Chapter Two

Go BesFren, Das My BesFren

No less than forty-five minutes after giving birth, a memo is sent out informing the life-bringer that their time as a bad bitch has expired and they are henceforth Somebody’s Mama and must act accordingly. It comes with a pamphlet that spells out, in no uncertain terms, what all “act accordingly” entails. Wardrobe, career, relationships, extracurriculars. All of that shit is supposed to change. And although the memo is sent directly to Somebody’s Mama, the rest of the world also, somehow, has received the list of rules, memorized them, and pledged to be a constant reminder for when Somebody’s Mama has forgotten her role.

I’d been Amani Jones’s mama for five years, and had been proudly bucking the system from day one. It’s not that I missed that memo; I simply ignored that shit. There was no way in hell I was going to trade in my crop tops and short shorts for the latest Amish fashions just because I moaned “Yessssss!” when Samir asked if he could nut in me one Wednesday night after hot yoga had me feeling all limber and horny. Aht aht! I was going to live a life that I loved now so that I didn’t have an overgrown man-child puffing up his chest because I informed him that “Mama gotta have a life too, Jody.”

I was younger than my son when I took up dancing, and after years spent contorting my body in ballet, I joined a contemporary dance troupe shortly after my eighteenth birthday. All I’d done was trade in one group of judgmental assholes for another. And here I’d thought contemporary had also meant progressive. The thing about change that never failed to piss me off is just how slow it was to make a difference in the everyday life of the average person. While the ideal type of woman in music videos and on every social media platform is the hypersexualized version of the ultra-voluptuous BBW, fat women with less desirable shapes—those of us with family-sized chicken dinner bodies full of thighs and breasts and wings and rolls—were still getting harassed because fatphobia ran rampant in the streets like crack in the eighties.

Which is why Sanity had been the goal before I’d even set foot in Houston. The move for me was a no-brainer, since the only thing in Dallas worth caring about was my granny’s gravesite. Samir came to me with a job offer he’d received that was too good to pass up—as the assistant director for a dance team at an HBCU in Houston—and that was all I needed to hear. I’d had enough of being passed over for roles where I was over-qualified, and I was ready to do something different. Within the next week, I’d scoured the review websites for the highest-rated clubs that were queer-friendly, Black-owned, and Black-operated. That left me with Sanity. I contacted the club and inquired if they were hiring for new dancers. After I received confirmation that they were, I scheduled my audition and headed down to Houston.

There were three people present for my audition: the owner of the club, Mal, her assistant, Josey, and the choreographer and dance mother, Milly. Although I was unfamiliar with pole, Josey had assured me over the phone that they would teach me that skill if I was hired. Thanks to Samir quickly helping me put together a routine, I gave a damn good performance. Keeping my limitations at the forefront of my mind, I didn’t try anything advanced on the pole, but I did include it in my routine, pretending it was a stern Samir watching to make sure I didn’t fuck up his moves as I grooved to the beat of Xeno’s “Drown Me.”

When the song came to an end, I smiled in satisfaction. I could tell from the expression on everyone’s face that I’d killed that shit. I’d done enough auditions to know how that looked.

In Sanity, I’d surprisingly found not only some bomb-ass coworkers, but also a group of people I grew to love fiercely, who cherished me just as much as I did them. They became my family, and Mal was like the older sibling that I never knew I needed. She wasn’t just my boss, but she was a mentor, a consultant, and confidante when I truly needed one.

My phone chimed and I reached over my laptop where I was working on my quarterly budget to pluck the noisemaker off of the coffee table. The movement brought the screen to life. Mercedes had texted me. Opening the message, I gasped at the high-definition photo of a plate of loaded French fries that took up the entire screen. Immediately, I typed out a response.

Me: Oh my Goooood!

Cedes: These fries are so damn good. Nobody else would appreciate it like you.

