<![CDATA[Vanessa Moore LLC - All the Wrong Reasons]]>Thu, 06 Aug 2026 23:54:20 -0400Weebly<![CDATA[Chapter Eight - Jeremy]]>Fri, 07 Aug 2026 02:27:50 GMThttps://vanessamoorellc.com/all-the-wrong-reasons/chapter-eightI felt like I’d drunk six cups of coffee. My head was literally reeling as Marsha lay breathing lightly against my chest. I planned for this, and yet I couldn’t believe it had actually happened. Not only was I dating the most beautiful girl in the North Bronx, but now I was the first and only man to make love to her. I looked down and ran my fingers through her soft black hair. She had really gone all out for their date that night. I’d never seen her hair professionally done, and her outfit really complemented her shape. As we strolled to our seats at The Palm, I hoped that everyone thought we were some Black celebrity couple. I hoped that I put on an air of importance and that they believed Marsha was a model. I hoped we looked like more than a struggling law student juggling his family’s semi-legal businesses and a schoolteacher. While I lay holding Marsha, I certainly felt like I was more. I wished that all the girls who made me feel bad about myself back in Miami could see me now, laid up with “the light-skinned Naomi Campbell.”
I really wanted to sleep, but I couldn’t. My mind raced, remembering every moment of the evening. Marsha said that she was a virgin, and once all her clothes were off, I knew she wasn’t lying. She trembled innocently when I’d barely touched her, but her body seemed to become more alive with every kiss. It was like the closer we pressed against each other, the more parts of her would awaken, as if her nerve endings had been in a coma. I bit my lip as I felt myself rising under the soft cotton top sheet. I could go for a round two, but I didn’t want to wake her. I could tell she was in a significantly deep sleep. I wrapped my arms tighter around her, telling myself this would not be our last time. I would feel her again and again, because she was my forever.
I could tell that she wanted to please me, but her innocence limited her. I knew she didn’t understand that the mere fact that it was her was what pleased me more than enough. She literally had a reputation for being beauty and brains, and yet she remained deeply humble. Her naivety and modesty enraptured me. I wanted to be the one to show her and give her everything she’d never had before. At first, I thought that would be hard to do, but as I got to know her, and especially after her disclosure about her past, I knew I still had a lot to offer her.
I chided myself for sometimes being harsh with Marsha as she adjusted her limbs that were entangled with mine. She’d bared her soul to me that night, and I realized she didn’t always deserve my coarse reactions. She didn’t understand how hard it had been for me, being from the wrong side of Hispañola, living down in Miami, and then a big, scary Black man in The Bronx. I knew I’d have to guide her out of her bubble carefully so that she would understand me. The more she understood me, the more she would love me, and the less likely she would be to leave my side.
Now that everyone knew about us, I felt like calling someone and telling them what we’d just done. I chuckled inwardly. The last time I’d felt like that was after I’d lost my own virginity as a teenager back in Haiti. As soon as I could, I told my boys. As much as I felt I would burst with joy and conquer, I couldn’t do that with Marsha. Our intimate moments were beyond physical and weren’t for broadcasting. The feeling passed as soon as it came, and finally, I, too, drifted into a sound slumber.

*****


Jeremy paused as he exited the jetway, causing the passenger behind him to bump into him and grunt.
“Sorry,” Jeremy said nervously, but continued to stand in the way. “Sorry, sorry,” he repeated to other passengers rushing by.
“Yuh sorry, den move!” said a busty woman with waist-length box braids.
Jeremy finally eased himself to the side as he tried to get his bearings. His eyes darted around in search of his Uncle Marvin. Finally, he decided to start walking. For the first time in his young life, he was truly terrified. He didn’t know a thing about New York. He’d only visited Uncle Marvin twice when he was little. He didn’t remember anything about JFK Airport or traveling from Queens to Brooklyn.
The night his father kicked him out, Jeremy packed as much of his stuff as he could into several duffle bags and went to stay at a friend’s house. That night, they stepped out to get something to eat, and there was his girlfriend in the corner store, looking as if everything was normal.
“Yo,” Jeremy said, drawing her attention away from the rack full of potato chips.
She and the young lady next to her looked up at him, and her eyes brightened. “Jeremy, what’re you doin here?” she asked.
“You know your father is lookin for you?” Jeremy asked, ignoring her question.
She rolled her eyes.
“He came to my house,” Jeremy went on. “He’s threatening to have my family deported, so my dad kicked me out.”
“You?” she asked, stepping away from her friend.
“Yes,” Jeremy confirmed. “This is all your fault, talkin about runnin away and shit. Ya father thought I knew where you went, and threated us, so my father blames me for dealing with you in the first place.”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly.
Jeremy sucked his teeth. “Go home,” he said.
She looked up at him with tears in her eyes. “We could go away together,” she said. “We have money. I don’t have to go back to my mom. Your father put you out—we could find somewhere to stay together.”
Jeremy shook his head.
“I’ll be outside,” his friend said, reminding Jeremy that he hadn’t gone to the store alone.
Jeremy nodded and turned back. “We can’t do that. We would get into a lot more trouble.”
“How?” she asked. “You’re on your own. You can do what you want.”
“The world doesn’t work that way,” Jeremy explained. “Look, I can’t be seen with you. We can’t make this worse than it already is. I told you, if it’s meant to be, we’ll find each other again. I have your number. Go home. I’ll call you in a few weeks.”
The girl’s lip quivered.
Jeremy didn’t want to see her cry, so he repeated himself and walked away. “Go home.”
Now, as he found himself lost in JFK Airport, he wanted to cry too. “Get it together,” he mumbled to himself and looked around for a payphone. When he found one, he put in a quarter and dialed his Uncle Marvin’s number. The phone rang about five times before the answering machine picked up. Jeremy slammed the phone on the receiver and stared around the airport. First things first, he thought to himself. Find your luggage.
He stopped a young maintenance man, dragging a mop and bucket, who looked to be around the same age. “Scuze me,” he said, “you know where the baggage claim at?”
“Sorry?” the guy asked, struggling to understand Jeremy’s muddled Haitian-Floridian accent.
“Baggage claim, for the luggage?”
The guy chuckled a bit and nodded. “Yeah, it’s that way.” He pointed and turned away.
“Thanks!” Jeremy called out and walked in the direction the guy had pointed to. He saw signs that led to the baggage claim, and he eventually found his own abandoned luggage. He dragged his luggage toward the door, but something told him not to exit just yet. He decided to find another payphone and call his uncle again. Again, no one answered. He then called his mother collect.
“Halo,” she answered after accepting the call.
“Mummy,” Jeremy croaked, trying not to reveal his vulnerability.
“Jeremy,” his mother whispered. There was some shuffling, and then she was speaking clearly again. “You made it to Uncle Marvin’s?”
“No. He didn’t come to pick me up. I been callin him and he’s not answering.”
“Oh bondye,” she groaned. “Maybe he’s on his way to get you. Just wait.”
“My flight landed over an hour ago Mummy. Maybe he forgot.”
“No, he didn’t forget. New York always having the traffic. Maybe it’s that. Pa enkyete w. He will come find you. Call me when you get there, but if I don’t answer its cuz your father is around. He’s not ready to deal with you yet.”
“Can you call Uncle Marvin for me?” Jeremy pleaded.
“I could, but it’s not like he can call you to find you. Pa enkyete w, son. He will be there. Go back to your gate and wait there.”
Jeremy sighed. “Okay, Mummy. Thank you.”
“It’ll be okay, son.”
Jeremy found his way back to the gate he’d exited, but it was crowded, and there was nowhere for him to sit. He would have to walk several gates away for a seat. For all that he figured, he’d go back and sit near the exit. On his way there, he saw the same guy he’d asked about baggage claim.
“Yuh ‘till here bwoy?” the guy asked, now out of uniform.
Jeremy shrugged.
“Yuh people nuh come fa you?”
Jeremy shook his head.
“Yuh call them?”
Jeremy nodded.
The guy sighed. “Yuh cyan stay here all night. No place to sleep.” The guy chuckled. “Maybe I can give you a ride.”
“Okay,” Jeremy agreed, thinking he was running out of choices. The guy seemed cool. He talked with what sounded like a Jamaican accent, so he was Caribbean, and that gave Jeremy some comfort.
“I’m Steven,” the guy said, offering Jeremy a handshake.
“Jeremy.”
“Cool, where yuh people live?” Steven asked.
“Brooklyn,” Jeremy said.
Steven snickered. “Where in Brooklyn? Brooklyn a big place.”
Jeremy shrugged.
“Yuh know the street?”
Jeremy shook his head.
“Damn,” Steven said, shaking his head. “Alright. I’ll wait for yuh people wit you. If nobody comes by ten o’clock, you can jus come stay by me until you get in touch wit them.”
“You sure about that?” Jeremy asked.
Steven looked Jeremy over from head to toe. “Mi nuh fraid uh you. You in my town. Yuh look lost ah rass. Where yuh from?”
Jeremy swallowed. “Miami,” he said, downplaying his accent as much as he could.
Steven cocked his head to the side. “Where you really from?”
“Haiti,” Jeremy admitted.
Steven laughed. “Yeah, mi should be fraid uh. Haitians crazy ah rass. But—” Steven’s voice trailed off as a young lady with a big rear passed by. “Look, like mi say. Mi ah go wait wit you. If yuh people nuh reach, jus come stay by me, and we figure it out. Okay?”
“Okay,” Jeremy agreed.
The next morning, Uncle Marvin finally answered the phone. He had indeed gotten his dates mixed up. ​
]]><![CDATA[Chapter Seven - Marsha]]>Thu, 06 Aug 2026 01:49:50 GMThttps://vanessamoorellc.com/all-the-wrong-reasons/chapter-seven-marshaValentine’s Day was another holiday that was huge in the States, and I finally had a reason to look forward to it. People overspent on tokens of love, from chocolates and flowers to extravagant dates, to tennis bracelets. I wondered what Jeremy had in store for me.
“Am I supposed to buy Jeremy someting?” I blurted out over a rare family breakfast encounter with both Sheila and Ansol. Once upon a time, Ansol was seldom home. But since his breakup with Karen, he was around more often.
“Who?” Ansol asked.
“Jeremy?” I answered, wondering where my self-control had gone, so I could’ve stopped that silly question from rolling off my tongue.
Sheila sucked her teeth with annoyance.
Ansol laughed. “I thought you were cool with him now,” he said to Sheila.
“I am. Kinda,” she said.
“So why yuh chups yuh teeth?”
Sheila rolled her eyes. “Marsha, this is about Valentine’s Day?”
I nodded.
“Taaal. You don’t buy him shit. He’s a man. He spends the money.”
“But he always spends the money,” I reasoned.
“Didn’t you buy him someting for Christmas?” Sheila carried on.
“Yes.”
“Then that’s enough. You buy him someting for the Christmas and him birthday. That’s it. Let the mon spend the money.”
I looked to Ansol, and he shrugged. “Why don’t you have some input?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Ansol admitted. “I don’t tink about those tings.”
“That’s why Karen dumped you, cuh yuh nah tink,” Sheila snickered.
“That’s why Scratches is gonna dump you. Cuh yuh cheap ah rass!”
Sheila and I giggled, but Ansol was done with the conversation. He sopped up the gravy from his salt-fish with a fried dumpling, downed his tea, and left the kitchen without saying another word. Sheila and I made eye contact and shrugged.
“He’ll be okay,” Sheila said, brushing the whole thing off.
“So don’t buy anyting?” I reconfirmed.
“Don’t spend one rahtid dime.” 

