Get Over It (5 page)

D
eShawn and I are in the kitchen making snacks for our house movie night, even though I'm not hungry for snacks. I'm sure Hope and Gia aren't either since we ate so much at Busy Bee. But everybody always wants me to make my salty caramel popcorn, so even though I'm stuffed, I'm melting brown sugar and butter on the stove-top.

“I don't know why we don't just buy Crunch 'n Munch or something. It always takes you forever to make this stuff,” DeShawn says. “I want to watch the movie.”

“What are we watching anyway?”

“
Takers
.”

“Seriously?” I ask. “We've seen that a hundred times!”

“It was Gia and Hope's pick. They just like looking at all those men,” DeShawn says.

I chuckle when I think about how they tried to cheer me up when Sam and I broke up by renting
Takers
. It didn't take away the pain, but it sure made me forget about it for a while.

“Well, what did Ricky and Kevin want to watch?”

“Kevin wanted to watch
Prince of Egypt
, and Ricky didn't care.”

Kevin would be the one to want to watch an animated film. I gotta admit though, I do love that movie. I like to pretend like I'm Whitney Houston on that “Believe” song. Well, actually I go back and forth sometimes pretending I'm Whitney and other times pretending that I'm Mariah Carey. I can hit
all
the notes, so I just do what I do.

The sugar and butter mixture has finally melted, so I remove it from the stove and add condensed sweet milk to it. Finally I stir in vanilla flavoring.

“Is it ready?” DeShawn asks.

I nod. “Yep. I just need to pour it over the popcorn.”

DeShawn swiftly sticks a finger into my caramel mixture and then the finger goes into that grubby mouth of his. I pop him with a wooden spoon.

“Stay out of my stuff until it's ready.”

DeShawn bursts into laughter, and I pop him again.

“What are you laughing at?”

“I
am
staying out of your stuff! That's why I'm sneaking candy . . . and working out . . . and eating more candy!”

“Shut up, boy!”

I mix the caramel in with the salty popcorn and my dish is complete. Easy peasy. I wish someone else would pay attention to how to make it so that I don't always have to be the person in the kitchen stirring stuff.

My phone buzzes in my pocket as I put the final touches on the bowl of popcorn.

“You done?” DeShawn says as I check my phone. I nod and he takes the bowl away and into the movie room. I know there better be some left when I'm done.

I look at the text. It's a picture message from Sam that has the caption, Is this why you wouldn't go out on a date with me? I gasp when I click the picture. It's of me and DeShawn kissing at Starbucks. The picture looks way more intimate than it actually was.

The first thing I wonder, of course, is how did Sam get a copy of this photo?

You've got spies? I text.

No, but it looks like I need to have some. You tripping.

I am not tripping. The picture is not what it looks like.

A long pause before Sam replies. So you tripped over your feet and landed in a kiss?

It didn't mean what you think
,
I say.

Tell me what it meant then.

I don't want to pause too long because then Sam is going to really think something's up. But for the life of me I can't figure out how to answer this, and have Sam actually believe what I say.

I decide to just be honest. He's giving me an ultimatum. Wants me to choose between you and him.

This time no text answer, but in less than thirty seconds, Sam's ringtone goes off on my phone. He had to call on this one, I suppose.

“How is he giving you ultimatums if he's just your friend and tenant?” he fusses when I answer the call.

“Don't act like nobody else can give me attention just because you're trying to win me back. He feels like he has just as much chance as you do.”

“So he's trying to get with you?”

I shake my head in irritation. “Don't act like you didn't know, Sam. It wasn't a secret when we were on the red carpet.”

“I thought you were doing that to make me jealous,” Sam says. “I didn't know you were actually digging the dude.”

There is a long period of silence, because I don't know how to respond, and I'm sure Sam just wants to throw the phone.

“So are you planning on choosing him? Tell me now, so I can stop wasting my time,” Sam finally says.

“I don't know.”

“You don't know? So do you expect me to compete with him or something? What is this, the girlfriend Olympics or something?”

“It wouldn't hurt you to put in a little work, Sam. You are the one who's got us at this point anyway. If you hadn't been trick or treating then our thing would've never been interrupted.”

“I will put in some work, but not to beat another dude. I'm not about to have a duel with this dude.”