I looked at the picture again and whimpered a little bit. The golden potatoes were overflowing with cubed brisket, crispy bacon, melted cheddar, chives, and barbecue sauce. I loved when the brisket was chopped instead of shredded and I could still see the smoke ring. Dropping my head back, I groaned. Had it only been a couple of hours since I’d had a bowl of cereal, buttered Texas toast, and an iced caramel latte? Yes. Was I being greedy and already thinking about my next meal? Yes! But was I ashamed? Absolutely not!

Me: Save me some!

Another picture came through, this one of a second container with my name scrolled across the top in black marker.

Cedes: I had them put the toppings on the side since I won’t see you until later.

Me: You love me!

Cedes: You know it.

Mercedes was one of the women I’d immediately clicked with when I started dancing at Sanity. She was a fellow single mother, with a background in dance, and two boys who were close in age to Amani. With so many similarities between us, it was no question why we got on the way that we did. We’d become so close that she was like an auntie to my baby. I’d gone from having just my granny, to losing her right before Amani was born and only having Samir, to now having a live and in the flesh sisterfriend.

And then of course there was Poppa. My bestie boo.

Speaking of Poppa...

I navigated back to my text messages and selected our ongoing thread.

Me: What did you eat today?

Poppa: ...

Poppa: I had a cheeseburger before I made it to the studio.

Twisting my lips to the side, I shook my head. If I didn’t know that girl as well as I did, I might’ve been satisfied with that answer. I mean...it sounded good enough and kinda sorta answered my question, if I tilted my head to the side and squinted. The thing is...I wasn’t about to do all of that. It wasn’t even necessary. I was willing to bet that even though she’d only been back in town for a few days, Poppa had been at Rhythm Rainbows since the night before, which meant she hadn’t eaten a thing today. It was only eleven in the morning and she likely had no intentions of leaving the studio anytime soon.

Closing my laptop, I sat it on the coffee table where my phone had just been. Grabbing my keys from a hook on the wall and my purse from the coat rack by the door, I left my condo and headed toward one of my favorite food markets.

Briggs Food Hall was essentially a mall food court without the haggard families doing school shopping, or the groups of emo teenagers drinking bubble tea and wearing studded belts from Hot Topic with thumb holes cut in the shirt sleeves. It was the anchor business in a small commercial strip, tucked into the heart of Third Ward, minutes from 288. The parking lot held eight cars, max, and most everyone parked on the streets surrounding the building. I lucked out and caught someone pulling out near the door just as I took my chances with the lot. The moment I stepped inside of the building, I stopped and took a deep breath, inhaling all of the delicious aromas from the different booths.

There were six restaurants located in Briggs Food Hall, all of them creative endeavors by local masterminds, but I was there for one place only. Yee-Raw was a Tex-Mex sushi fusion restaurant owned by a married lesbian couple who decided to merge their Japanese American and African American heritages with their Texan roots. What emerged was a surprising roster of dishes that became immediate favorites. Me and some of the girls from the club stumbled onto Briggs one day after a workout and I’d been the only one willing to give Yee-Raw a try. The moment that brisket temaki touched my lips I decided that Tessa and Anna would never have to pay for another lap dance as long as I lived. They’d yet to visit Sanity, but the moment they did, it would be five-star treatment for them all night!

Six months later, and I had Poppa hooked as well, and since I was sure her ass probably hadn’t eaten anything more than a couple of cold toaster pastries all day, I knew just what to get her.

“Hey, girl, hey!” Tessa Kimura-Brown called out to me as I neared, waving from her post behind the counter of the stand she owned with her wife. Her ginger-dyed halo of kinky coils was in a massive puff at the crown of her head, her edges secured by a red bandana printed with the Yee-Raw logo tied around her temple.

Lifting my hand, I offered her a huge wave as I sped up my steps, practically skipping past the cafeteria-style seating. The relationship I had with food was very, very serious—we were madly in love—and as a culinarian, Tessa was one of my favorite people on the planet. On top of that, not only was she a sweetheart, but she was gorgeous, with her smooth, chestnut hue, round face, and bow-shaped lips that were always spread in a toothy grin.