*****


I didn’t buy Jeremy anything for Valentine’s Day, but I got myself dolled up in a way that I knew he would appreciate. I barely went to hairdressers, but for this occasion, I made an appointment with Sheila’s talented beautician, Suzie. In my opinion, my hair didn’t require as much attention as Sheila gave to her own head. I mainly kept my hair parted down the middle and slicked back in a tight bun. I never altered it with chemicals or color treatments, so I figured it had to be healthy. Besides, it was long and silky, supposedly the hair that everyone else wanted. What would I ask for in a beauty shop? I had Jeremy’s attention, and that was enough for me.
Suzie was known for transforming her clients into whoever they wanted to be just by coloring, cutting, and weaving their manes into interesting masterpieces. I didn’t need all that, but she was the only hairdresser I knew of. The day before Valentine's Day, I found myself in the shop packed with West Indian women waiting to be serviced by Suzie and her fellow Jamaican shopmates.
“So, it’s you, the Naomi Campbell lookalike Sheila talks to me about,” said Suzie as she draped a black vinyl shampoo cape over me.
I shrugged.
“Well,” Suzie went on, “no worries, I’m going to take very good care of you. You goin out for Valentine's Day?”
“Yes,” I said, trying to conceal my excitement for my first Valentine’s date.
“So what do you want to do with all this beautiful hair?” asked Suzie.
I shrugged again.
“Okay,’ said Suzie, “mi know dem say mi is a miracle worker, but mi need someting more than a mass of hair to work with. You seriously ‘ave no ideas?”
“Well,” I started, “I don't like anyting too crazy. I just want to keep it simple.” I didn’t want her to send me off with my hair standing on my head peacock style as I’d seen many of the women leave her shop earlier.
Suzie thought a minute, then stepped away and returned with a photo album. “Nobody really looks at this,” she said, “but maybe you could find someting in ‘ere.”
I took a deep breath and flipped through the book. There were a few styles that stood out to me, all of them done by Suzie. Still, I kept it simple and asked for a roller set.
Suzie looked discontented. “Customer is always right,” she said, followed by a disappointed sigh. “Wow,” she said as she combed out my tresses. “You have a lotta sun damage. You never ‘ad a trim?”
I shook my head.
“You ‘ave to trim regularly,” Suzie sighed.
Not only did she advise me on regular trims, but she also talked about deep conditioning and moisturizing. I nearly gagged at the amount of hair that hit the floor when Suzie started trimming. I felt like an old-time Hollywood actress when Suzie was done, though. I just wished I could have gotten my hair done without spending so many hours in the shop.
The place was hot, crowded, and loud. The women literally discussed everything from their unruly children to their cheating husbands. They wished ill on bad bosses and diced up annoying coworkers with sharp insults. I was so quietly wrapped up in their wild tales, it seemed like Suzie and the other stylists forgot I was there. The pumping music and booming voices were about all I could take. With all my discomfort, though, I learned a lot in five hours from what these women had to say. Like from the one other girl in the shop who seemed to be around Sheila’s age, who admitted to dating an older Haitian man.
“Careful,” one of the stylists warned, “dem Haitian mon quick to ‘ave a next wife and scatter pick’ney wherever dem ah go. If the wife find out him ‘ave a young gyal, dem love fi use all kinda voodoo and obeah.”
That’s when the horror stories began. One after the next, women told tales of Haitian men with secret families and vengeful wives ruining everyone’s lives with “witchcraft.” My imagination took off, and by the time I left the shop, I had to focus on grounding myself back in reality.

