Broken Essentials

By April Harper

It's the nineties, an era of upheaval. But Denise is too caught up in her own battle to notice. Terry is her mother, or that's what Denise's birth certificate says anyway (she checked to make sure). Their life is as picture perfect as Terry can possibly make it, which is to say that it's not picture perfect at all. There's the missing father. Then there's the pregnancy at nineteen.

Now Terry has to decide—does she let Denise and her baby destroy the balance of power in her home, or does she destroy Denise?

Denise gives birth to her very own baby girl, but this isn't a time of celebration. She doesn't know what a good mommy looks like. All she knows is that she has to protect her daughter from Terry. She has to protect them both from Terry. She has to win this one time.

Denise runs blindly from her mother and straight into the open arms of lust, drugs, and Tyrell. On the outside, Tyrell is a street-smart hustler. Inside, he's searching for something, but he doesn't know what. And he's too busy with the life to figure it out. Staying alive means throwing himself from moment to moment, from dollar to dollar.

Tyrell is a mystery to Denise. Denise is a new hustle to Tyrell. Or at least that's what he thinks at first. Will Denise change his world, or will he change hers?

• Language: English
• Publisher: April Harper
• Release date: Mar 14, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393205616

Book preview

1 The Way It Was

DENISE PUSHED HERSELF through the grassy pathway along the busy street for forty-five minutes every day to get to work at The Taco Shack. Her feet knew the way by heart. Five minutes down the sidewalk to the corner of their street. Turn right at the corner, run into the middle lane of the main street. Wait for the cars to fly past, then go! Up into the grassy area with the manmade trail. Five minutes, then zig zag out to the edge of the street to avoid the horned grass. Quick, high step over the prickly bushes. Anticipate the hole in the dirt. You had to time it just right or you’d roll your ankle. Denise had done it twice.

She hated that there was no public transportation where she lived, but she refused to ask Terry for anything. Most days it was hot; some days the temperature was 100 degrees above hell. Denise didn’t care though. She was determined to raise her baby on her own. Terry didn’t care about her anyway. She’d never exactly been the ideal mother. Denise cared even less about her. And she refused to owe Terry anything. Hell, she was already in debt for being born. Not that it had been her choice.

Today was extremely hot, and Denise swore someone had turned the oxygen completely off. Her faded blue T-shirt stuck to her newly rounded belly, and her stonewashed jeans could no longer zip completely. Denise had to force the zipper up as far as it would go, then leave the flaps to cling to the bottom of her belly. Her face also felt fatter than usual. She looked down at her watch. Good timing. She still had fifteen minutes before she had to clock in at The Taco Shack. She walked into the furniture store a block from work. She’d seen this store a million times but had never been inside. It looked old. The white letters sprayed on the brick exterior had long since faded. The chips and scratches on the door outnumbered the painted parts. Denise just prayed they had air conditioning.

She pushed on one side of the double doors. As it creaked open, a blast of cold air sent goose bumps down her arms, swirled around her baby belly, and flirted with her spine. She inhaled the scent of dirt, plastic, and Pine-Sol. Denise was a tourist, in awe of all the colorful arrangements of furniture. She could see out of the corner of her eye the staff sitting behind the large countertop, watching her. They were a panel of three: two Hispanic men, who looked like something straight out of an old Western movie with their large black cowboy hats, plaid shirts, and string ties. Then there was the plain, petite Caucasian lady. Her silver hair had no curls, no bounce. It lay around her shoulders, concealing the top of her plaid shirt. Her face matched her hair perfectly, except for the pop of bright pink lipstick smeared across her pursed lips. She looked worn and tired. But then Denise probably looked crazy to them as she waddled in.

An old, orange-colored white man walked up behind her and asked if she needed any help. Denise spun around, startled. He couldn’t have been more than 5’3". He too wore a plaid red and black button-down shirt, but unlike the other men, he wore a pair of black suspenders to hold up his dusty jeans. His powder-blue eyes were framed by deep wisdom lines. He held in his veiny, trembling hand a glass of water, and he gave her a yellow smile.

Denise smiled back as she stretched out her hand and accepted the water. This is a beautiful store. She tried to use her best big-girl voice.

Well now, I appreciate it. He had a thick Southern drawl that caught Denise off guard. Is there something I can interest you in, little lady?

The man watched Denise finish the glass of water. She’d forgotten to come up for air, and water dripped from her cracked bottom lip. She was embarrassed. She turned her head from the man and caught the water sliding down her chin with a quick motion of her arm.

I’m just looking around for now, she said over her shoulder.

