Page 37 of Simply Complicated
Fifteen
I wake up the next morning feeling like shit on a brick. My eyes are puffy and I’m sure, red like I just smoked the dankest weed. My head is pounding and the little bit of light from that big screen door is blinding me.
Screen door? I shoot up in bed and my head is angry at me for making such a hasty move. Where am I?
I look around my surroundings and I must be in a hotel somewhere. The bedroom is very modern and quite expensive. In fact, the bed is the softest bed I’ve ever laid on. The sheets feel like silk, but they’re cotton.
The biggest flat-screen TV is handing on an art easel in a corner. There are several doors and I’m assuming they’re closets and maybe, a bathroom? One door is cracked open, leading to the hallway.
The room is decorated in colorful, deep hues like purple, grey, and black. It smells clean, and fresh, not clinical and disinfected like a hospital. There’s warmth here that’s unexplained. Like an old spirit blessing the place with each step.
There are pictures on the walls but I can’t really make out who it is. Nothing about this room is familiar and I’m starting to get freaked out when I have the realization I’m in someone’s home. I don’t know how I got here or who stripped me down and put me in bed.
I can’t call Savior because I’m sure he wants nothing to do with me now. I don’t know where I am to give Tasha and Junie instructions. I’m stuck. I’m lost. I don’t know what to do and I’m about to freak the fuck out if I don’t get any answers soon.
Before I open my mouth, the question is answered before I asked it. “You must be Keisha.”
I rub my eyes and turn to where the voice is going from. Appearing in a long, black sweater with flared jeans topped with pink Gucci heels was Mama Ellison herself – Starr Ellison.
She was a pioneer in the women’s rights movement, dating back to the 60’s. There is rich history of her meeting with congressmen, present for bill signings, and leading protests with a megaphone in her hand. She, along with Daddy Ellison, was also an integral part of the civil rights movement, declaring affordable housing for black residents in Los Angeles.
She’s a woman who always has a look on her face that signals she could call your bullshit before you even open your mouth. She’s had plastic surgery but it seems she’s gracefully aging by the appearance of a few smile lines. She has deep blue eyes, blonde hair that looks like corn silk and is probably just as soft. She’s a healthy thin for her age. There’s nothing frail about her.
“Did you sleep well?” Her voice is soothing and warm like tea.
“Um,” I’m totally confused about what’s going on here, “yeah, I did. Thank you.”
Starr stirs her porcelain cup and walks more into the bedroom. She puts the saucer down on an end table and pulls up a nearby chair. She picks up the saucer again and carefully sips her cup. “Too hot.” She blows on it a little and puts it back down. Her gaze turns to me and she smiles. “Rough night?”
I don’t even have to wonder if she knows what happened last night. I’m sure the messages and notifications are blowing up my phone left and right. It’s not like the last time Andrea and I got into it, where it was clearly her fault. This was all me. I let her push my buttons. I let her bully me. I lost my cool and as a result, I lost my relationship.
Tomorrow, I was supposed to be Savior’s date to the gala. We were supposed to pick out a gown and accessories today. I’m pretty sure he wants nothing to do with me now.
I look away from her and stare out the windows. “If you’re here to tell me why I shouldn’t be with your son and how he won’t be seen with me, you can save it. I’ll get dressed and call an Uber to find my way home.”
“I think you’re wonderful for my Savior.” Starr replies and my heart stutters. I turn towards her and she’s still smiling at me. “You’re a sweet, bright woman. And you’re a firecracker. Savior needs that in his life.”
The admission stuns me and it almost feels like a test. “I appreciate the compliment but you’re saying this; your son isn’t.” I carefully reply.
Starr nods. “Savior had to go to work today. He wanted to stay with you and work from home, but he had to do final preparations for a potential arbitration he might get involved in. He’ll be home early, though, and you two can talk more when he gets back.”
I pull my knees to my chest and rest my head on it. “I’m sure Savior told you the truth about what my daddy does for a living. I know that makes him uncomfortable.”
“Savior already knew,” Starr picks up her saucer again and takes a sip from the cup. “It’s something he’s known for a while.”
I sit straight up now like if I was zapped with a lighting rod. Savior knew? How did he find out? Furthermore, how long had he known? Why did he ask me what my daddy did for a living unless he wanted me to say it myself?
And he still wanted me? That makes no sense. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m not saying Savior was tickled pink when he found out. He was quite concerned. Your safety was his top priority. He knew your father could take care of himself.” Starr took another sip. “But he also saw the bigger picture.”
“Which is?”
“You.” She calmly states. She sets the saucer down again and looks at me. Her eyes softened to an ocean blue and I see bits of Savior within Starr. “My son loves you, regardless of how long you two have been together. I won’t speak for him, but I will say this – there’s a freedom within Savior that hadn’t been present before he met you. He’s smiling a lot more and he seems a bit more…oh, what’s the word I’m looking for…free.”
“Why wouldn’t he be free before?” I ask. “He’s rich. He lives in Bel-Air. He has the money to buy the freedom he wants.”
“When you’re the son of two well-established people, there’s an incredible amount of pressure on you to live up to it. All three of my sons were compared to their father in various times of their lives, but Savior, I feel, had it worse than any of them combined. Once it was known he was going into law, the comparisons only increased. He felt pressure from the jump to do well.” Starr pauses for a brief moment and stares straight ahead. “He never stood a fighting chance.”