*****


Valentine’s Day came, and I waited in the living room, dressed in a black sweater dress, black tights, and suede ankle booties. I’d refreshed my roller set and tried my hand at a little makeup again. Eye shadow, eyeliner, mascara, and lipstick were all I knew to mess with, and I’d finally stopped stealing and borrowing from Sheila and bought a few things of my own.
Sheila had left with Scratches, and Ansol stayed in his locked bedroom, Sanchez love songs on repeat. I was glad to be left alone with my thoughts as I waited for my date in the living room.
When Jeremy rang the doorbell, I grabbed my coat and rushed to the door.
“Wait, wait, wait, I didn’t even get to see what you have on,” Jeremy said, pushing my coat open.
I placed my hands on my hips, giving a full reveal of the dress.
Jeremy whistled in approval. “I love it, mon amour,” he kissed me on my lips and handed me a bouquet. “I think you should put these in water first.”
I nodded and rushed to put the bouquet into a vase that took turns holding me and Sheila’s flowers. Once that was taken care of, I eagerly followed Jeremy out the door to his Audi, which he’d started talking about trading in for a newer model.
Jeremy drove down into the city and pulled into an expensive parking garage. We then walked to The Palm, a five-star Italian restaurant on West 50th Street in Manhattan.
I felt like I was shrinking as obviously wealthy white patrons eyed us, but Jeremy brazenly approached the maître d, who also looked confused, and spoke to him about his reservation. At first the maître d pretended not to be sure, but Jeremy whispered something to him, to which the serious-faced man replied, “I see, sir. I understand.” With that, he found our reservation and led us to a somewhat secluded table.
“Everyting okay?” I whispered.
Jeremy nodded without looking me in the eye as we followed the maître d to our table. The eyes of the seated guests made me nervous, but I put my trust in Jeremy as he strolled through the restaurant like he owned the place.
I carefully scanned the menu, full of cuisine I had only read about but never had. The white tablecloths and real silverware let me know that the place wasn’t cheap. Yet, I wanted to try everything. The plates and platters that passed me by made my mouth water. Jeremy stared intently at the menu himself before finally asking me what I wanted.
I cleared my throat, realizing I was at a loss for words. “I don’t know, and where are the prices?” I whispered.
Jeremy grinned and shook his head. “There are no prices on the menu, mon amour.”
Puzzled, I cocked my head to the side. “No prices? This food can’t be free.”
Jeremy shook his head once again. “It’s not free. They don’t list the prices.”
“How do you know what to pay?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Jeremy shrugged. “You shouldn’t be here if you have to calculate the cost before arriving.”
“What do you do for money?” I blurted out. “I know you’ve been looking for work at law firms, but you haven’t said anything about gettin hired. And you haven’t passed the bar—”
Jeremy raised his hand, causing me to freeze mid-sentence. “What do you want to eat, Marsha?”
“I could start with the Sicilian tuna tartare.”
Jeremy nodded his head in agreement. When the waiter returned, he placed our food orders and attempted to strike up a conversation about a movie we’d seen a week prior.
“I asked you a question,” returning to what I wanted to know about his livelihood.
Jeremy raised an eyebrow.
“What are you doing for money?”
Jeremy looked down at the table and cleared his throat. “You like the places I take you and the things I buy you?” he asked.
I nodded my head.
Jeremy leaned in and spoke with a tone so low, I questioned if I’d heard him correctly. “Then don’t ask me another question about my money. It’s mine, and it’s not your concern.” His tone of voice curdled my blood. Suddenly, and very briefly, I was scared. I sat back in my chair and pursed my lips, not knowing what to say or do next.
“Understood?” Jeremy confirmed.
I managed a nod.
After enjoying the luxuriousness of the fancy New York restaurant, Jeremy led me on a short walk to the W Hotel on West 47th Street.
“What are we doin here?” I asked as Jeremy strolled through the lobby, same as he had strolled through the restaurant earlier that evening.
“Just trust me,” he said as he spoke with the concierge and got us checked in.
When we arrived at the room that Jeremy had apparently reserved in advance, I was pleasantly surprised with a trail of rose petals that led from the door to the huge, lofty bed. Even in my short heels, I could feel the softness of the opulent white carpet. I felt like I was walking on pillows, and immediately took my shoes off. Coming in from the dirty New York streets with my shoes on the fluffy white carpet just didn’t seem appropriate. I hooked my forefinger and middle finger into the shoes and stood in the middle of the room, taking it all in.
“What do you think?” Jeremy asked.
A breathless, “It’s beautiful,” came from my lips as I could think of nothing else to say. I was impressed. My heart picked up speed when I realized why we were at the hotel, though. Again, my mind and body were conflicted. My skin from the inside out craved Jeremy’s touch, but in my mind, I was not prepared, and I could not escape my thoughts, which were saturated with fear of not knowing how to please him.
Jeremy's hand encircled my waist, and my inner battle continued as he led me to the bed. “Marsha,” he said as he sat me down beside him, “I know you’re nervous, but you have no reason to be. You are the love of my life. There is no one else for me but you, mon amour. I won’t hurt you.”
“I’ve never done this before,” I finally spoke my fears.
“I know,” said Jeremy, “but don't worry. Everything will be okay.”
“I’m not on any birth control,” I blurted, unsure of the right time to divulge such details.
“That's fine too,” said Jeremy. “We will let nature take its course.”
With that, he kissed me so gently that no matter how much anxiety I felt, I gave in and allowed him to usher me into another level of womanhood.

*****


I lay on my back next to Jeremy, eyes wide open, staring up into the darkness, only interrupted by moonlight peeking through the curtains. Some women said their first time was magical. Some said it really wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Others were traumatized. I felt the magic. Jeremy was so gentle and attentive, and I relished every moment of it. I thought about the slimness of my frame in comparison to women like Tina, but Jeremy’s soft caresses made it hard for me to insist on keeping myself covered. I don’t know what came over me when I grabbed Jeremy’s endowment. I caressed him, and he seemed to enjoy it, so I continued. I’d almost forgotten why I’d sworn off love for so long. But then I thought, things happen the way they’re supposed to, and for a reason. My first time with someone else could have been no big deal or a traumatizing experience. Now I could see how women ended up in the predicaments they were in. I understood why my mother had four children with a man who continued to have more children outside of the home. Magical lovemaking was enough to make a woman lose all her senses and accept everything else that came along with a man that knows what he’s doing.
“You okay?” Jeremy whispered.
“Yeah,” I breathed out.
Jeremy turned and put an arm across my torso.
I gripped his elbow, appreciating the comfort of his embrace and not feeling smothered.
“You really really never been with nobody else huh?” Jeremy asked hesitantly.
“I told you I haven’t.”
“It’s just hard to believe these days.”
“Well I have no reason to lie,” I brought my knees up under the sheets.
“No, you don’t.” Jeremy raised a hand to the side of my face and caressed my cheek. “I feel like I should know these things already. You really never even kissed anybody before me?”
A light giggle escaped my lips as I considered the fact that we were now far beyond kissing. “I have, but it was nothing worth talking about,” I said, thinking about that day back home at Nasir’s party. “And I don’t think I ever wanted to since then.” I felt myself falling into that solemnness that plagued me after that night, so many years ago.
“Nobody, um, tickled your fancy?” Jeremy said with a chuckle.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I never really gave anyone the chance. I never felt like I could trust anyone as much as—”
“As much as?”
An uneasiness crept into my stomach. I relaxed my legs under the luxurious sheets that cooled and comforted my calves. I took a deep breath. We just had sex, I thought to myself. There’s really nothing left to hide. “I had a best friend named Desireé,” I said. I’d said her name out loud for the first time in more than five years.
“Desireé huh?”
“Yeah. She was the only friend I ever had.”
“Why’s that?” Jeremy’s arm now pulled me in closer. He rested his chin on the side of my head, ready to listen.
“I couldn’t get along with anybody else. You know my dad is the minister of education in Antigua. He is responsible for every school on the island. He has a doctorate in education. He studied abroad, and everybody was impressed with that, and that’s how he got his position.”
“So you weren’t popular because of it? I mean, I was kinda popular in Haiti and Miami because of my parents.”
“We were all popular tanks to my dad,” I sighed.
“It wasn’t good?”
“My father has twelve children in total. Only four, including myself, are my mother’s.”
“Wow,” Jeremy whistled lightly.
“Yeah. We were a very popular family.”
“Your mother never wanted to leave him?”
“I don’t think so,” I pondered Delmont and Lucinda’s relationship as I answered Jeremy’s inquiries. “I never heard her say a word about any of it. Women would literally leave these kids on our doorstep, and Mummy would jus tek them in and raise them as if they were her own. And Antigua is very small, like the size of The Bronx. Everybody know everybody and everybody know everyting about everybody.”
“So what happened with um, your friend? What did you say her name was?”
“Desireé. Well, when I was little, I didn’t really understand what my dad was up to, y’know. He was jus, my dad. Every year, he would mek a visit to all the schools. He would spend the whole day there and speak with every class. When I was in grade five, he made his visit y’know, same as always. And I was always so excited to show off my dad and show off for my dad. I would show him all my work that teachers put up and everyting.” I paused as the emotions I felt that day crept in and heated me from the inside. I hated thinking about that day. I hated it when it crossed my mind involuntarily, like the memory of catching Jeremy talking to Tina in the hall during the Christmas party.
“What happened?” Jeremy probed, bringing me back to the present.
“So, I wanted to spend my lunchtime wit him. I went into the main office to find him, and it was mostly empty and quiet. All I remember is goin around one of the desks, and he was in the back with a teacher. He was um—”
“What?” Jeremy pushed.
“He was whispering in her ear, and his hand was on her behind. That was the first time I really understood the type of man my father was, or is, I guess.”
“So what does that have to do with Desireé?” Jeremy dug deeper.
“Okay, so after that, I just separated myself from everybody. I talked as little as possible. I never told anybody this. I felt like if I got too friendly, I would slip up and tell someone what I saw. So for years, I stayed to myself. I wouldn’t mek friends. I barely talked to my sisters and brothers. I didn’t go outside to play. I jus read. All the time, I jus read books. Then, when I reached high school, grade nine, I met Desireé.”
“And you guys became friends?”
“Yeah. I tried not to be friends with her. I tried to avoid her, but she insisted. After a while, I gave in. I started going out a little bit. I even ran track for a while. But Desireé was boy crazy, and I wanted nothing to do wit boys. I didn’t want to end up like my mother, jus home with a bunch of kids and an unfaithful husband. I wanted to graduate high school, go to college in the States, and then travel the world studying history. Maybe even write some kind of history book. I love history, y’know.”
“Yeah, I know,” Jeremy laughed lightly.
“Desireé was really into boys, but she always talked about one. She was from the Dominican Republic, her father worked for the embassy in Florida, and her mother brought her and her brother to Antigua because he was cheating on her and she wanted to divorce him.”
“Wow.” Jeremy pulled away slightly, so I adjusted myself closer to him and turned to face him.
“Anyway, Desireé always talked about this guy in Miami. He was the love of her life, she would say. But he was Haitian, and her family didn’t like that. Supposedly, they were a crime family or someting like that.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” I laughed. “It would be funny if you knew him.”
“Oh, because all Haitians know each other?”
“No,” I laughed harder.
“Haiti is not as small as Antigua. We don’t all know each other,” Jeremy grunted.
“I didn’t mean anyting by it,” I said, realizing he was offended, so I attempted to clean up the moment. Instantly, his energy changed, but I didn’t want to lose the closeness and warmth I felt toward him. I’d been holding on to these feelings and thoughts for years, and it felt good to finally tell someone.
“And I know what people say about me,” Jeremy continued. “I don’t come from no crime family.”
“Okay, I never—”
“Just making it clear.”
I stiffened. If I didn’t move, I could hold on to the comfortable intimacy of the moment.
Finally, Jeremy kissed my temple. “Tired?” he asked.
“Yes,” I admitted.
“Then let’s call it a night.” Jeremy wrapped both arms tightly around me as I buried my face in his bare chest, and we drifted off into our separate twilights.

