Page 13 of Tainted

“Nope.” That annoying alarm went off in my body, telling me this was enough for the day, so I began collecting my trash. “How’s Aunt Misa? I haven’t seen her since I got back,” I asked, referring to Brandy’s mom. It was almost like she didn’t exist to either of them.

She mockingly shrugged her shoulders.

“You and your daughter are so much alike,” I scoffed.

“Shit, we better be. I carried her butt for nine months.”

“What about the other one you carried?” I asked, causing Nana to smack her lips.

“I don’t remember you being so nosey, little girl.”

“Growing up in Podunk towns has a way of doing it to you.”

“Misa is around when she’s around.”

I could tell by how her eyes darted around the room that there was more to the story, but I let it go for now.

“I have to work this weekend, so I probably won’t be back until Monday. Please behave.”

“I am the grandmother here.”

“And hardheaded. I’m serious, Nana.”

“I seeshe whose name I can’t speakpassed a few things down to you. That girl was the queen of the guilt trip. Where are you workin’ anyway?”

“At a club. You know how it is on the weekends,” I explained vaguely, hitting a two-step like we used to in her kitchen.

“Girl, you’ve been dancing since you could stand.” Her eyes grew distant, recalling my childhood, “Anyway, I spent plenty of weekends at the clubs back in my day.”

“You’ve lived quite the life, haven’t you?”

“I have. You be safe out there. Especially at night.”

“Yes, ma’am. Next time I come, you can tell me more about that life. I love you, Banana Girl.”

“I love you too, baby.”

3

Kenyon

My morning started early, dealing with the contractors renovating the apartment complex. I hated micromanaging people, but they were behind schedule, leaving me no choice. The news played in the background with weather updates, traffic reports, and a feel-good story about a rescued dog. I was more focused on sifting through invoices and swapping the dirty money with clean rent payments. By now, I had this shit down to a science, so it wasn’t hard. Just tedious as fuck, half listening to the television until I heard a familiar voice.

“Turn that up,” I called to Jackie, who was working on the front today.

Syd's father, John Jackson, was front and center, launching his anti-corruption campaign on the live broadcast.

Convenient for a nigga running for office.

I leaned against the desk as John vowed to clean up the city and eliminate corruption. These were big promises, the kind politicians loved to make, especially when that pledge wouldn’t have a leg to stand on if voters knew him like I did.

“Our city deserves better,” he said, his voice firm and steady. "It's time for a change. It’s time for transparency and accountability. Together, we can build a future free from corruption.”

He paused, scanning the crowd, before bringing up a topic sure to pour in votes. “We need to think about the children and families of our city. Every day, I see hardworking parents struggling to make ends meet while their kids dream of a brighter future. These families deserve to know that their government is working for them, not against them.”

I chuckled, listening to him advocate for children he didn’t know but couldn’t give the same energy to Sydney. Sadly, that was one of the milder skeletons in his closet, considering he was guilty of accepting bribes and making under-the-table deals, but that’s politics.

The bell on the door dinged, jolting me back to reality.

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