“Hey, boo!” I got in line behind a woman giving Tessa her order, and looked up at the menu over Tessa’s head as if I didn’t already know what I was going to get.

Once the woman ahead of me accepted her receipt, she turned around to sit at one of the nearby tables, allowing me to step up to the register. Before I could speak, Tessa held up a finger.

“Hold on a sec.” Twisting her neck, she called over her shoulder, “Babe, Juleesa’s here!”

My eyebrows shot up in excitement. Was I a VIP now? I stopped by Yee-Raw at least once a week, and both Tessa and Anna recognized both my face and my name, which came in handy when I placed mobile orders, so it made sense, but it was still surprising. Shifting my gaze behind Tessa, I peered through the wide rectangular opening in the wall that separated the front of their stall from the kitchen area. Anna stood on the other side of the wall behind a prep table, her jet-black hair up in a tight bun at the top of her head, a black mask over her mouth and nose, and the same red bandana that Tessa wore tied around her temples. She waved at me, her eyes crinkling as she smiled behind her mask, and gave her wife a thumbs-up. Tessa nodded and turned back to me.

“The usual?” she asked, her eyebrows up near the bandana as she waited for the answer she already knew was coming.

Laughing, I nodded. I’d tried everything on the Yee-Raw menu and while each item could get ate at any moment, there were certified bangers in my eyes.

Tessa’s grin widened and she echoed my nod. “Mmhm. So, two brisket temaki, elote tempura, and seaweed salad?”

“Yes, ma’am.” As I pulled my card out of my bag I eyed her. “What was up with the fanfare?” I tilted my chin toward the back kitchen. “What are you and Anna up to?”

Smile widening, Tessa winked and took my card. “It’s a surprise.”

“Ooh,” I breathed, bouncing on my toes. “I love surprises.”

Tessa swiped my card and spun the screen toward me so that I could sign. As she handed me my receipt, my phone buzzed in my purse. I chose a tip and scrawled some chicken scratch when it prompted for my signature before I pulled the device out and stepped away from the counter. I stood over to the side, out of the way of traffic but not as far away as the tables either.

“Juleesa!”

I looked up from the Sanity dancers’ group text about the workout session at Thick n’ Fit that afternoon to see Tessa waving me over. Glancing around, I noted that the woman who’d been ahead of me in line was no longer sitting at the table, but pushing through the exit. That meant my order was ready. Tucking my phone away, I approached the counter just as Anna stepped through the swinging door holding a covered container in her hands. My cheeks bloomed as an excited smile came across my face.

There was a bag on the counter in front of Tessa that was already filled with containers of assorted sizes. She added napkins, chopsticks, and condiments while Anna placed the container in her hand on the counter and smiled at me.

“We made something for you.”

A little squeal might’ve slipped from my lips. I brought my fists up to my cheeks and peered at the container. Laughing, Anna peeled off the top.

“Baked beans gyoza.”

I gasped.

“Whatchu say?!” The pan-fried dumplings smelled amazing.

Tessa smiled. “It’s a small token of our appreciation of you. You’re not only one of our favorite regulars, but you spread the word about our little business and it shows.”

Nodding, Anna added, “We aren’t yet able to fit marketing into our budget, but as soon as we can, you can expect to be put on payroll.”

“Y’all are so sweet. I’m not doing this for any money, so don’t even worry about that right now. I do love getting to try new dishes though!”

They laughed and handed over the bag, with a promise to see me later. They absolutely would. Not only was the food amazing, but they were good people, and that went a long way with me.

Food secured, I navigated onto the highway and headed southwest to Rhythm Rainbows, the studio Cyn co-owned with the rapper Xeno. Xeno was Poppa’s other best friend. They’d known each other since they were teenagers and essentially built their careers together. While Poppa did all of her work behind the soundboard, Xeno was an incredibly talented and incredibly fine rapper. She’d been major in the city for nearly a decade, but started blowing up on a national level a few years ago after being name-dropped by a heavy hitter in the rap game, which catapulted her and Poppa’s careers from small stages at local festivals, to requests for tracks from major labels, to nominations at prominent award shows.