*****


Desireé fanned herself with her hand as Marsha stepped out onto her front porch wearing a skimpy green, spaghetti-strapped dress. “Yes, hot gyal!” she shouted.
Marsha blushed, as she’d never adjusted to comments on her looks, even coming from her best friend.
“You ready for this party, mamacita?” Desireé said, grabbing Marsha’s wrist as they both skipped down the steps.
“I guess so,” Marsha groaned.
“You always play like you not down, but you know you always down for a good lime.”
Marsha giggled. “Just lissen to you, talkin like a Antiguan.”
“Antigua muh come from!” Desireé shouted. “If I can’t be in Miami with the love of my life this summer, then fuck DR and Miami! I’m an Antigua-gyal now!”
Marsha’s shoulders bounced as she laughed uncontrollably at Desireé’s silliness. “How we gettin to this party?” she finally asked after they’d walked a few feet down the road.
“We can catch a ride,” Desireé stated.
Just then, a car pulled up beside them and a girl called out to Desireé from the backseat. “Hey gyal, where yuh off to, nuh?”
“Hey Darlene. We goin to Nasir’s party,” Desireé informed. “Ya goin?”
“Yeah, Sherrie bredda ah guh carry us dey,” said Darlene,
Sherrie peeped her head out from the front passenger window. “Yuh want a ride?” she asked.
“Hell yeah, chica,” Desireé said with her hand already on the car door.
“Marsha, yuh comin too?” Sherrie asked.
“I guess,” Marsha said flatly. “If that’s okay wit you and yuh bredda.”
“Is fine,” said Sherrie. “Jus nuh let ya stushness rub off pon the seat.”
Everyone laughed at Marsha’s expense while Marsha stood still.
“She’s just playing with you, mamacita,” said Desireé.
Marsha looked at Sherrie, who grinned slyly.
“Aren’t you just kidding?” said Desireé.
“Of course, muh jus jokin, get in the car, Marsha. My gawd.”
The four girls hopped out of the Honda in front of a wide yellow home, set on cinderblocks. Desireé strutted ahead, and Marsha followed her into Nasir’s backyard. Soca music pumped from a speaker on the bright yellow back porch. The air was filled with the aroma of night-blooming Jasmines called Ladies of the Night. Marsha noticed that they were everywhere in his backyard, and they were truly intoxicating. She was feeling the party vibe immediately and didn’t hesitate, the way she often did, to indulge in some underage drinking with her classmates.
Surprisingly, it was Nasir who offered her a drink. He barely spoke to her in school. In fact, when Marsha was a freshman, he was one of the main students talking trash about her and her father. In the months leading up to the party, though, Marsha was hearing that he liked her. She didn’t believe it, but Desiré assured her the rumor was true. Now, here he was, hands outstretched, offering a beef patty and a small cup of Antigua’s signature rum, English Harbor. Marsha accepted both.
When she was finished with her patty, Nasir asked, “Wanna dance?”
Marsha shook her head. The only time she danced was when Desiré encouraged her to participate in the last parade of carnival, dressed in a costume and marching with a team of other costumed dancers. Other than that, Marsha didn’t dance in public.
Nasir looked disappointed as he thought for a minute. “Maybe on a slow song?” he suggested.
Marsha shrugged.
“I mean, it is my party,” Nasir went on. “How do yuh not dance with the guest of honor in his own yaad?”
Marsha giggled.
Nasir smiled, and as if he’d planned it, a sweet Frankie Paul tune floated from the speakers. Marsha could not resist as he swirled his hand around her waist, pulling her in close. As he guided her to the middle of the yard, where everyone was stepping in closer to grind and whisper sweet nothings, her head whipped around searching for Desireé. Not too far away, Desireé was close up on another soccer player, with a beer in hand. As if she knew Marsha would look for her, she too looked up. The girls made eye contact, and Desireé nodded. Marsha fought the urge to reach up and pull a strand of hair down to play with. She reminded herself that there was no need to keep her fingers busy. She was dancing.
Lover’s rock, liquor, and the scent of the night orchids were a cocktail for full-blown intoxication. Marsha danced for what seemed like all night with Nasir. In between songs, they sipped more rum, and in between sips, Desireé egged her on from a distance. Without asking, Nasir planted a quick, soft peck on Marsha’s lips. Shock paused her for a second, but her paralysis didn’t last long as Nasir kissed her near her ear and along her jaw. His hands slid down her back to her rear, and Marsha became slightly uneasy, not sure if this was going where she wanted it to. This time, she looked around for Desireé and didn’t see her.
“You okay?” Nasir asked.
“Yuh see where Desireé gon?” Marsha asked.
Nasir shrugged. “She was over there somewhere a while ago,” he motioned to where Marsha had last seen Desireé near the porch. But Desireé was no longer there, and neither was the boy she was dancing with. “Maybe they went inside. Let we go and find them,” Nasir suggested.
Marsha agreed and followed him inside. They passed through a kitchen and by a small bathroom, then through a wide open living room. Three doors on three of the walls led to three other rooms. Marsha thought about knocking on the doors, but Nasir led her straight into the one that clearly belonged to him. He closed the door behind him, and Marsha thought she heard the door lock. Nasir noticed the concern on her face and suggested, “Desireé and Mikey really like each other. They probably over in my brother’s room.”
Marsha nodded in agreement.
“Sit,” Nasir gestured towards his flat twin-sized bed directly across the room from the door. “Mi nah worried bout no outside clothes. It’s okay. We danced a lot, yuh might wanna tek a rest.”
Marsha couldn’t disagree with that either, and so she kicked off her shoes and made herself comfortable.
Nasir wasted no time joining her. Neither did he waste any time warming her up for what he wanted. Aggressively, he pulled her in close. Before Marsha could make any other moves, his mouth covered hers, and his tongue forced her lips open. Marsha gasped, afraid that she might choke. Nasir was oblivious. He pushed her back so that she was lying on the bed and continued harshly sucking at her lips and then her neck. He grasped her left breast with his right hand and squeezed. Marsha gasped again, but Nasir was still unaware of her fright. He let go of her breast and snatched the top of her dress down, revealing the same breast he’d accosted through the material of the dress.
“Wait!” Marsha finally shouted.
“What?” Nasir said between what was now bites, along with the sucking.
“Stop,” she said.
“Why?” he asked.
“Because I don’t—I don’t want to--”
Finally, Nasir stopped and looked at her.
“Yuh don’t want to?” he asked in legitimate shock.
“No.”
“Desireé said you did. She said that’s why all’yuh come here tonight.”
“Huh?” Marsha said with no clue what he was talking about.
