Page 103 of Certified To Handle You 2

I didn’t know if last night was the beginning of us findin’ our way back or only one more moment I was gon’ have to learn how to let go of. All I knew was Renza had walked back into my life for one night and left me missin’ him more than I did before.

Days later…

Today had been a long ass day, and I was emotionally and mentally exhausted. I had been movin’ around since a little after six this mornin’, and now it was damn near eight at night with me still sittin’ inside my car because I didn’t have enough energy to make myself walk into my own condo.

The last few days had been the same way. I would wake up before my alarm, check every notification that came through while I was sleep and start answerin’ people before my feet even touched the floor. By the time I brushed my teeth and got dressed, somebody already needed money, somebody at one of my businesses had a problem and one of my relatives had called me with some shit they decided I was the best person to handle.

Most mornings, I started at the funeral home because that job required a different part of me than everything else I did. People trusted me to prepare their loved ones for the last time they would ever see them, and I never treated that like regular work. I could be tired, irritated or dealin’ with my own shit, but the second I stepped into that room, none of it mattered because somebody’s family was dependin’ on me to make sure the person they loved looked peaceful.

That mornin’, I had worked on an older woman whose daughters brought in a picture of how she used to wear her hair. They stood beside me explainin’ every little detail because they wanted her to look like herself, and I listened without rushin’ them even though my phone kept vibratin’ inside my pocket. One daughter wanted her curls tighter around the face, while the other one kept askin’ me to smooth down one side because their mama hated when her hair looked too full.

I took my time and fixed everything they pointed out until both women started cryin’ because they said she finally looked like Mama again. I held myself together while they thanked me, but once they left the room, I stood there starin’ at the woman for a few seconds longer than I needed to. The sadness inside that place could follow a person home if they let it, and lately, it had been harder for me to leave it behind when I walked out the door.

Then, my manager at Renaissance Glam Studio called because one of the stylists had double-booked herself and another one decided she was too sick to come in after already confirmin’ six clients. I had to move appointments around, refund two deposits and calm down a woman who acted like reschedulin’ her silk press was the worst thing anybody had ever done to her.

By the time I got to the salon, everybody had a question. One stylist needed more color ordered, another one said theshampoo bowls had started drainin’ slow and the receptionist wanted to know if I approved somebody’s request to take off the followin’ Saturday. I stood behind the front desk answering all of them while checkin’ the weekly numbers on the computer and tryin’ to figure out why our product sales was lower than the week before.

Owning a salon sounded cute until every broken chair, late employee and unhappy client became my problem. I loved Renaissance Glam Studio, and I was proud that I had built a place where women could make real money while doin’ what they loved. Still, some days I wanted to walk inside, sit down and let somebody else handle the shit without everybody turnin’ toward me like my name was the answer.

I barely made it into my office before my younger sister, Ryan called.

She didn’t even ease into the conversation before tellin’ me she was short on her car note and needed me to cover the rest before they charged her another late fee. I asked what happened to the money she was supposed to have saved, and she gave me a long explanation about her light bill, some clothes she had to buy and a weekend trip she claimed she had already committed to before everything started fallin’ apart.

“Ryan… you knew that car note was comin’ before you went on that trip,” I reminded her while openin’ the Apple Pay request.

“I know, Reni, but I thought I was gon’ have enough,” she replied. “I’m not askin’ you to pay the whole thing. I just need the rest.”

“And next month?” I asked while lookin’ at the amount she sent me. “What you gon’ do when the same bill come back around?”

“I’ll have it next month,” she promised quickly. “I swear.”

I had heard that same promise too many times, but I sent the money anyway because the thought of her car gettin’ taken bothered me more than watchin’ another few hundred dollars leave my account. She thanked me and told me she loved me before hangin’ up, and I sat there lookin’ at the confirmation screen while wonderin’ why everybody always found a way to get themselves into shit they knew I would pull them out of.

My mama and daddy didn’t need me to take care of them. They had built good careers, managed their money and made sure their lives was straight long before me or my sister was grown enough to understand what that took. They loved me, but that love came with a standard that never moved just because I was tired.

My father expected me to conduct myself like every room I walked into had his last name written across it. My mama could hear one frustrated word in my voice and remind me that bein’ overwhelmed wasn’t an excuse to lose control of myself. Neither one of them said I had to be perfect, but the way they raised me made it hard to accept anything less from myself.

Even now, I could tell my mama I had managed three businesses, helped half the family and spent the night in the hospital with my grandma, and she would still ask whether I had followed up on some property paperwork I mentioned two weeks earlier. She wasn’t bein’ mean, but damn. In her mind, she was keepin’ me focused because she knew what I was capable of.

The problem was everybody knew what I was capable of, and they kept givin’ me more because of it.

After leavin’ the salon, I drove across town to check on one of my rental properties because the tenant had sent pictures of water stainin’ the ceiling near the kitchen. I met the maintenance man there, listened to him explain that the upstairsunit had a slow leak and then called the plumber myself because waitin’ until the next day would’ve meant more damage.

While the plumber worked, the tenant followed me around complainin’ about the noise, the smell and how inconvenient it was for her to have strangers in her apartment. I stood there apologizin’ for somethin’ I didn’t personally cause while makin’ sure the repairs was done right, then promised to have somebody come back and repaint the ceiling once it dried.

Before I even pulled away from the building, the manager at my hookah lounge called because two servers had started arguin’ in front of customers. One accused the other of takin’ money off her table, and somehow both of them believed screamin’ across the lounge was the best way to settle it.

I drove straight there, separated them and checked the camera footage myself. After watchin’ the video, I figured out the whole thing started because one server grabbed a payment the other one was supposed to close out. It wasn’t theft. It was confusion that turned disrespectful because neither one of them knew how to stop talkin’ long enough to listen.

I sent one home and wrote the other one up before walkin’ through the lounge to make sure everything else was runnin’ right. The music sounded good, the sections was full and clouds of sweet smoke hung over the room while people laughed, drank and enjoyed their evening. Everybody looked relaxed except me.

I had barely eaten all day, and my head had started hurtin’ hours ago, but I stayed long enough to check inventory and make sure the liquor count matched what was entered into the system. By the time I finished, I wanted nothing more than to go home, take my clothes off and sit somewhere nobody could ask me another damn question.

Then my mama called and told me my grandma had started feelin’ weak again.

I drove to her house, helped her into my car and took her to the hospital while she kept insistin’ she was fine. We sat in the emergency room for hours while nurses came in and out to check her pressure, draw blood and ask the same questions she had already answered.

My aunt called me twice for updates but never offered to come sit with us. Another cousin texted me to ask whether Grandma needed anything, then followed the question by tellin’ me she couldn’t leave work. Everybody cared, but somehow I was always the one physically there.