Mom:
Hello Jariyah. This is your reminder about the upcoming gala at my mansion. Please be on time. Please make sure you wear a ball gown. Please wax, shave your armpits and legs. Please visit your stylist so your hair is in perfect condition. Remember that your image is a reflection of mine. Kisses.
Me:
Duly noted, mother dear. *winking emoji*
Mom:
Please stop with the mother dear crap, Jariyah Navae. I despise it, and you know it.
Me:
Yes, ma’am. See you soon. *kiss emoji*
Mom:
Count on it. Love you.
Me:
I love you too.
A giggle surfaces at the chastisement in Mom’s words because I can see the frown on her face even though our conversation is through text. My life should be one of few complaints and many rewards. But that’s only if you consider being the mayor’s daughter an accomplishment. I love that I can say what many can’t. Being the daughter of Mayor Markia Owens isn’t a benefit I would have chosen for myself.
In fact, I often wonder if I can run for the border undetected. I’m a twenty-nine-year-old woman whose mother feels the need to try her hand at matchmaking with me. Most of the eligible bachelors Mom deems perfect I determine are boring and only trying to please her. With every function, gala, or party I attend, I find myself disgusted. Over starched shirts. Pompous and egotistical men. These are some of the things that are consistent at the party I have to attend in a week.
To say I’m dreading going would be like saying Bigfoot exists. I have attended the finest schools and eaten in the most amazing restaurants in the city. I am ready to pull my hair out. The concept is asinine because of the short, Anita Baker-like cut I keep my hair in. I’m sick of the same crowds of high society geeks. Bring me the men with a bit of darkness and a lot of stamina, please.
“The lemon is only supposed to be an additive for your water, girl. You look like you’ve been sucking on it.”
I lift my head from the table to the smile of the woman I’m quickly using as my unofficial safety net. Nicole. The waitress at Sizzling and Grubbing. This diner isn’t in the neighborhood where Mom frequents or where anyone from her world is. In fact, it’s the best place for me and my wayward thoughts. I somehow stumbled upon this diner several weeks ago, but I’ve been here almost every day since.
“Hey, Nicole. Lemons are way too bitter to suck. How are you? You’ve been zipping around here like crazy.”
“Girl, it’s been a madhouse in here. Have you decided on your order?”
“Yeah, I’ll take the BLT and fries. That sandwich, to be so basic, has me in a chokehold.”
The bacon, lettuce, and tomato I had the first time I came here is why I’ve been back. The perfect blend of butter and mayonnaise on the toasted brioche bun often has my mouth watering. That and Nicole, whose sweet and warm personality has made it easy for me to breathe easily.
“You know, there are other things on the menu, right?” Nicole smiles.
“Does the menu include sugar, spice, and everything but nice?”
“Trust me, you don’t want any parts of that.”
The curl of Nicole’s lips and the blankness in her eyes should have been a warning. But I’m too sick of the endless line of corny men vying for my attention at the hands of my mother’s urging.
“Actually, I do. I’m in search of someone who can make me weak in the knees while clutching the pearls my mama gave me for my sixteenth birthday. I have been around so many baseless eggheads that I’m desperate for something new.”
“While that’s what you think you need, believe me, it’s not. In fact, you need to stop venturing on this side of town.”
“Wait, I hear danger in your tone that’s very intriguing. Hook me up, Nicole. Save me from bow ties, patent leather shoes, and cheesy smiles. Please.”
“Over here, all you might get is a trip to the hospital, visiting privileges at the county, or a burial plot to bring limp flowers. This ain’t what you want, Jariyah. I promise you.”
“I promise you that I do. Why don’t you hook me up with your best person? I know you have to know a single man who can give me what I’m looking for. I want and need a roughneck.” I laugh.