The man reached past her body for the glass in her hand.

She turned and faced him. Sorry. Thank you, she whispered sheepishly as she gave him the glass.

The man grinned. You just let me know if you find something you like, darling. He let out an old Southern chuckle.

Denise peered over the man’s shoulder, scanning the large warehouse. Puzzles of couches, a maze of loveseats and chairs of all manufactured colors. Denise’s eyes followed the edges of the maze. Backward, forward, dead ends, then doubling back again. She traced the pathway of assorted colors, materials, and patterns. Then she saw it: a cream white leather sofa and love seat set, hidden in a cove, tucked away behind a dusty Holiday Sale sign that was months old. The sign was red, white, and blue. Bumping along through the maze, remembering the path her eyes had just taken, Denise raced over to the set. The man, her companion, was close behind.

That set’s $500. He called out from behind her.

Denise picked up the price tag hanging on the arm of the couch. Yup, $500. She didn’t have that kind of money. Disappointed, she looked down at her watch. Four minutes to get to work.

Not bad, she said plainly. But I have to get to work now. I’ll be back for it. She tried to sound confident.

The man smiled. Sure thing, little lady.

Denise made her way back through the maze of furniture and hurried out the door. She was panicked now. She hadn’t given herself enough time to get to work. As she jogged down the street, she counted to herself. I got almost $100 in my box. If I add this check to that, I’ll have it. Wait, Terry’s the only way I can cash my check. She’ll know what I’m trying to do.

SHE WAS GASPING FOR air and her face was dripping with sweat when she ran into The Taco Shack. She was trying desperately to slow her breathing as she hurried behind the white faux marble countertop to the cash register closest to the door. She pressed the plastic-covered button on the bottom of the register that read IN, entered her PIN, then pressed the IN button again.

Made it, she said out loud to herself, panting. She headed down the hall with the purple walls to the bathroom to freshen up and change into her work uniform—a purple T-shirt that bore The Taco Shack logo and a pair of tight-fitting blue pants, which she had to force her belly into.

The Taco Shack was never very busy on Wednesdays. That was the day mothers seemed to dedicate to cooking at home. The weekends were a different story. A sea of customers always came in to order millions of tacos all at once. Children ran around the lobby, hiding under purple chairs. Mothers begged their little ones to sit. Fathers studied the menu, pretending not to see the mischief that their children were causing. It would have been funny to watch if it wasn’t so stressful. Those shifts were the worst.

As Wednesday went, this one was uneventful. Denise stood around mostly, pretending to be busy. She’d wiped down the tables in the lobby four times by mid-shift. Pam walked in as Denise was wiping off the stack of purple trays piled on the countertop. Pam’s thick, wavy hair was piled into a ponytail, and she wore a baggy Nike T-shirt and thigh-length blue-jean shorts. She and her friends came in everyday around this time, laughing and smiling. They never had a care in the world. She brought her daughter Keetah with her today. She was the cutest little girl Denise had ever seen. Her skin was flawless chocolate. Denise was envious of her deep dimples, positioned perfectly on both sides of her round face. Nothing but pure happiness radiated every time Keetah came in. Like her mother, she wore a baggy pink T-shirt and knee-length denim shorts. Her mother made sure Keetah’s hair was platted neatly. Each plat held a burette of a different color and shape. Strange, though—she called Pam by her first name, and Pam allowed it. Denise had never heard a child call a parent by name. For the longest time, she didn’t even realize that Mom wasn’t Terry’s name.

Pam came to the counter and ordered her usual: two beef enchiladas, one burrito, and a large Dr. Pepper, light ice. Keetah ordered as well.

Girl, you look tired as hell, Pam giggled as she dug change out of her pocket.

I am, but it is what it is, Denise replied. She longed to take a good nap, and to get out of there. The smells of ground beef, sour cream, and hand sanitizer were making her stomach twist and turn. She knew her baby had thrown up inside her at least twice. She couldn’t blame the baby. She wanted to do the same.

Pam put four crumpled one-dollar bills on the counter and dove back into her pocket for more. Ain’t it time for ya break yet? I know when I was pregnant, I couldn’t be around all this food smell. I would’ve throwed up everywhere. Pam turned her pocket inside out, and change spilled onto the floor.

Can’t believe she just said throwed up! Denise chuckled to herself as she came around the counter to help Pam pick up the change.

The manager called up front for Denise to take her break. She couldn’t have been more ready, but it would have been even better if he’d told her to go home. Denise finished ringing up Pam’s order before closing her drawer. She clocked out for her break, checking the receipt to make sure she was punched out. Then she walked to the booth where Pam and her friends sat and took a seat across from Keetah.

