Читать книгу Take Her Man - Grace Octavia - Страница 11

While there are some things I absolutely hate about being a woman (crippling cramps and bad hair days being at the top of the list), the one thing that makes up for all of the drama is having girlfriends. They know your dirt, they keep your dirt a secret, and when called upon they’re usually willing to do your dirt.

I just happen to have the best dirt-doing girlfriends in the whole world—Tamia Lovebird and Tasha Lovestrong. No, those aren’t their real last names; we all chose best friends’ last names when we formed our ultimate girlfriend supper club during our sophomore year at Howard University. Swearing off all other girlfriends, we held hands around a bucket of KFC in my dorm room, took on last names that all began with the word “Love” (mine being Troy Lovesong), and named our alliance “The 3Ts.” After that faithful, finger-lickin’ night, we were stuck together like Krazy Glue and it’s been that way for the last six years. Hands down, while they can be a little crazy, my girls are my rocks, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.

It had been twenty-nine hours, about twenty-nine thousand tears, and twenty-nine million doubts after my breakup with Julian when I finally picked up the phone to call on the other 2Ts. While inside I just wanted to barricade myself in my bedroom and cry for the rest of my life, I was sure that little plan wouldn’t work, because my father would stop paying my rent at some point. So it was time to face the girls and talk it out. Wasn’t that supposed to make things better?

“Hey, T, I’m about to meet my study group at the library. Can I call you back?” Tamia asked, answering my call on the first ring. She always picked up on the first ring, and no matter what time of day I was calling, she’d sound as if she was wide awake, bright-eyed and bushy tailed, studying, studying, studying. That was just her thing, though. I guess you could say she was the nerdy friend. Tamia got straight A’s all through Howard U. and she was now in the top 1 percent of our law school class. Yes, she was the 3Ts resident Einstein, but Tamia’s brains weren’t to be mistaken for a lack of beauty. She definitely wasn’t the kind of girl you’d introduce as simply being “nice.” While she preferred less social circles than the ones Tasha and I frequented in undergrad, Tamia was the envy of the campus. Crowned Ms. Howard University twice (yes, twice), Tamia complemented her brains with a beauty most of the women on campus found unattainable and the men found irresistible. Her flawless deep mocha complexion played second fiddle only to her near black, brown eyes that seemed to always be looking at something beautiful. Her lips were perfectly round and puckered in a perpetual kiss that needed not a dab of lip gloss.

“Okay,” I said, trying not to sound too sad. I guess the Mary J. playing in the background gave me away.

“What’s wrong?” Tamia pried. “Is that Mary you’re listening to? You okay? Everyone okay?”

“I’m fine.” I burst into tears for what had to have been the billionth time. Even the idea of saying what went down with Julian the day before made me break down again. What a mess. “You can call me back when you get done at the library,” I rattled off.

“Well, you don’t sound fine,” she said, now whispering as if she was in the library. “What is it? Tell me. I have a minute.”

“We broke up, T,” I managed, blowing my nose on a napkin from the huge box of Kleenex I had stashed next to my bed.

“What happened?”

“He just said he needs…” Another breakdown was coming. “space…”

Pookie looked up at me sitting on the bed. Even his huge Chihuahua eyes looked sad after hearing my words. I wondered if he understood what was going on: that his human daddy was gone and never ever coming back. Never ever ever.

“Oh, Troy,” Tamia said, “I’m sorry to hear that. When did it happen? What did he say?”

“Well, we had lunch at Shimizu yesterday and he just said it there. He said he’s too stressed to deal with me right now and that’s just it. That’s just all he said…all he said…”

“Slow down; you don’t have to go on.” She stopped me. “I can’t believe this. I never thought he’d do this. Are you sure it’s not just one of his things? You know he gets stressed and starts acting crazy. Maybe you just need to give him some space. I mean, you’re going to need the same thing when we graduate.”

“No, I’m sure this is it this time, Tamia. I could see it in his eyes.” I threw the box of Kleenex to the floor. Pookie jumped up and ran out of the room. I could hear Tamia whispering to someone on the other end of the phone. “Tamia?” I called frantically for no apparent reason. I just needed a little attention. Comfort. I mean, my entire world was only literally ablaze. Who gave a damn what was going on in that godforsaken library?

“Yeah, I’m here.” Tamia groaned into the phone. “Look, I’m so sorry, but my study group is here, so I have to get off of the phone.”

“Okay,” I said.

“But I’ll be done soon. Have you told Tasha yet?”

“No.” I started crying again at the thought of having to repeat my sad saga. With all of this crying it would be a wonder if I was able to open my eyes in the morning.

“Well, don’t worry about telling her. I’ll call her when I get out of my meeting. Do you want to meet tonight? You know, for the party?”

I took a deep breath and looked up at the dust-ridden ceiling fan above my bed. I felt the unmistakable air of reluctance building in my chest.

“My breakup party?” I asked sadly, half questioning and affirming Tamia’s suggestion. This was because the party she’d mentioned, my breakup party, was the first thing each 3T did when she broke up with a man. It was a tradition we started back at Howard. Whenever one of us broke up with someone, we’d forgo the usual girl grieving stage of hiding underneath the sheets and avoiding all public appearances, by making an official announcement to the other 2Ts, putting on our most slut-alicious dresses, and stepping out for a night on the town. We called it “the Breakup Party.” It sounded crazy to most people, but it worked. At its best, the party gets the man off your mind for a few hours. At the very least, it gets you out of the house.

“Yeah, tonight is fine for the party,” I muttered uneasily between tears.

“Good. So I’ll call Tasha and we’ll meet at Justin’s at 8,” Tamia said.

“Okay.”

“And, Troy, keep your head up,” Tamia added. “Remember, the first 3T rule of breaking up is having the ‘face of grace.’”

“I know. I know,” I answered. My girl was right. We all agreed that the most important thing a girl had to do after a breakup was present herself as if she was together even if she was all apart inside. She had to face the world with grace no matter what. A brighter day would come, although I wasn’t so sure I believed that after Julian.

“Good. I love you,” Tamia said.

“I love you, too.” I sniffled and buried myself back under the covers.

The Goodbye Girl: The 3T Breakup Party Guide

So it’s over and Mr. Right turned out to be Mr. All Wrong. Don’t sit around all day and cry about it. No, this is a time to celebrate your new “player-ific” lifestyle with your girls. Plan a breakup party and say goodbye to yesterday.

Must Haves: A picture of your new ex, a hot outfit no man can say “no” to, huge shades in case your eyes look droopy from crying (don’t be embarrassed; people will think you’re a celebrity), and fabulous friends to celebrate with.

Instructions: Make an announcement to your closest friends via e-mail or telephone—this will eliminate any unnecessary gossip. Just put it all out there and invite your girls out to your party. The location must be someplace really cool where you’re guaranteed to be seen in all of your glory. Arrive late and hand the picture of your ex to your girls so your bitter memory can be torn to shreds. Then let the games begin.

Do’s: Cry if you want to, dance until your feet hurt, wear a dress so skanky you can’t wear underwear, have your friends pretend you’re a celebrity, smile at every man you see, and let everyone and their mama know you’re a free agent.

Don’ts: Party at a place special to you and your ex (bad memories), drink too much and pass out singing “End of the Road” by Boyz II Men, or call your ex…ever, ever, ever.