“Yuh gettin cold feet now? C’mon. Mi like you. Mi know yuh like me back. Unless it’s true what they say.”
Now Marsha understood. Desireé had been talking to her about Nasir for the past few weeks, priming Marsha to accept him when the time came. She’d been telling her that Nasir had his eyes on her. This was a setup. Marsha never dated; meanwhile, Desireé dated all over, trying to keep her mind off the “love” of her life and her fighting parents. However, the girls were inseparable, and this led everyone to believe that maybe Marsha didn’t like boys. Maybe Marsha liked Desireé. Desireé once mentioned that if Marsha were to date just one boy, then the rumors would stop. It all fell into place, clear as day in Marsha’s muddled mind.
“I gotta go,” she said. She stood up, freeing herself from Nasir’s grip.
Nasir grabbed at her again. “Yuh don’t have to,” he said. “We can chill and talk. It doesn’t have to be sex. We can jus mek out, yuh know.”
Marsha backed away from him.
Nasir stood up and grabbed at her one more time. This time, Marsha swung, not knowing if her fist landed, because she was in flight mode as she darted out the back door from which she’d come. She shot through the crowd of partygoers, toward the front of the house, where she sprinted past Desireé and Mikey.
“Marsha! Marsha!” Desireé called as she chased Marsha down the road.
Finally, reaching a bend, Marsha stopped, doubling over and panting. Her hands lightly grasped her kneecaps as she struggled to regain her breath.
“Yuh did that shit on purpose!” she finally shouted when she had enough air in her lungs.
Desireé stumbled backward in shock.
“Don’t look surprised!” Marsha hollered. “Yuh so worried about what everybody else ah tink bout we friendship! Well, don’t worry no more. We was never fuckin lovers, and now we nah even fuckin friends!”
“Tranquilo, Marsha. You’re overreacting,” Desireé said, raising her arms to gain some control over the situation.
“No I’m not. Yuh sent him after me cuz yuh don’t want people to tink we is lovers. I loved you, Desireé, but as muh best friend. Mi never did care what other people tink. And now mi couldn’t care any less, cuh we nah even friends no more.”
Desireé’s bottom lip trembled as she fought back tears. “Marsha, I didn’t mean for you to get upset. I just thought that you and Nasir might like each other. So I tried to hook you up. I wanted you to loosen up a little.”
“And you wanted the rumors to stop.”
“Okay, so maybe you’re right about that!” Desireé shrieked. “Maybe I just wanted everyone to be wrong about you.”
“Muh nah care what they tink!” Marsha yelled in Desireé’s face. With that, she turned down the road, thinking she would walk all the way home if she had to.
“Where are you going?” Desireé called after her.
“Home!” Marsha yelled back. “Go back to the party!”
“You can’t just walk home alone,” Desireé said, scurrying after her again.
Marsha stopped short and turned around. “This is my land. My yaad. Antigua muh come from. Mi nah have no worries. Is you who have to worry. Go back to yuh party!” Again, she stomped down the road in the direction of home.
]]><![CDATA[Chapter Six - Jeremy]]>Wed, 05 Aug 2026 04:17:10 GMThttps://vanessamoorellc.com/all-the-wrong-reasons/chapter-seven-jeremyI wanted Marsha so bad; there were moments I couldn’t focus on anything else. Christmas Eve felt like the perfect opportunity. We’d exchanged gifts. I gave her the promise ring, although I hadn’t really promised anything, and I told her I loved her—which I did. Ansol was out, Sheila left, and everything seemed right. But Marsha wasn’t ready. I didn’t wanna force or scare her, so when she rushed off to the bathroom, I talked myself down. It’ll happen, I told myself.
After the Christmas cookies, I decided to head home and come back the next evening for dinner, with Steven. Sheila always seemed to be glaring at me from the corner of her eye, but I was getting in good with the Lindo family. I liked being around them. They were a real family and not a corporation, which is what my family felt like. Everything was about “business” with the Anthonys.
I fell asleep with Marsha on my mind, replaying how hot and heavy the makeout session had gotten. I imagined what it might’ve been like if she hadn’t stopped me. The moment was so right. As I fell deeper into slumber, my imagination roamed free. Marsha was giving in. She was agreeing to be mine. Our clothes were on her living room floor, and we were skin to skin. She was warm, and I was more than ready. Then her phone started to ring. “I should get that,” she said.
“No,” I told her. “It’ll stop.”
It didn’t, and that’s when I realized it was my phone that was ringing, not Marsha’s. It was the mattress I was pressing into—not Marsha. I reached up and grabbed the cordless phone from its receiver on my nightstand, not bothering to check the caller ID. “Yo,” I rasped into the phone.
“Hey,” said a soft, familiar voice on the other end.
“Sak ap pase?” I asked. Though the voice was familiar, I still wasn’t sure who it was.
“Muh good, but could be better if I had someting stiff in my Christmas stockin t’night.” It was Tina.
“Really?” I said, rolling over on my back.
“Mm hm,” she cooed.
I glanced at the clock. It was three in the morning. “You tryna come over here at this time on Christmas?”
“Sure. Why not?”
I thought about it. “You goin to the Lindos for Christmas dinner?”
“No. You?”
“Of course.”
“Hmh,” Tina grunted. “Yuh know she’ll never let you hit. Yuh wastin yuh time wit that tight-up virgin.”
“You think so?”
“Mi know so.”
I chuckled. “Well, good thing I love her, so I don’t need to hit. We’ll make love when the time comes.”
Tina snorted. “Oh, now yuh love her? Jeremy, you is a joke, yuh know that?”
“Why you say that?” I asked, feigning innocence.
“Jus the other night you was ready to stab up this pumpum—”
“I was drinkin and talkin shit.”
“Yuh talkin shit now. Yuh don’t love her. Yuh jus want her cuz she’s light-skin.”
I snorted. “It’s Christmas mornin’, Tina. Don’t get yourself worked up over dick that ain’t yours—”
“It ain’t Marsha’s either.”
“Look, we had our time. We did our thing. It’s done.”
I could hear Tina sucking her teeth on the other end.
Although I was still sleeping with other girls and planned to until Marsha gave it up, I didn’t feel right about messing around with someone in such proximity. Marsha was already questioning me about Tina, and I needed her to forget all about it. I knew Tina would only make matters worse if I started messing around with her again.
Tina sighed into the phone. “We’ll see how long you can hold out before you’re beatin’ down my door again.”
This time I laughed out loud. “Beatin’ down your door? Cool out, Tina. I never beat anything but that pussy, and I been alright without it.”
“Wow, okay, Jeremy. Like I said, we’ll see how long you can hold out.”
“Merry Christmas, Tina… or rather Happy Christmas, like you guys say. Take care.”
“Fuck you, Jeremy,” Tina said before hanging up.

