Mia

Dre’s ball bounces off my door for the hundredth time, and I pull the covers up over my head.

Fuuuuuck. I’m trying to study for finals on four hours of sleep. I go back and forth between nodding off and being woken up by the loud four-year-old playing outside my door at 8:00 a.m.

“Ee-ya, come out,” Dre says.

He can’t pronounce my name right, and I fall for the cuteness of the way he says it every time.

“Ee-ya has to study,” I tell him. “I’m sorry.”

“You make me tea.”

When Anita is making his dinner, I play with him and we make pretend tea and desserts. He always gets a huge kick out of me pretending to eat and drink our made-up creations. Anita’s too busy to have much time to play with him.

“I can’t right now, sweetie,” I say half-heartedly.

“Ee-ya.” His voice sounds different now. I look over at the closed door to my bedroom and see his little fingers wiggling at me from beneath the door.

I can’t help it; I roll out of bed and open the door. Dre grins and runs into the room, crawling into bed beside me.

“This my room,” he says as he pokes me in the stomach playfully.

“I know, thanks for sharing it with me.”

My eyelids slide closed as Dre gently jabs my tummy. I feel like I’ve been asleep for a long time when I feel him patting my cheek.

“Ee-ya, you wake up,” he says.

“I’m trying.”

“You make tea.”

“Can you make me some?”

Dre pretends to pour an invisible cup of tea into my mouth.

“Mmmm, so good,” I mumble.

“Dre, get in here and eat your eggs before they get cold!” Anita calls out.

Thank God. Maybe I can go back to sleep for another hour. All the studying and getting by on four or five hours of sleep a night is catching up with me.

“No mama, I want tea!” Dre yells.

It’ll be less than ten seconds before Anita is in this room telling Dre what’s up. She doesn’t put up with backtalk. My grandma and Anita would’ve gotten on well.

She doesn’t show up, though. I throw the covers off to make sure I won’t go back to sleep and force myself into a sitting position.

The apartment is freezing, as usual. Dre is wearing sweats and a sweatshirt, and little furry boots. I’ve learned to bundle up, because Anita keeps the thermostat at 65ºF in here during the winter.

I slide my feet into slippers and put a cardigan sweater on to go into the kitchen.

“Anita?” I say from the hallway.

It’s a quick trip because the apartment is very small. When I turn the corner and walk into the kitchen, Anita is standing in front of the sink, her back facing me and her head bowed.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

She silently nods. That concerns me, because Anita is never silent.

“Hey,” I say softly, approaching her. “What’s going on?”

Her shoulders are shaking. I lay a hand on one and she bursts into tears, still staring into the sink.

In the eight months I’ve lived here, I’ve never seen Anita like this. She runs a tight ship, keeping track of Dre while working and going to law school. Everything in her life is controlled—she gets groceries on Saturday afternoons, carrying her file folder of coupons, and she does laundry at the place down the block on Tuesday evenings.

I gently guide her shoulder back, peeking around so I can see her face.

“Hey, how can I help?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “You ain’t got no way to help me.”

“Let’s talk about it.”

“Mama?” Dre comes into the room, looking at Anita with concern on his little face.

I steer him over to the kitchen table, where I pick up his plate of scrambled eggs and his fork.

“Mama said you can eat these while you watch cartoons today,” I tell him, setting the plate and fork on the small crate that serves as our coffee table.

“Yeah!” Dre pumps his fist as I hand him the remote and he scrolls through the channels.

Anita rarely lets Dre watch TV, and never while he’s eating. Her lack of protest tells me she’s really not feeling like herself.

When I get back into the kitchen, Anita takes a deep breath, wipes her cheeks and starts scrubbing the kitchen sink with a steel wool pad.

“Hey.” I reach out and touch her arm. “Let’s talk.”

“Everything’s fine.” She’s focusing all her energy and attention on scouring the sink, which isn’t even all that dirty.

“Anita,” I say firmly. “Everything is not fine. What’s going on?”