The center where the studio was located was surprisingly crowded for a Thursday evening. I texted Poppa that I was outside, and by the time I reached the door, she was already there, holding it open for me. I expected her to make a joke about the food I carried, or stand back and let me enter the building, but she did neither of those things. Pulling a wide grin out of me, she stepped onto the sidewalk and spread her arms wide. We’d spoken on the phone briefly when she landed at Hobby before meeting Carissa in the pickup line, and we talked when she told me about the latest song she’d finished, but I hadn’t seen her in person in so damn long. It felt like forever, and a hug from my bestie boo was an invitation that I’d never decline.

I skipped into her embrace and propped my chin on her shoulder, cheesing from ear to ear as she squeezed me tight around my back. She was warm and soft and felt like home.

It didn’t hit me until just then, but ordinarily we were attached at the hip so I’d been missing home in her absence.

“I missed you, Marie.”

Throwing my head back, I cackled at her use of my middle name.

“I missed you too, Poppa.”

While it wasn’t a rare occurrence for her to lock herself in the studio while she hyperfocused on bringing a project to completion, the nearly two months without seeing each other was a length of time I wasn’t accustomed to.

After a final squeeze and lil rock from side to side, I stepped back and pressed a kiss to her cheek. She shook her arms out as if I’d been the one holding on too tight instead of the other way around, took one look at the bag of food in my hand, and shook her head.

“I should’ve known.”

I smirked at her dry tone. “You absolutely should’ve.”

Pursing my lips, I ignored the rolling of her eyes and stepped around her to the lobby area of the studio. While I waited for her to lock the door, I observed her. For someone who’d been sitting in a dark room all day, she looked good. Her purple basketball shorts and gold t-shirt were only slightly wrinkled, giving her the look of a co-ed from her alma mater, Prairie View AM University, who was on the way to class. A matching logo baseball cap covered her head, the bill off-center and tilted down, as if she’d been tugging on it while she worked. The two gold chains hanging from her neck completed the relatively simple look.

Door locked, Poppa turned to me, those deep-set, hooded eyes that reminded me of the late Christopher Wallace eyeing the plastic sack expectantly, a slow grin lifting her round cheeks.

Her eyes swept up to my face. “What’d you bring?”

“Your favorite from Yee-Raw.”

“Hell yeah,” she moaned, bringing her fist to her mouth. “You always lookin’ out. Come on to the back.”

Taking the bag from me, she grabbed my hand and led me through the lobby and down a short hallway toward the larger of the three recording rooms. Rhythm Rainbows had a simple layout, much like an old shotgun house. There was a studio on either side of the hallway and one at the back of the unit, and all three were named after famous women in music. Missy was the one at the back, slightly larger than the others, and was Poppa’s personal studio that she and Xeno used exclusively. The other two rooms, Foxy and Queen La, held much of the same equipment, according to Poppa, but her heart was in her boards. A quick peek into the window of one of the rooms showed a trio of women standing around the room, bobbing their heads as a fourth woman fiddled with dials on the soundboard.

Inside of Missy, two women sat on the small couch against the wall, and a man sat on a stool inside of the recording booth.

“How y’all doin’?” I greeted, offering a nod to the women before taking the bag back from Poppa and bringing it over to the small, two-seat table near the door. They returned the greeting, polite smiles on their faces as they nodded my way. One of the women quickly turned her attention back to her phone, but the other kept her gaze on me, her expression pinched with overt curiosity.

Crossing the room, Poppa leaned over the soundboard and pressed a button, her eyes on the man on the other side of the window.

“Say, Hitta. Gimme five right quick.”

The man in the booth gave the “OK” signal and pulled the headphones from around his neck, hooking them on a stand next to the stool before coming out of the booth.

“We good?” he asked Poppa as soon as he was on our side of the booth.