Now I'm irritated. “Nobody's asking you to have a duel, but I bet if I asked DeShawn to have one he would.”

“If you got dude's nose open like that then maybe you ought to go ahead and get with him.”

“Maybe. I. Should!” DeShawn's ultimatum is sounding better and better the longer this conversation progresses.

After another long and deadly silence, Sam says, “You know I don't mean that, right?”

“Yeah, I know it. You can't be proud and apologetic at the same time. The feelings don't match. It makes me think one of them is fake.”

“Really? Which is fake then? The apology or the pride?”

I shake my head and sit at the bar stool. That is exactly my dilemma with Sam. I have no idea which emotion is genuine. I know that he's missing me, but that's all I know.

“I think it's the pride, but I'm not sure. I'd like to be sure, Sam. That's what is keeping us from being together. I can't be sure of anything with you. You need to take off your mask once in a while.”

“You first.”

I let out a sigh. “Sam . . . who sent you that picture?”

“Oh, that. It's on BlackCelebrityGossip.com.”

“I can't stand them non-reporting heffas over there.”

Sam says, “I don't know. This picture tells its own story.”

“I'll call you later Sam, okay?”

“Yep.”

I disconnect the phone call, pull up an Internet browser, and go straight to BlackCelebrityGossip.com. I brace myself for the story, although I know it's going to make me mad.

I nearly drop my phone on the floor after reading this post. Caking dudes? Really? I'm a landlady! Why would DeShawn kiss me out in public like that? He knows someone is always watching.

Wait. He
knows
someone is always watching.

I better not find out he did this on purpose just trying to get his face on the Internet. It's not like I would ever find out, because if he felt this way, I'm sure he wouldn't just come out and say it.

DeShawn pokes his head out of the movie room. “Are you coming or not? We're ready to start the movie.”

“Did you know our picture was on BlackCelebrity Gossip.com?”

“It is?”

He sounds genuinely surprised, but I'm still not convinced that he had nothing to do with that photo getting to Tina and her paparazzi cronies.

“Yeah. From when you kissed me at Starbucks.”

He gasps. “Sorry. I wasn't thinking.”

“No. You weren't, and now my business is in the street.”

“And by that you mean that Sam knows?” DeShawn asks. “Is he ready to get out of the way now?”

The laughter in his tone irritates me. This isn't funny at all. Even if I was planning to choose DeShawn over Sam, I wouldn't want it to be this way.

“Sam is my friend, just like you are my friend, DeShawn. I don't want anyone to get hurt.”

“But no matter who you choose, someone will get hurt.”

“One of you could just walk away from it! Why do I have to be the one to decide?”

DeShawn walks all the way into the kitchen and stands in front of me. He takes one of my hands and squeezes. “Come on. Let's watch the movie. Don't think about ultimatums or paparazzi right now. Just chill, okay?”

“You know what? I can't watch the movie tonight. I'm gonna be in the studio if someone needs something.”

“Are you mad at me?” DeShawn asks. He makes a pouty face that I might think was cute if I wasn't so irritated right now.

“No, I'm not mad. I just need to work on some music. I've got some tracks that I need to finish for my new record.”

“But just a few minutes ago, you were gonna watch the movie, so I feel like you're just doing this because of the blog post.”

“Feel any way you want. I'll be in the studio.”

A wave of sadness comes over me as I escape to my musical sanctuary. I don't like the uncertainty of not knowing who to trust or who I should choose. And what if the answer is neither? Then what? I get to hurt two people? I know that BlackCelebrityGossip.com called me a boss, but I've never felt less in charge before. Where are the paparazzi now? They never get a picture of the truth—the stuff that really happens.

Maybe it's time for me to go on record with the real story.

“I
'se married now!”

I hear Dreya's voice on my phone at three o'clock in the morning, talking about she's married, but I'm one hundred percent sure it's a dream.

“Wake up, Sunday! You didn't say anything.”

I sit up in my bed and squint at the phone in the dark. It's Dreya's number on the caller ID, but she's talking crazy.

“What do you mean you're married now?” I ask.

“I'm in Vegas, with Evan! And we just got married.”

“What? Are you serious?”

“Yes!”

I shake my head in disbelief and kick my covers off so that I can pace the room while I fuss at Dreya.