She tosses the steel pad into the sink and turns to me.

“It’s nothing new! I’m broke. Not just poor, Mia, broke. The rates at the daycare are going up, and my subsidy doesn’t cover that. My friend Jackie, who watches Dre on Wednesday evenings so I can go to my night class, is moving. That means one more evening I need daycare and I already can’t afford it. Groceries just keep getting more expensive, Dre needs a new coat…” She throws her hands in the air, tears glistening in her eyes. “What the hell do I do? Do I rent out my own bedroom and sleep on the couch with Dre?”

I lean back against the counter, knowing she doesn’t really want me to answer that question.

“I was a damn fool thinking I could get through law school,” she says bitterly. “It’s just a stupid dream that’s putting me in the poor house. I need to be working another job to take care of my son instead of going to school.”

“No.” I shake my head. “Anita, no. You are not quitting. This is your last year, isn’t it?”

Her shoulders slump. “I just can’t keep all the balls in the air anymore, Mia. I’ve tried too hard. I’ve borrowed all I can borrow. Shuffled the bills around every way I can. I can’t do it anymore.”

“Yes, you can.” I reach out and take her hand in mine. “You can, and you will. I’ll switch my night off from Tuesday to Wednesday and I’ll take care of Dre that night. There’s one problem solved.”

“It’s not just that, though,” she says sadly.

“I’ve been making great tips lately and I’ve got some extra money put away. I’ll buy Dre a coat and help more with the bills.”

Tears overflow Anita’s eyes. “Why would you do any of this? I haven’t even been nice to you.”

“Girl, you ain’t got time to be nice to me. You’re a working single mom going to law school. Law school, Anita. You’re gonna be an attorney, making a difference in people’s lives. What kind of law do you plan to practice?”

“My dream is to work at the Southern Poverty Law Center.”

I take her other hand and squeeze both of hers in mine. “Listen to me. That would be a dream for me, but for you, it’s a goal. You can do this. We’re getting you through law school. I’ll help with laundry and cooking and Dre. You just need to tell me what you need, okay?”

Anita pulls her hands from mine, covering her face as she weeps.

“Mia, I don’t know what to say. I didn’t think there was any way…”

“We can do this,” I tell her.

“My own family won’t help me like you are.”

I step forward and wrap my arms around her in a hug. “You took me in when I needed a place desperately. You trusted me and gave me a place to live. I owe you.”

“You pay your way and you know it.”

I laugh and hug her tighter. “You’re just a little stubborn, you know that? You remind me of my grandma.”

Anita laughs. Just a bit, but it’s a laugh. And I think it’s the first one I’ve ever heard from her.

“Thank you, Mia.” Her voice cracks with emotion, and I almost lose it.

“I want a ticket to your law school graduation,” I say. “Dre and I will be there. You think about that as you grind out this last year, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I’ll make some dinner before I go to work,” I say. “Dre can come to the store with me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Completely sure.”

Anita looks a little bit lighter as she washes the dishes. I’m not sure who feels better—me or her. It feels really good to be needed, and to be helping someone who deserves it.

Guess I’ll be putting on more pots of invisible tea.

That evening, I step out of my Uber and make it into the bar just as my shift is about to start.

“I was getting worried,” Janice says as I tie on my black bar apron. “You’re always early.”

“Yeah, I was busy today.”

Busy is an understatement. Dre wore my ass out today. It was fun, though. We played, walked to the store, took a forty-five minute nap, played some more and made dinner together. He’s a sweet boy who loves helping. Any form of attention lights him up.

I’m leaving my phone in the break room before my shift when I look down and see a text.

Anton: Hey, hope you’re good. No Uber tonight. I’m in town and will be there to get you at 2. And just so we’re clear, I’m not fucking you.

I smile, warming from head to toe. Wise or not, I’m definitely getting attached to Anton. Tucking my phone into my backpack, I head for the bar, a guy reaching out to grab my arm on the way.