*****


“Jeremy!” Augustine’s voice bellowed through the house.
Jeremy jogged from the backyard to the front door. He nearly skidded on his feet when he saw the suave, silky-haired, coffee-toned man standing in the doorway. He’d never met him, but he knew exactly who the man was.
“Everything okay, Papi?” Jeremy asked.
“Son,” Augustine said, staring into his son’s eyes, communicating more with the look than his words. “Tell this man you have not seen his daughter, and you have nothing to do with her.”
Jeremy swallowed hard. He’d just left the girl not too long ago. They’d spent the whole day in the park holding hands, necking, and talking. It was the last summer she would spend in Miami since her parents wanted to keep her as far away from Jeremy as possible.
“They’re separated, and my mother hates him, but this is the one thing she agrees with him on. This is stupid as hell,” the girl said with tears in her eyes.
Jeremy tried to comfort her. He hated seeing her cry. “They say when you love something, you have to be willing to let it go. If it comes back to you, it was meant to be yours.”
The girl looked up at him, and a slight smile pulled at the corners of her lips. “Are you saying you love me?” she asked.
Jeremy bit his lip. Did he love her? Did he mean to say that? He just wanted her to feel better. Instead of answering right away, he kissed her deeply. The kiss gave him a chance to think and feel at the same time. It told him everything he needed to know. She loved him. He longed for her when she wasn’t around, and he was damn near willing to risk his life just to be around her. He was four years older than her, and she was still in high school. Her brother and cousins constantly threatened him and chased him whenever they saw him on the street. That had to be love.
“Yeah,” he said. “I love you.” That was the first time he’d ever said those words to a girl. They smiled at each other and kissed again.
“I feel like running away,” she said.
Jeremy shook his head. “Don’t bother with that. Like I said, we’ll find our way back to each other again. Give me the number to the house in Antigua.”
She giggled. “You’re gonna be in so much trouble for calling there.”
Jeremy shrugged. “Ya brother gonna beat me up for calling? Won’t he be down there with you?”
“Yeah, but my dad—and your parents won’t be happy about the phone bill.”
“Let me worry about that,” Jeremy said as he watched her scribble down the phone number.
“Jeremy,” Augustine said sternly, breaking Jeremy out of his trance. “Tell him.”
“I haven’t seen your daughter, sir,” Jeremy said flatly.
“I know you were with her in the park today,” the man said calmly. “Did she say where she was going after that?”
Jeremy shook his head. “I didn’t see her, sir. I don’t talk to her.”
The man stepped forward. “Don’t make it worse by lying.”
Augustine put his hand up. “He said he hasn’t seen her.”
“Let’s be real here,” the man said. “We’ve been young boys once… young boys lie to get what they want.” The man made eye contact with Jeremy.
“‘He said,’” Augustine repeated, “‘he hasn’t seen her.’”
The man stepped back. “Fine. If I find out that you know where she is, this whole family will be on the first thing with a motor, back to Haiti.”
“Leave,” Augustine said firmly.
The man glared at the two of them before leaving the front porch.
When his black towncar pulled off, Augustine slammed the front door. “Mété’w déyo!”
Jeremy froze in disbelief. “And go where?”
“I don’t give a shit where you go! You don’t listen! I told you to leave that girl alone. Ya mother told you to leave her alone—now this man is coming to my door threatening to deport me!”
Jeremy chuckled. “He can’t get you deported, Papi.”
“You think everything is a joke! He works for the embassy!”
“It’s the embassy of DR, Papi,” Jeremy pleaded.
“Sak geyan la?” Madeline said, coming out of her bedroom.
“He’s trying to throw me out,” Jeremy said, gesturing toward his father.
“Poukisa?” Madeline asked. “Oh, I don’t care. Augustine, let it go.”
“Let it go? When we have to pack up this nice house and close down three businesses, will you be able to let it go? Cuz that’s what’s gonna happen,” Augustine explained.
“What? What are you talkin about?” Madeline said, looking back and forth at her man and her boy.
Augustine jabbed a finger in Jeremy’s direction. “That girl’s father came here threatening to have us deported because your stupid son won’t leave her alone.”
“Oh oh!” Madeline said with a gasp.
Before Jeremy knew it, her hand landed on his cheek with a loud, stinging whack. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Madeline cried.
“He has to get out of my house,” said Augustine.
“No no no—”
“Madeline, I said what I said.”
“You can’t send my boy out to the streets, Augustine.”
“I am not risking everything for his stupidity,” Augustine went on. He turned back to Jeremy and pointed toward his bedroom. “Pack up your things and go!”
]]><![CDATA[Chapter Five - Marsha]]>Tue, 04 Aug 2026 02:56:04 GMThttps://vanessamoorellc.com/all-the-wrong-reasons/chapter-fiveDecember had rolled around, and I was feeling on top of the world. I had the perfect job and the perfect relationship. Jeremy no longer had outbursts, but he was clearly territorial, and I didn’t fight it too much because I knew he had nothing to worry about. As far as I was concerned, he was working himself up for nothing, and that was his business, so long as he never embarrassed me.
Sheila and Ansol threw a party two nights before Christmas. Many of our cousins and their friends had once again piled up in our living room; this time, the rug stayed on the floor, and the windows stayed closed as the temperatures steadied in the thirties. There wasn’t as much dancing as there was eating, drinking, games, and pure merriment.
Scratches and Ansol’s newest flame, Karen, were in attendance. Other than Jeremy, I didn’t have friends that I would invite over.
It had taken me some time to figure out that it was Tina whom Jeremy had once dated. I had to piece that information together through comments and attitudes from Jeremy, Tina, and Sheila as well. I didn’t worry about it, though, because Jeremy was into me, and I had seen Tina with several guys over the summer. From what I could put together, Jeremy lost interest in her, and she was hurt. Jeremy did what men do and started talking to someone else—me. The muddy part of the story was whether or not he actually broke up with Tina before being seen around The Bronx with other women. At this point, though, I figured it no longer mattered…
Until after my third Shandy, I went down the hall to use the bathroom and happened upon an intoxicated Tina, fawning all over Jeremy.
The scene was all too reminiscent of catching my father with that teacher in the fourth grade. As I watched Jeremy and Tina, I froze. I am not Lucinda Lindo, I thought to myself. I won’t tolerate this. With that, I mustered the gall to put a stop to the flirt session.
“I know you’re not gettin anything from that tight-up virgin,” Tina said, leaning into Jeremy with her hand on his chest.
“So you want to be the one to tide me over until I do?” Jeremy asked.
“I gotchu,” Tina slurred.
“Yeah, okay. I thought I was all kinda ‘dutty-bwoys’ or whatever you Antiguan girls be sayin.”
“Yeah, well, you is. That’s how I know you ain’t given the virgin gyal no pipe. She ain’t ready, and if she was, she couldn’t handle it. Not like you know I can.”
I finally cleared my throat, sharply halting their banter.
Jeremy’s guilt was all over his face while mischief spread over Tina’s.
“Marsha,” said Jeremy, “tell Sheila her friend is—how do you guys say, ‘drunk ah rass?’”
“Oh, really?” I asked.
“Yeah, tell Sheila she needs to go home.”
“Muh good,” Tina waved the two off as she clamored back to the living room in her heels.
“What are you doing?” I pressed Jeremy through my teeth.
“Nothing,” he laughed.
“How yuh mean?”
“Don’t start that patois shit with me,” Jeremy glared. “You want the whole house to hear you cussin me out on Christmas?”
I suppressed a groan. “Scuze me please, you are blocking the toilet.” I ignored Jeremy’s sly smile as he let me pass.
The next day, Christmas Eve, I could not stop thinking about the exchange between Jeremy and Tina. What did it all mean? Were they still sleeping together? At first, I wasn’t even sure that they had ever slept together, but now I knew for a fact that they did. It hurt to know that I was being referred to as the “virgin” or the “tight-up virgin.” The word virgin stung the same as “stush” once did. No one understood me. Loose behavior could only lead to trouble, and friendliness could lead to too many people knowing my business and diverting my focus from my goals. I was going to be a traveling historian like Ms. Reid. I didn’t need any distractions. No one around me had goals as big as mine, and no one was as dedicated as I was. I tuned out the whispers in high school, and I’d forgotten what life was like before them. The exchange between Jeremy and Tina brought me right back to those times, when I wanted to be understood. Now I would have to get back to not caring, but in a matter of months, I’d completely veered from who I once was and didn’t see a way back to her.
This evening, while Sheila slaved over a big dinner all on her own, and Ansol was at his girlfriend’s house, Jeremy and I sat alone in the living room.
“I just want you to know how important you are to me,” Jeremy said as he reached into his pocket. He took out a ring box, and sweat prickled the back of my neck. At the party he’d given me a teacher’s mug and a pencil holder in the shape of an apple. I gave him a pair of gloves and a Kangol newsboy cap.
Why is he proposing? I thought. I can’t say yes. It’s only been six or seven months. My parents would not approve. Jeremy opened the box to reveal a very simple infinity ring.
“I love you, Marsha, and I want to be with you forever.”
Lost for words, I simply uttered, “Aren’t you supposed to get on one knee?”
Jeremy choked and then chuckled a little bit. “Uh, no. Not that I know of. This is a promise ring, Marsha.”
“Oh,” I first sighed with relief, but embarrassment leaked into the moment.
“Yeah, but what do you think? Do you like it?” he asked with an eagerness in his eyes.
I nodded slowly.
“And?”
“And?” I asked back.
“I said, ‘I love you, Marsha.’”
“Oh. Yes. Thank you.” I was still confused.
“Well?”
“I like the ring,” I said as I processed the moment.
“But do you love me?” Jeremy asked.
“Yes,” I smiled. “Of course.” Every night I thought about how much I loved Jeremy. Why was it so hard to say now?
Jeremy looked relieved, then pulled me into a heated, passionate kiss.
“Eh hem,” Sheila interrupted. “This is still my house, and I don’t need any nasty tings goin on, on my couch.” She stomped across the room and attempted to separate us with her hands.
“It’s cool, it’s cool, you don’t have to do all that,” Jeremy said, scooting himself away from me.
“Tank you,” Sheila said sternly. She turned to me, “Scratches is on his way, so I am going to spend a few hours wit him and his family. The turkey is on, but it won’t be done for a while, and I’ll be home before eleven.”
I nodded.
“You can come wit me,” she suggested.
I looked at Jeremy.
“Well, you both could come,” Sheila corrected herself.
I thought for a moment and decided against it. The house party the night before was all the high-powered social interaction I could take that week. Plus, I could confront Jeremy alone about his conversation with Tina. “No, tanks.”
“Are you sure?” Sheila pushed.
“I’m sure,” I spoke up for the two of us.
Sheila nodded and sighed. “Just be sure to base the turkey frequently.” With that, she went to her bedroom to get ready.