“What happened to flying everyone to St. Barts? I was looking forward to that trip!”

Dreya cracks up. “So go on your own dime. I'm on my honeymoon right now!”

“My mom and Aunt Charlie are gonna kill you! You know they wanted to see you walk down the aisle.”

“I know. So could you tell them for me please?”

“Wow. What do I get in exchange?”

“You get nothing! It's a favor, cuzzo. I'll owe you one.”

“Do the bloggers know yet?”

“I don't know. I think Evan sent some pictures to that chick Tina from BlackCelebrityGossip.com. He says it'll send my album sales soaring.”

“You're already at number one.”

“I know, but I need to go triple platinum by the end of the month. Epsilon is still talking about pulling the plug on my contract.”

“I'll call my mom in the morning. I will let her tell Aunt Charlie. You know she was having a handmade wig created for your wedding.”

“Well, she can wear it to the reception. I'll call you when I get back to Atlanta.”

“Are y'all coming back here after Vegas?”

“No. We're going back home to New York, because we have some stupid charity ball to attend. We're going to come out with my pregnancy too.”

“All for record sales?”

“No, not just record sales. We love each other, and we're just happy about it all.”

I doubt that Evan is as happy as Dreya, but who am I to judge? I don't know anything about love and romance.

“Okay. I'll talk to you later, Mrs. Wilborn.”

“And you know it!”

I disconnect the phone and grab my stomach as it growls. I try to remember my last meal, and it was yesterday afternoon's trip to Busy Bee. And I also recall that I have half of my smothered chicken left in the refrigerator.

I go downstairs to take care of my hunger. It's so quiet right now, when everyone's asleep. I never get to enjoy solitude. My friends make it noisy almost 24-7.

After my food is done heating up, I take my plate to the table and power up the laptop. I log on to Twitter even though I never tweet. Sometimes, I'll have Kevin post things for me and respond to my fans, but honestly, with school and the studio, I have no time to get online.

My Twitter page has a bunch of mentions. So many fans trying to connect that I can't get to them all. I type one line. Hey, tweeps! What's good in the hood?

In less than a minute, my page starts blowing up.

@SundayTolliver OMG! I love you Sunday! You are incredible!

@SundayTolliver Your song Can U See Me helped me meet my first boyfriend! Love you! #followback

@SundayTolliver Please tell me that picture of you and DeShawn was Photoshopped.

Were they waiting for me to get online? My fingers fly over the keyboard typing responses.

@shellidaboss Thank you!

@ciciciccone Awww! Congratulations!

@latariab Um . . . can I plead the fifth?

My answer to the last post sent my page into a new flurry of posts. I sure hope that these are not my high school or middle school fans. What are they doing up this late?

@SundayTolliver Sunday, no!!!!!! You can't be kissing DeShawn! What about Sam? #teamsam

Sam is your boo for real! Stop playing! #[email protected]

@SundayTolliver Do y'all remember how Sam played her? #teamdeshawn

It seems like my fans are just as confused as I am. Half of them are rooting for Sam, the other half rooting for DeShawn. They all want me to pick one.

I open my phone and call Sam's phone. He's probably asleep, but I just want to leave him a hello message. I don't like the way our last phone call ended.

He answers. “What's up?”

“Nothing. I was just on Twitter, and my fans are tripping.”

“Why? Because you never answer their tweets or follow them back?”

I laugh quietly. “They aren't expecting me to do that, are they? I need someone to seriously man my page then, because I'm not going to be able to answer all of their stuff!”

“They are expecting you to do it, because they love you, so of course you should love them back.” Then Sam cracks up laughing. “They want you to pick a boyfriend. They are giving you ultimatums too.”

“Are you reading my page?”

“I am. I think you should listen to them.”

“Of course you do. When are you coming to town? I'm ready to work on some new music.”

“Soon. I'm finishing up some stuff here with one of Mystique's new artists on her Mystical Sounds label.”

“Is it a girl?”

He chuckles. “You jealous that I'm in New York spending time with another girl singer?”

“I am absolutely not jealous.”

“Yes, you are, and you should be. This girl is beautiful.”

Totally unfazed, I reply, “She must not be that hot, since you're on the phone begging me to choose you every chance you get.”

“Somebody is getting the big head, I see.”