“Yeah, man.” Poppa pointed to me. “Hitta, this is my ace boon, Jucee. Jucee, this is Hitta.”

“Nice to meet you,” I responded, dipping my head in acknowledgement.

“You too.” Squinting, he eyed me. “Say, do I know you from somewhere?”

Furrowing my brows, I looked from him to Poppa, but she only shrugged. Taking a step back, I looked him up and down. Hitta was a rapper whose music I’d heard in the club before, but as far as I knew, we’d never met. His light brown eyes and tawny skin didn’t ring any bells in my memory, and I didn’t fuck enough men to get them confused, so it definitely wasn’t that.

Echoing Poppa’s movement, I shrugged. “I don’t know, do you?”

“Wait!” His jaw dropped, eyes lighting with recognition. “You dance at Sanity?”

A proud smile came across my face. I nodded. “Yeah, I do.”

His eyes widened in shock as if he didn’t expect me to say yes, even though he clearly recognized me. He brought his fist to his mouth.

“Oh, snap! Bae!”

I watched as he stepped over to the sofa and grabbed the hand of one of the sitting women who’d been watching our interaction—or maybe just me—closely. Pulling the woman to her feet, he turned back to me.

“This is my wife, Sigie, and her sister, Sheri. Sigie is a huge fan of yours. We’ve been in the city for two days, but all she can talk about is getting to see you dance. I tried to take her last night but...” He trailed off with another shrug.

“Jucee doesn’t usually dance on the weekends,” Poppa offered.

Sigie’s caramel skin flushed red as she elbowed Hitta in the ribs. She gave me a sheepish grin.

“I told him that you only danced nights the last weekend of the month, but he don’t listen unless you’re talking music.”

Hitta gave his wife a scandalized look. “I listen well enough to know she’s ya bestie in ya head.”

When Sigie gasped and shoved him away from her, I laughed.

“Oh, please! I showed you a picture from her Instagram. You saw ass and agreed to whatever I asked.”

Another shrug from Hitta. “Shit...” He met eyes with Poppa and grinned. “What can I say?”

Poppa cracked up. “I get it.”

I nodded. “I do have a great ass.”

Sigie eyed me. “Among other things.”

Poppa’s eyebrows shot up. I met her gaze and tried not to bust out laughing at the silly look on her face. I was very familiar with the tone Sigie’s voice had taken on. At least once a week, it came from a woman who thought she was straight and had come to the club with her boyfriend or husband, got handsy and adventurous, fueled by the dark lights and an abundance of liquor. I’d been propositioned by too many women to count with their men sitting right next to them.

Hitta just shook his head and laughed, clearly unfazed by his wife’s suggestive tone. He took one look at the containers I’d begun removing from the bag and grinned at Poppa.

“Oh, you finally ’bout to eat?” Turning to me, he pressed his palms together and held them up by his chest. “Aye, thank you so much! I tried to get her to take a break and eat with us when my wife brought in some pizza a couple of hours ago, but she wasn’t going.”

Swiveling my head toward my friend, I narrowed my eyes at Poppa, who released an exasperated groan and shook her head.

“Oh,”I drawled. “So you didn’t forget to eat, you just chose not to? That’s how we livin’ now?”

Rolling her lips into her mouth, she stifled a laugh and wrapped her arms around me, pressing her face into my shoulder.

“Man. You know how it is when I’m in the zone.”

Nodding, I turned back to the table to finish unbagging the food, studiously ignoring the way my stomach started twisting in knots the moment she grabbed me. It was only because I was hungry, and it was just pure coincidence that it happened when it did.

I did know how Poppa got when she was in the zone, which was why I got on her like I did. It was one thing to be so wrapped up in your work that you barely remembered to check your phone, let alone remembered to eat. But being reminded and opting out was another thing completely. This was exactly the reason I had to bring her hard-headed ass lunch.

“Mmhm,” I hummed once I finished emptying the bag. “Sit down and eat. You’re gonna need more than five minutes though.” I added the last part, remembering her asking the rapper for a small break.

