I completely agree. If not to meet us, then to meet your father. I’m sure that your father would love to meet the man that is with his precious little project.”

For as long as I could remember, my mother called me my father’s precious little project. His task in said project was to build my depleted confidence. For years, I racked my brain to figure out what I had done to make my mother and sister act that way toward me.

“My man works a lot, but I will tell him to clear his schedule that weekend to meet my father. He’s worth meeting. I can’t say the same for you two.” I grabbed my purse from the couch that I sat on. “Ladies, you all have the day you deserve.”

What the hell, Simonette? I told them I had a man that I would bring to my sister’s wedding weekend. It would be easier if it were a one-day type of event, but it wasn’t. It was a four-day event out of the country. Oh my God, what am I going to do?

It was a little over a week before we were leaving for my sister’s wedding. For a few days, I had gone back and forth about calling a number that I hadn’t used in ages. When I used it back then, it was a one-off.

The day after my sister’s bridal shower, my mother called me to tell me that she had downgraded my ticket on the plane to economy since my man had to buy a ticket anyway.

If he wanted to upgrade my ticket, then he could.

That was crazy to me because it was my father’s money that paid for the tickets.

I didn’t want to say anything to my father, because it wasn’t worth the hassle.

I thought about asking a co-worker to go but decided against it.

The last thing I needed was it getting back to work that I needed a fake boyfriend for my sister’s wedding.

When I went through a few old boxes, I found a notebook that had the number of someone from college that I thought might be a good candidate for a fake boyfriend.

I didn’t even know if it was still his phone number. It had been over six years.

The only thing I could do was use the number. What did I have to lose? If he said no, then I would be in the same spot. I had no pride to lose at that point.

I took a deep breath before I picked up my cell phone to call the number. A part of me prayed the number didn’t work or that it was someone else’s. My breath hitched when the line picked up. “Yo, who dis?”

It’s him. I could never forget that voice. “Um, hi. Is this Daylen Smith?”

“Who the fuck is this?” He was rude, but that tracked. From what I remembered about him, he was brash back then.

I shifted in my seat. “Oh, um, this is Simonette Brand. I’m not sure if you remember me . . .”