With each passing day, her energy depleted, and her light dimmed. I initiated conversation with hopeful optimism, and Aunt Addy replied with cheerful compliance despite how she looked. But by Saturday, it was harder for either of us to pretend.
“How are you?” I asked quietly.
With her eyes closed, she replied, “I’m fine. One week down, one week to go.”
“How are you really?”
As soon as she opened her eyes, she shook her head.
Even though she didn’t say a word, I knew the answer.
“I need to get out of here,” she murmured, just before Rose walked in.
“Look at these two beautiful ladies,” she sang with a flair.
“Rose!” Aunt Addy called out in response, flashing her a smile. “What did you do to your hair?”
“You like?” She did a little spin before she approached the bed. “As soon as you get out of here, I want you to meet my new stylist.”
I offered my seat to her, and as soon as she sat down, they started exchanging stories. It sounded like when I got together with Nina and Aaliyah. My heart was heavy, replaying Aunt Addy’s words, but I put a smile on my face, and I gathered my things. To give the two women time to talk, I went to the mall to pick up a couple of outfits since I was staying longer than expected.
And maybe I’ll find something to wear for my date.
As a bottom-heavy size sixteen, looking for something cute and fashionable to wear in a small-town mall was going to take a little time. Pants were always ill fitting unless they were spandex or Lycra. Shirts didn’t cover my ass. And some of the prints in stores were insulting. I had the pleasure of having two fashionable best friends—with one being a literal model, so I hadn’t had to pick out my own clothes in a long time.
“Thanks,” I mumbled as a man let the door close in my face.
He glanced back. “Oh, I didn’t see you.”
The woman he was with said something under her breath, and they both laughed. I was instantly irritated with them. I didn’t want to assume they were talking shit about me, but the acid-like bitterness that seared through my belly all but confirmed it. Since I wasn’t sure, I didn’t call them out. Instead, I glared at the back of their heads as they walked toward the food court. When I lost sight of them, I became irritated with myself.
I hate it here.
Twelve years in Richland and a date with Lamar had put my guard down enough to think a quick trip to the mall would be fine. But I’d been quickly reminded of why I didn’t venture out in Chance—nothing had changed. I would never feel comfortable or accepted ina place where I’d spent so long being either invisible or the target. I let a good night with Lamar make me forget where I was.
I rolled my shoulders back, held my head up high, and ignored the nagging feeling of dread that hovered over me.
I’ll check this store and then leave, I thought as I walked into the nearest department store.
It was a small town, so I knew it was highly likely I’d run into someone. I was prepared for a familiar face treating me like Olivia and Morgan had at the sports bar. Mean girls, haters, and assholes, I could handle. I’d been handling them since middle school. But to have strangers treating me with disregard for no other reason than because of the way I look always cut deep. I’d worked hard to avoid situations that prompted that feeling inside me, but Chance had managed to force it all back to the forefront.
Fuck this place!
Standing in the middle of the aisle, I looked around in confusion. I took a few tentative steps to the left, searching for a sign to point me in the right direction so I could be in and out.
“If you’re looking for the plus sizes, they’re in the back, Jummy,” said a grating voice from behind me.
I turned around to see Olivia Chapman with fresh microbraids and a smug look on her face. Two women I didn’t recognize flanked her.
“If you’re looking for a black eye, call me that again,” I warned, glaring at her.
She lifted her hands in surrender. “Don’t get violent,Jazmyn. I was just trying to help get you to the right department.” She looked at my hand and then smirked. “Didn’t you get married? Where’s your ring?”
“You should be more concerned about the ring around your neck than the ring on my finger.”
Her hand flew to her protruding collarbone. “There’s no ring around my neck!” she protested indignantly.
Turning on my heel, I started to walk away from her when she began running her mouth again.