“Hey, sexy! What kind of bourbon you got?”

I look down at my arm. “Excuse me?”

“Come on, just havin’some fun.” He rubs his crotch with his free hand.

I scowl and pull my arm away. “Go fuck yourself, dickhead.”

Fortunately, he’s my most obnoxious customer of the night. And one woman gives me a $20 tip on a $60 tab, which is great.

I’ve just returned from my break when I look over at the door, hoping to see Anton. He usually comes in for water around this time when he’s giving me a ride that night.

But instead, I see Adam, and a wave of nausea rolls through me. He looks back at me, unsmiling.

I can’t believe I ever thought he was attractive. His short black hair and intense dark eyes only look ominous to me now.

My stomach is in knots as Adam makes his way over to the bar. I have to steady my breathing as I pour drinks, reminding myself I’m safe here.

I think that’s why I feel so violated right now. Lucky Seven is my place. It’s part of my new life, without bad memories. Adam shouldn’t be here.

Dashing into Janice’s office, I ask if she can cover me.

“Sure, what’s wrong?” she asks as she gets up from her leather chair.

“Just…someone came in and I don’t want to make a scene.”

She nods and heads out to the bar for me. I approach Adam.

“What do you want?”

His gaze moves up and down my body. “I just came in for a drink.”

“Yeah, right. There are lots of places you can get a drink. Did you just want me to know you know where I work? Message received. You can go.”

“You always were a mouthy bitch.”

“Maybe you should divorce me.”

He narrows his eyes. “No one else would ever want you, Mia. I’m the only one who really knows you.”

I’m lightheaded as I wonder what Adam would say in front of all these people. Anything that humiliates me gives him pleasure.

“We can talk outside,” I say, leading the way out the front door.

As soon as he steps outside, I ask him again, “What do you want?”

“Just wanted to see my wife. You look like shit, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

He shifts on his feet. “I’ve about had it with this shit, Mia. You need to come home.”

“I don’t want to be with you anymore.”

His jaw tightens and I freeze, steadying myself for the onslaught I know is coming.

“You were nothing when I met you. Nothing. Just a Southside street rat without a penny to your name. I made you into what you are.”

“Clothes and manicures are just things. And Adam, you don’t want me anymore. You cheated on me—”

He leans in closer, and I instinctively step back. “I’m a professional athlete. I was blowing off steam. None of those women meant anything to me.”

“It’s not just the cheating. It’s everything. We’re better off apart, and you know it.”

He scoffs. “Fuck that. You’ve always been dependent on me and you still are. It’s gonna take more than a blow job to keep getting my money. You need to move back in and be the wife you agreed to be when we got married.”

“I don’t want—”

“You’re damaged goods, Mia. Second rate. No man wants a woman who can’t even give him children, and I’m willing to take you back. You should be on your fucking knees thanking me.”

“No. I told you a year ago I was done, and you just won’t listen.” I turn to open the door and Adam grabs my wrist.

“Let go.”

“Hey,” a guy in a group of college-aged guys walking into the bar says to me. “You okay?”

“I want to go inside,” I say to him, trying hard to keep my voice steady.

“You heard her,” the guy says to Adam. “Let go.”

Adam drops my hand and I hurry into the bar, practically running to the break room, where I cry for a good five minutes.

I feel dirty. Damaged. Deeply ashamed. Adam makes me hurt like no one ever has.

I’m not in a good state to see Anton. It’s a dangerous game I’ve been playing, texting with him and letting him drive me home. If Adam finds out, I suspect things will go from bad to worse.

I get my phone and type out a text to Anton.

Me: I have another ride home tonight, don’t come. Thanks anyway.

I wipe my face off then and go back to work, telling a man who asks what I’m doing later to fuck off.

It’s all an act, though. I’m not one of those strong, take-no-shit kind of women. I’m a joke, barely even holding it together. Adam’s right—if Anton knew who I really was, he wouldn’t want anything to do with me.