Rich Girl Problems by Tu-Shonda L. Whitaker

Author:Tu-Shonda L. Whitaker [Whitaker, Tu-Shonda L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Publishing Corp.
Published: 2014-05-11T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 22

JAISE

The wee morning breeze was cool as it blew into Jaise’s face and she stared into the new day’s darkness.

What the hell am I going to do?

She huffed. Turned from the window and leaned her back against her farmer’s sink.

There’s nothing left to cook.

Her eyes scanned her kitchen table, which overflowed with the hot and piping feast she’d just completed minutes ago:

Chicken smothered in homemade gravy.

Yellow rice.

Steamed cabbage.

Cheddar cheese grits.

Scrambled eggs.

Maple bacon.

Biscuits.

Boiled apples.

Banana bread.

Cigarettes.

She walked over to the table and reached for her cigarette case, which sat on the edge of the table. She fumbled as she tried to open it.

Why does this always happen?

Jaise tapped the case’s clasp on the edge of the table and it popped open with ease. “Nothing?!” A lump filled her throat as she stared at her reflection in the mirrored case.

You don’t need any cigarettes any damn way. And you need to stop cooking and eating everything in sight. You’ve resorted to wearing leggings, wrap dresses, and stretch pencil skirts in a piss-poor effort to avoid seeing the ten pounds you’ve gained. You are just a fat, miserable ass—!

Stop it!

Jaise closed the case and fixed herself a full plate of food. She sat down on her antique church pew and crossed her legs. The ten pounds she’d gained must’ve all gone to her thighs; resting her left thigh over her right one was a struggle. She eased her leg down and settled for crossing her ankles.

Jaise sopped a biscuit in the gravy on her plate and took a bite.

All you do is eat, cook, smoke, and sleep, and none of it makes any damn sense. All you’re doing is running away. Well, your size-sixteen hips, double D breasts, and those love handles you try and hide will not let you run that fast, and one day, you’re going to sprint your chubby ass into a mirrored brick wall right smack into the miserable bitch you really are.

Stop it!

Jaise looked down at her plate and realized that she’d eaten everything on it. She replenished it. Sat back down and sopped her biscuit.

You’ve always wanted a good man . . . and you had one. One who loved you. And he didn’t call you fat, miserable, slap the shit out of you and tell you you deserved it. He loved you just the way you were. You were enough for him and he was exactly who you’d prayed for. But you didn’t want a good man. The motherfucker who kicked your ass got more respect than the one who truly loved you.

Stop it!

She reached for another biscuit.

Stop what? Telling yourself the truth? You don’t have anything else to cook and no cigarettes left to smoke. There’s nothing left to do but listen to your damn thoughts, ’cause nobody knows you like I know you. And I know you may have prayed for a good man, but you have never felt like you deserved him. Because your grown ass is still the same fat-ass little girl who your daddy told you would always be second best.

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