*****


American Christmas movies intrigued me. I learned a lot about American culture from them. The way Americans celebrated and what they valued was so different from life in Antigua. There was so much focus on the tree, Santa Claus, and gifting. While in Antigua, the focus was on family, celebration, and the birth of Christ. My father gave his children gifts on Christmas Eve, but everyone got one thing, and that just wasn’t what the holiday was centered on. Antiguan villages were mostly large families spread out in different households, and so while our homes were decorated with lights and maybe a Christmas tree, the most important thing was time spent with family. Early on Christmas mornings, Mummy would cook a huge breakfast, and she barely left the kitchen for the remainder of the day. She spent her time cooking the Christmas feast that fed others in the village as they stopped by throughout the day to share their merriment. When I was younger, I would go out with my father and siblings, traveling from house to house saying, “Happy Christmas,” and partaking in whatever was on their Christmas menu. After a while, though, I was glad to spend the holiday alone, watching American Christmas movies.
These were the thoughts that circulated in my mind as Jeremy and I watched Miracle on 34th Street on the new living room television that my father bought as a token of appreciation to Sheila for giving me a place to stay. I asked Jeremy how he felt about it and what it was like in Haiti. He didn’t say much, but what he did tell me sounded like it wasn’t much different from Antigua. I enjoyed these kinds of comparisons; I loved dissecting cultures and the histories behind them.
As soon as Sheila left, though, I remembered why I wanted to be alone with Jeremy. I had something to ask him, but Jeremy had something completely different on his mind. He pulled me in close to resume the make-out session that had ensued earlier. I wasn’t easily overtaken. After one kiss, I pulled away from him and asked in my sweetest tone so as not to agitate him, “So it was Tina you had a ting wit?”
Jeremy rolled his eyes. “Yeah. So?”
“So? Is it over?”
“Yeah. It’s been over a long time.”
“So what was going on last night in the hallway?” I leaned in for more of an explanation.
“What?”
“By the bat’room?”
“Seriously, Marsha?” Jeremy rolled his eyes.
“Seriously, Jeremy,” I didn’t blink.
“Marsha, there’s nothing between me and that girl anymore.”
“So what was all that talk about her tiding you over?” My eyes locked in on his.
“I was drinking, and I was just playing around. I wasn’t serious.” Jeremy shook his head from side to side and shrugged.
“Why would you play around like that?”
“Because I was drinking.”
“So if you were sober, you wouldn’t joke with her like that?” I probed.
“Probably not.”
“Probably not? That’s not enough for me, Jeremy.” I pulled my body back slightly.
“Well, it’s gonna have to be enough because that’s all I got.”
Stuck, I focused on the television in front of me. He never gave in as easily as I did. TCM was playing one old Christmas movie after another. I could sit on the couch in silence all night if I had to. I had to find a way to make him bend just a little.
Jeremy eased his arm around my shoulders again and started to kiss my neck. The sensations sent chills up and down my spine, but I didn’t want to give in. I felt he owed me an explanation about the situation with Tina, but I didn’t know how to get it out of him. Eventually, he whispered in my ear, “C’mon, I know you’re not that into these old black and white movies.”
“But I am,” I responded, not taking my eyes off the television.
Two of his fingers touched my chin, and he gently guided my head to face him. “You’re enjoying the television better than my company?”
“No,” I said. “I’m happy to have both at the same time.
“I can do things that will make you forget the television is here.”
Jitters kicked in. This wasn’t Jeremy’s first attempt, and deep down inside I wanted to give in to him. I wanted to express to him how I was feeling, but I didn’t know how. I’d avoided these types of situations throughout high school. I’d once narrowly escaped a soccer player’s advances back in Antigua. Now I wondered, if I had gone through with it, would I feel more at ease with Jeremy? Would I have the necessary experience for an encounter with someone of his extensive sexual wisdom? Embarrassment gradually began to shroud me as I thought about what to do next. I chided myself for not being more knowledgeable. But all I knew was what I’d seen on television and what I’d heard from Sheila and her friends, half of which I barely understood. “I think you should go home,” I blurted out.
Jeremy gasped and sat back. “You’re serious?” he half-questioned.
“Yes, I am.”
“Marsha, I told you I love you.”
“Yes, I know.”
“And you love me, right?”
“Yes.”
“So what’s the problem? We have a perfect opportunity.”
“I—I’m not ready.”
Jeremy paused, and I don’t know why that made me want to cry.
“Okay,” Jeremy said. “He sat back on the couch and folded his arms.
I got up and went to the bathroom to pull myself together. I needed to do something to avoid the crying that was pulling at the corners of my eyes. Why did I feel like this? Why did it seem to matter so much now? I never cared before what anyone else wanted from me. I always did exactly what I wanted to do, how I wanted to do it, when I wanted to. I washed my hands and splashed cold water on my face. It helped calm my nerves enough that when I inspected my face in the mirror for nonexistent blemishes, I no longer felt the urge to cry. I took a deep breath and went from the bathroom to the kitchen for a snack. As I scrounged around for something crunchy, an idea came to mind. I went back into the living room and asked a bored-looking Jeremy, “You wanna bake cookies?”
“Bake cookies?”
“Americans are always baking cookies for Santa. We have some chocolate chip cookie dough in the freezer.”
“I’m not crazy about chocolate chip, and of course I don’t believe in Santa, but why not?” Jeremy shrugged and joined me in the kitchen.
By the time Sheila returned, we were sitting at the kitchen table laughing about our oddly shaped cookies. I could see the suspicion in her eyes as she looked us over. I figured she probably inspected the living room, too. She left for a few minutes, but soon returned in her pajamas and asked, “You mind if I have some?” She gestured towards the cookies on the plate between Jeremy and me.
“Of course,” I dragged the plate over for her to have a better reach.
Sheila smiled as she took three cookies off the plate. “I guess I’ll have some milk too,” she said and poured herself a glass, but didn’t leave without warming it for a brief second in the microwave.
Jeremy and I looked at each other, noting Sheila’s changed disposition. Warmed milk and cookies in hand, Sheila bid us good night and headed to bed.

