“Hold on again, he’s leaving. I need to clean that table real quick,” I said, nodding my head toward my section.
“Kimberly, thank you for the wonderful service today,” he reached into his pocket. “I’d like to leave you with a tip in exchange for your phone number,” he grinned at her with a $50 bill in his hand.
“Oh, um, thank you, but I don’t give out my number.”
“I wanted to take you out this weekend. Give me your number,” he said taking out his cell phone.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I began to pick up his dirty dishes and walk away. “And you can keep your tip.”
My heart skipped a beat as I walked away. This wasn’t my typical kind of guy, yet I was so drawn to him. My father had been shot and killed by a crooked white cop. There was no way in hell I’d ever consider dating a white guy. My entire family would disapprove of that kind of relationship, despite his wealthy appearance. No amount of money would ever change my family’s opinions on interracial relationships. Plus, this cocky rich guy who was trying to shell out a generous tip was most likely out of my league. I’d dated my fair share of thugs, which is why I’m single now.
Once, I dated a guy who worked at a gas station—for six weeks. When he lost his job, he came up with a reason we should “take our relationship to the next level” and ended up living on my couch for three months after I broke up with him. Then there was Troy, who was Nevaeh’s dad. He was a piece of work. The relationship between us started out great until I discovered he had anger issues. We had been dating for about a month when he became angry with me for not being home when I said I’d be there. He kicked in and dented my front door. After a few apologies and his excuse of having a bad day, I was dumb enough to forgive him. A few months later, I wound up expecting—with Nevaeh—and that’s when everything grew ugly.
Knowing that I was pregnant, he knew he had me on a hook and that I wanted him to stay; his true colors came out. Sometimes I would come home to my living room all smashed up and other times I’d find my dog beaten. I tried to work things out for Nevaeh’s sake but decided that this was not the environment I wanted my daughter growing up in. I mustered up the strength for a restraining order and kicked Troy to the curb. After the sheriff’s department removed him from the residence, I never saw him again.
I didn’t bother filing for child support since Troy hardly worked. I also knew that he was the type that even if I applied, he’d likely quit his job to elude making payments. Additionally, I worried that he might feel a sense of entitlement to my daughter if he paid and try to weasel his way back into our lives. I wanted no part of that. As a result, I began working full-time hours as a waitress and pick up extra shifts as much as I can.
Lorraine, my life-long friend, helped me; we’ve been best friends for almost 20 years since we were nine years old. I am very particular in who takes care of Nevaeh—I wouldn’t let just anybody watch my baby. My daughter is my pride and joy; my whole world. Lorraine and her husband Tyrone babysit any chance they can to help us out. They love Nevaeh and would do anything for us. They’re wonderful towards my little girl, treating her as if she was their own child. He even built a swing set in the backyard for Nevaeh during the times she was there, which was practically every day.
I marched back into the kitchen, leaving the hot, cocky customer standing at the table with a $50 bill in his hand. How dare he demand my phone number like that? He don’t know me! Who the hell does he think he is?
“What’s wrong?” Sherry asked as she watched me try to compose myself.
“You see Mr. Handsome out there?” I pointed to the table he was now slowly walking away from, “He was trying to demand my number so he could take me out this weekend. I told him I don’t give my number out, but he got all cocky and arrogant. I think he was even trying to bribe me with a $50 tip!” I explained.
“Are you for real?” Rachel asked, checking out his ass as he walked away. “Girl, you’re crazy! That man’s got to have some money! Look at his suit and God, look at that body! You know he works out,” she laughed.
“Well, I don’t care how much he works out or how much money he has. Some men need to learn respect. Just because he’s got money doesn’t mean he can walk up in here and demand phone numbers.”
“What? Why not?” Sherry challenged.
“Because you can’t.”
“Girl, if some rich dude was asking me for my number, I’d give it to him. Why don’t you go out to the parking lot and give it to him before he leaves?” Sherry asked.