That nigga can definitely hit it! Janelle laughed loudly.

Janelle was super pretty. Golden brown skin, hair perfectly in place, all name-brand clothes. The kind of clothes Denise could never afford, let alone put together on her own. She looked like the model type—perfect. She could have any man she wanted.

Man, that nigga ain’t worried ’bout you, girl. He be at Keisha house every day! Stacey chimed in.

Stacey looked like she came straight out of Boyz in the Hood. She could have been Dough Boy’s twin sister. Her mocha skin had definitely missed out on any skincare products. Her hair, dryer than elephant skin, was pulled into a ponytail cocked to the side of her head. It looked more like a doodoo ball than a ponytail. It had to have taken a team to get it to look like that. It looked like it hurt. And she had a grease stain on her forehead. She was pretty, but badly put together.

Wait, Keisha that fuck with Tyrell?! She stays having niggas in and out her house! She a ho! Keshara laughed.

Keshara was the oldest of the bunch. She was twenty, about to be twenty-one. She was grown, and she seemed to know everything.

Well, he gonna be fuckin’ with both of us then. We gonna be a team! He got more money than a little bit. And he fine! Janelle rolled her eyes and laughed, then shoved a taco into her mouth.

Everyone at the table laughed, except Denise.

The rest of Denise’s shift was uneventful. She’d long ago cleaned away any evidence that Pam and her friends had been there. She watched with disinterested eyes as customers came and went. It was all a blur. She was ready to leave and give her bed a bit of company. She was looking at the clock when the manager called up front, releasing her from her duty station in his scruffy voice. Denise scanned the lobby one final time and hurried to her favorite register to clock out.

You want a ride home? Jason asked as he searched for his keys in his pants pocket. He was always so kind and carefree. He was thin and stood over six feet, and he reminded Denise of Shaggy, her favorite Scooby-Doo character. Except that he had an oddly deep voice, which sounded like it was traveling from underground.

No, I have a way home, Denise lied. A ride would have been wonderful, but she would never bring anyone near Terry’s house. Ever.

Jason shrugged his frail shoulders and skipped out the door on his lanky legs.

Denise was exhausted. Her feet were on fire, and she felt nauseated. She just wanted to lie down and never get back up. But first she had to drag herself forty-five minutes through the familiar trails to Terry’s house.

BRIGHT LIGHTS SHONE through the oval frosted glass front door of Terry’s house. She could hear laughter coming from inside. Denise rolled her eyes, took a deep breath, and entered. Denise beelined through the brightly lit foyer, past the kitchen doorway, and into the living room, whose floor was covered with emery green commercial carpet. Denise brushed past the tan fabric couch in the middle of the room. Along the way, she gave a forced, Hello. Then she headed down the hallway lined with photos in brown frames, toward her bedroom.

You can’t speak when you come in my house? Terry called after Denise.

Can’t you just leave me alone?! Denise thought.

Denise stopped in her tracks long enough to see Terry and two of her heckling girlfriends sitting at the wooden dining room table, where three glasses of wine and a half-empty bottle sat. Terry wore her Bible study outfit: a pair of blue jeans and a navy-blue T-shirt with the words Mount Zion Baptist Church printed in pink lettering on the front. Great. Bible study. She’d forgotten that it was Wednesday.

Tasha was Terry’s sophisticated alcoholic friend. She wore a black pencil skirt, a white silk blouse, and one of the most expensive pair of high heeled shoes Denise had ever seen. Tasha didn’t have any children, and she didn’t even go to church, from what Denise could tell. She was only there for the wine. Genevea was obviously the low woman on the totem pole. She wore the same church T-shirt that Terry wore, but her thin frame made even a size-small T-shirt look like an extra-large. Her jeans were held up with an over-large, black leather belt, which bulged in the front, giving the impression that she had man parts. She brought her pack of three brats over each week, and each week, Terry and Tasha told her how she needed to raise her kids and what she needed to do with her life. The funny thing was that she was older than Terry and Tasha.

Denise’s sisters sat on the floor in the living room with the church kids.

Yes, ma’am, I did speak, Denise forced the words out, past a large lump in her throat.

We’re having Bible study, so get your ass in here! If anybody need to be in here, it’s your pregnant ass, Terry barked. We got Bible flash cards, she added in her kid’s voice, suddenly beaming.

Denise stood there, puzzled. She could never understand how Terry could turn her bitch on