Her eyes lifted toward the ceiling, but she nodded. “Yes, Mom. Anything else?”

“No, smart ass.” Laughing, I tilted my head toward the food.

To her credit, she didn’t say another word, just sat down and lifted her chin at Hitta. Both hands lifted in the air, he shook his head before she could speak.

“Aye, I heard her loud and clear. You gotta eat and I won’t be the one to argue.” He motioned to the folks on the sofa. “We’re gonna go for a little walk and stretch our legs.” Then he turned to me. “Twenty okay?”

I smiled. “That’s perfect. Thank you.”

They left and Poppa shook her head. “You really think you run the show, huh?”

Sitting down, I lifted the lid on the gyoza. “Girl, shut up.”

Laughing, she pulled the temaki out of the container I’d pushed toward her, and the aroma of the smoked meat and vinegared rice hit the air. Poppa bounced her shoulders and my stomach rumbled.

“This smells amazing.”

I snapped apart the pair of wooden chopsticks Tessa had tossed in the bag and used them to divvy up the gyoza and tempura between the two of us before digging in. Although it sounded odd, I had no hesitations about the gyoza. I completely trusted Tessa and Anna, and when I took a bite of one of the dumplings, I was reminded why. The tangy sweetness of the beans immediately transported me to my youth, when my family would gather together at the park on a holiday and have a cookout. As usual, I was in awe at how Tessa and Anna managed to take two things that I would’ve bet cold hard cash did not go together and marry them in a way that just made so much sense.

We fell into a comfortable silence as we ate, with only murmurs sounding every now and then. I’d missed our mundane moments like this while she’d been away.

“What are you about to do?” Poppa asked once we finished eating. We’d put all of the empty containers back into the bag it had come in and stood up from the table. She’d lifted the bag of trash from our meal off of the table, but I took it out of her hands.

“I’m heading to Sanity for a little bit. I have a meeting with Glenda and then I’m going to try and catch Mercedes’s set.”

Poppa nodded. “You coming by the house after?”

I turned to her, eyebrow lifted. “You asking?”

Her lips spread into a slow grin as she looked toward the booth, shaking her head.

“Man...”

Tilting my head to the side, I propped my hands on my hips and faced her. She always tried to pull this on Thursdays, knowing good and well that I had a standing date with my television.

“No, let’s talk about it, because you know that I’m binging Instant I Do reruns before season four drops next week, and I don’t want to hear your mouth. The reruns started before you left and I’m not giving that up just because you’re back.”

Just as she busted out laughing, the door opened and Hitta reentered with his wife and her sister. Catching my eye, Hitta gave me an expectant look.

“We good?”

Poppa sucked her teeth and dropped down into the executive chair in front of the soundboard.

“Aye man, say man! Don’t be asking her like she the one running shit in here.”

Hitta raised his hands in surrender as me and the other women busted out laughing.

“No offense, Cyn, but shorty definitely give off Big Boss energy.” He shrugged, a sly grin coming across his handsome face. “I mean...she said eat and you sat your ass down and ate, amiright?”

Tossing her head back, Poppa gripped the bill of her cap and cracked up. Watching her laugh made me laugh even harder. It took a minute for her to sober up enough to point toward the booth.

“Man, get yo ass in the booth!”

Chuckling, Hitta did as instructed. As he headed to the center of the room and the microphone he’d abandoned, I shifted the bag of trash to my left hand and hugged Poppa from behind with my right, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“Thanks for taking a break to eat. I’mma head out.”

Nodding, Poppa swiveled around in her chair to face me.

“I’mma see you later, right?”

I busted out laughing and pulled open the door. “’Bye, girl!”

Ignoring the call of my name, I walked out and pulled the door shut behind me. There was a ding that indicated I’d received a text message before I even exited the building, and it didn’t take a genius for me to guess that Poppa had sent it. She didn’t need me to respond; of course I was going to go by her house. Her TV was bigger than mine, and reality shows undeniably looked fantastic in 4K.