“No big head. I'm just saying that I don't believe you when you try to make me jealous.”

“Well, she's absolutely stunning. But . . . she's only eleven. She's going to be the next Disney star, and I'm in on the ground floor selling her tracks.”

“Why didn't anyone ask me to write a song for her?”

“You want to? It's Mystique's thing, but I'm sure I could make it happen.”

DeShawn walks into the kitchen. I hold a finger up to my lips. He grins mischievously. He better not say anything, or he can take his ultimatum and kick rocks.

“All right, Sam. Talk to Mystique for me. That'll be great. Let me know what she says. Call you tomorrow?”

“You getting off the phone?”

“Yes. I'm tired. It's late!”

Sam takes a long pause. What is he thinking? “That dude is in the room, isn't he? Don't lie either.”

“Yes, he is, but I really am about to go to bed.”

“Man, I'm about to move back down there. This dude circling around like a squirrel over an acorn.”

“I wouldn't mind having you back here, Sam. I like working on music whenever I get inspired, not whenever you're in town.”

“I'm going to buy a condo this week. I can't win my girl back all the way in New York.”

“What about your spot in New York?”

“I'm leasing it, so it's on and popping. I'll be back in Atlanta this month.”

“Okay . . . I'm looking forward to it.”

“I am too. Put me on speaker so I can tell the video vixen to step.”

“No!”

Sam laughs. “Okay. I'll be there to tell him in person.”

“Bye!”

DeShawn stares at me with a tight-lipped grimace. “What's up?” I ask.

“Nothing.”

“You sure? Because it doesn't look like nothing.”

“I don't like sharing you. I saw that Team DeShawn and Team Sam stuff on your Twitter page. That's not fair.”

I nod in agreement. “I know, DeShawn. I'm sorry. I didn't start that.”

“You got me feeling like a sucka or something. You need to go on ahead and make up your mind.”

“What happened to the Spring Fest?” I ask. “Are you moving up your ultimatum?”

“I can't sit back and listen to you flirt with this dude, and then have you turn around and flirt with me. That's not even cool.”

I didn't think I'd been really flirting with either one. The truth is, DeShawn wouldn't even be in the mix if Sam had been doing what he was supposed to be doing from day one.

“I feel like I owe it to you to at least consider it, DeShawn. You've put the work in. If you don't want me to, then . . .”

DeShawn's facial expression becomes a mix of anger and hurt. “I don't want you to feel obligated. I don't want you to owe me. I want you to . . . well . . . want me! Over him.”

I've been asking myself all evening, if I chose DeShawn could I honestly say that I won't think of Sam? I know that the answer to that is no. I even thought about Sam when DeShawn kissed me. I don't think of anything when Sam kisses me. The moment consumes me and it's like time stops.

“DeShawn, I can't do that, now. I really, really, really like you. I do! But I still have strong feelings for Sam that I can't ignore. I'm sorry that I'm not ready to move on from Sam yet. I would understand if you didn't want to put up with this. If I was you, I wouldn't want to put up with it.”

“Just tell me this. If Sam and I were equals. If he didn't have a fly music career and money, if he wasn't a baller, would I have a better chance?”

I shake my head. “I promise you that has nothing to do with it. Sam and I connected before we ever made any money at all.”

“I don't want to give up on you, Sunday. I know that dude doesn't appreciate you, and he's gonna slip up again. When he does, I'm going to be right there, ready to win you over.”

DeShawn pounds his hand with his fist and walks out of the kitchen. Why won't he give up on me?

Gia walks into the kitchen and plops down on a bar stool. “Just tell him that you choose Sam. Stop trying to have a backup plan.”

“That's not what I'm doing, Gia.”

“Yes, it is. You're not telling DeShawn because you don't trust Sam one hundred percent. But you're gonna have to take a chance on being boyfriendless.”

“I'm not sure about Sam.”

“What are you not sure about? You still care about him. Everybody can see that, even DeShawn.”

“I'm not sure that I'm safe with him.”

“Well, unfortunately, you don't feel strongly enough about DeShawn to erase the caring feelings for Sam. So maybe you need to be alone.”

Maybe she's right. Perhaps the choice should be neither, and I've got to be brave enough to accept that, if it is the answer. At the end of it all, there may be three broken hearts instead of one.