I don’t really want to take it, so I slowly bring it up to my ear. I don’t say anything, but she immediately starts to yell as if she already hears my breath.
“Where the fuck were you? Are you shittin’ me right now? How you gonna straight disappear like that and don’t tell nobody where you went? Matter of fact, somebody said they saw you go into the CVS and then leave with some lady. What the fuck is that, Fabiola? You actin’ like you runnin’ these streets already. I done told you these bitches out here don’t play. Even those Mexican bitches around the school will cut you if you . . .”
I give the phone back to Kasim. He doesn’t know what to do with Pri’s loud, dirty mouth.
“Ay yo, Pri? Pri? Calm down. You know who you sound like now, right? That’s exactly how your mom used to go in on Donna back in the day. . . . Yeah, a’ight. You got a ride? Cool. . . . I’ll take her home, then. . . . Don’t worry. She’s with me. She’s in good hands.” Kasim laughs. “I’m just messing with you.”
It’s quiet in the car for a long second after he hangs up with Pri. Then he says, “Yo, you really gotta tell somebody where you’re going around here.”
I don’t look at him. I look ahead of me, then through the window next to me, but not at him. My thoughts are still simmering on that detective, Donna’s boyfriend, Dray, and my mother.
“You hungry? Wanna grab some dinner with me?” He starts the car but lets it idle.
I turn away and look out the window, trying hard not to smile.
“I mean, no disrespect, Fabulous. I could just take you home,” he says.
“No, it’s okay,” I say. “I can eat.”
“I’m sure you can eat. Ever had Middle Eastern food before? Like kebabs, tabbouleh, falafels, and shit.”
I smile. “I have Syrian friends back in Haiti. I miss them. My favorite food they make is baklava.”
“My favorite is baklava,” he mocks me with a fake accent and laughs. “Don’t tell me you’re one of them bougie chicks. No wonder you call me broke. You need a man who’s gonna buy you boxes of baklava and get you nice and thick. Put some meat on those little Haitian bones.”
I laugh and hit him on his arm. He turns on the radio, but no sound comes through the speakers. He bangs on the dashboard and the music blares throughout the car. He turns the volume down and apologizes.
“See? I told you,” I say. “Broke.”
“I was waiting for you to say that.” He laughs as he pulls away from the curb and makes a U-turn down Vernor Highway. “You can’t tell by my car that I got stacks in the bank. I’m not gonna be one of those dudes rollin’ up in no BMW and still live in their mama’s basement. I’m trying to buy a condo next year, or one of them houses they’re selling for, like, five bucks and fix it up real nice.”
“Oh, yeah? So what do you do for work with all those stacks in the bank?”
“Been working since I was nine. Saved every penny. I can show you my job, if you want. The café across the street from the opera house. You been there? Maybe someday we’ll go—do some bougie shit with my bougie girl.”
“No, no, no, no. I am not your girl.”
He laughs. “Who said I was talking about you? Did you hear me say Fabulous? No. See? You need to work on your English comprehension.”
“But you said . . . Never mind,” I say. I can’t wipe the smile from my face, even as the time stretches thin and wide without another word being exchanged between us. I stare out the car window still smiling, and somehow, Detroit becomes more colorful than it’s ever been. But something is tugging at me. I think of all that is still wrong—my manman in New Jersey. Detective Stevens and what she asked me to do.
His cell phone rings.
“Ay yo, what up, Dray?”
I try not to listen and let my mind wander to some other place where that emptiness lives. But his constant yeahs and nahs pull me into his conversation with this person who should be off the streets if what the detective lady said is true.
“Fab, we gonna have to cut tonight short, a’ight?” Kasim says, hanging up, turning toward me.
“It’s okay,” I say, shaking my head. “Just bring me home.”
“Wait, wait.” He takes one look at my face and pulls out his cell phone again. “Yo, Dray. I’ll holla at you later, man. I can’t roll through tonight.”
Kasim hangs up and turns to me. “Let’s go get something to eat. A’ight with you?”
My smile is even bigger now—a teeth-showing smile, as Manman would call it. But how could I even have a glimmer of happiness right now with my mother in jail for no reason? If only I could smile like Aunt Jo with half my face in a frown.