*****


One night, just as Lucinda had sat her children down for dinner, there was a loud banging on the front door. She glanced around the table, and then made her way to the door. “Who is there?” she called out.
“Muh come fa Dr. Lindo!” a woman shouted.
Lucinda squared her shoulders and opened the door. “Who are you?” Lucinda asked the fuming woman in her doorway, although she already had an idea when she heard the voice through the door. When she looked down at the smooth brown child with her husband’s face, she knew for sure who the woman was.
“Yuh know who mi is!” The woman shook with fury.
Lucinda sighed.
“You ‘tand up inna my doorway so vex, but mi never see you a day in all mi life.”
“Ask ya triflin husband.”
“Mi sure him nuh know you either.”
“Yuh cyan be serious!” the woman carried on. “Look, mi know one of him other baby-mother’s drop off she pik’ney here. Mi can afford fa take care of mine, but it’s not fair. Look how well all’yuh live. Him cyan jus come and lie dung inna mi bed then left mi wit another mout to feed while he has plenty food and tings to share here. Tek her! Mi have to do this because he owes her more than he owes me!” The woman pushed the reluctant little girl into the house.
The little girl turned to her crying, “Mummy, please.”
“You need fa know ya father. Is you say ya want fa know him. Him is a rich man, and this is his big house,” the woman insisted.
“It’s okay,” the girl sobbed. “I don’t want to know him anymore. Mi jus want fa go back home wit you!”
“Mi cyan take you—”
“This isn’t the way to settle whatever the problem is,” said Lucinda.
“It’s the only way,” the woman said, turning away from the doorstep.
The girl chased after her sobbing, but the woman moved quickly, making sure to latch the gate behind her before jumping into a jeep and taking off.
Lucinda tried to gather the fallen girl in the yard, but the girl screamed at her to stay away. So, Lucinda left her there crying until dark. By then, the girl had no more strength in her tiny body to fight.
The next day, Lucinda offered to take the girl back to her mother. “Yuh have to tell me ya name,” Lucinda said softly, though she’d already found out from Delmont the night before, when he admitted the girl was indeed his child.
“Paige,” the girl mumbled.
Once inside the car, Paige directed Lucinda back to where she lived with her mother. They found the two-bedroom house empty, and neighbors nearby said Christine, the girl’s mother, had “gone ah foreign.” Lucinda didn’t have the patience to search for a woman in the States, Canada, or the UK. So, she brought Paige back home with her and did the best she could to make the child comfortable. For a while, Paige was quiet, but suddenly she became arrogant and demanding. She wanted everything that Marsha had and demanded that Dr. Lindo give it to her because he “owed” her.
Both Dr. Lindo and Lucinda conceded to Paige’s juvenile desires. This inflated Paige’s actions and her resentment, which should have been reserved for her parents, Dr. Lindo, and Christine, but were always misdirected at Marsha. Ava, another younger sister, and a younger brother, Marshall, had both been dropped off not long before Paige, but they were still practically babies, and they were just happy to be loved. Paige, on the other hand, made it her business to be an annoying little sister. She paid no mind to her other sister, Jacinta, who was older than Marsha. Her older brothers, Damare and Josue, doted on her as much as her parents. Marsha, with her inclinations for peace, privacy, and solitude, was an easy target.
Shortly after Paige’s arrival, she was enrolled in the same school as Marsha. This gave Marsha no peace anywhere. Paige found a group of friends and didn’t hesitate to join with other students who cracked jokes on “Stush Gyal Marsha.” From a distance, no one would be able to tell the two were sisters, as Paige made it her business to bully her older sister outside of their home. She added on to the reason that Marsha was carefully concocting a plan to leave the island as soon as she graduated high school. ​
]]><![CDATA[Chapter Four - Jeremy]]>Tue, 04 Aug 2026 02:54:33 GMThttps://vanessamoorellc.com/all-the-wrong-reasons/chapter-four-jeremyI hung up the phone with a sigh of relief. I hadn’t lost her. Marsha Lindo was my woman. The most beautiful girl was my girlfriend. I looked myself over in the full-length mirror next to my bedroom door. I couldn’t fumble Marsha. Apparently, at 6’4, 225 pounds, most women felt I defied the stereotypical “Haitian look.” Since moving to the States, I’d heard over and over, “Oh, you don’t look Haitian.”
When I finally asked one girl what she meant by that, she said, “Oh, you know, Haitians are all short. The tallest is like 5’6. You are dark like them, though, so it’s not so bad.”
“Not so bad?” I barked.
“Yeah, like being dark and short is too much,” the girl said.
I never spoke to her again, but what she said stuck with me. Now I knew what people envisioned when they said, “You don’t look Haitian.”
I knew about the other stereotypes, though. Like we were all impoverished, because all that was shown on television was ruins. The visuals were no different than the “feed the children” commercials depicting African children, so dehydrated and malnourished they could almost blend into the sand they sat on outside their huts. Though the first to have a successful slave rebellion, the country remained indebted to France, racism and colorism fed violence at the border between us and the neighboring Dominican Republic, a corrupt government made for disloyal citizens, and the land was prone to disastrous earthquakes and other natural disasters. Not to mention the deeply rooted connections to African religions, which, regardless of what they were called, and who practiced what and how, to Americans, it was all “witchcraft.” All of these things made Haitians the pariahs of the Caribbean. But the Anthony family didn’t fall into the stereotypes. We were tall. We were Christians. We were rich.
Being rich is what mattered the most. I was raised to believe that anything could be bought, and for a Haitian family like mine, it was important to maintain a high financial status by any means necessary. For lack of opportunities available to my grandparents and parents, legitimate ways to earn were not in our sights. We took advantage of every illegal opportunity that crossed our path, and because we happened to be a highly intellectual family, we managed to funnel our money through legal entities. We kept law enforcement under our thumb, and even certain elected officials in Florida. On the rare occasion someone got caught, the debt to society was light, and time served was short.
Nah, I could not fumble Marsha. I was determined to have what I was told could never be mine.
There was a light knock at my front door. I glanced at myself once more in the mirror, and then scanned my apartment. Everything looked fine. I opened the door. There stood Clara. She was a pretty young Caribbean girl. Not as pretty as Marsha, but she was worth a percentage of my time and attention—at least the time it took to fulfill my needs. Clara smiled, showing her perfect white teeth between her thick brown lips.
“Sorry, did I keep you waiting?” Jeremy asked.
“Not at all,” Clara said, stepping into the apartment without invitation. She was short and curvy. Her bust met with my rib cage, and I had to curve my back a little to hug her and grasp her voluptuous behind.
Immediately, I felt myself at attention. I pulled her in close and bit her neck.
“Okay, well hello to you too,” Clara greeted me.
I chuckled. “Did you eat?” I asked, hoping her answer was yes. Some of these girls came over with the expectation of an actual date.
“Yeah,” Clara replied.
I smiled inwardly. Perfect, I thought.
Clara was usually on point, though. She portrayed an innocence that would have folks in utter disbelief if they knew where she was at that moment. She was the total opposite of her façade. Ready to get what she came for, her hand grasped me through my pants. She didn’t waste time. I scooped her up, and her short, chubby legs wrapped around my waist.
Nah, I could not fumble Marsha. But Marsha would be none the wiser. Plus, I knew I would not be laying her any time soon. As bad as I wanted to, I was willing to wait. Where would I take her anyway? I couldn’t bring her home. She was a classy young woman who deserved elegant fixtures and plush furniture. I knew she was a virgin, and I couldn’t fathom taking her virginity in a place like a dark, damp basement.

*****


“Ki kote ou te ye?!” Madeline hollered, questioning her son’s whereabouts as he burst through the front door of their modest Miami home.
Jeremy locked all of the locks and peered through the curtained window framing the entrance. He didn’t see anyone.
Madeline stood in the middle of the living room with her hands on her hips. Her daughter Lovelie stood right behind her, positioned for her role as third in command. Jeremy eyed the two of them as he caught his breath.
“Running from somebody?” Lovelie asked.
Jeremy cleared his throat, prepared to lie.
“That girl’s family?” Lovelie pressed, with a swivel in her neck.
“Ki ti fi?” Madeline inquired what girl they were talking about as she stepped forward.
“That Spanish girl,” Lovelie offered.
Madeline folded her arms across her chest and rolled her eyes. “Jeremy, is this true?”
Jeremy stood up straight and resolved to be honest. “I didn’t do anything,” he said. “I was just walking her home.”
“I told you to stay away from her,” said Madeline. “What is it with you? You meet these girls, and it’s like sèvo w ap monte nan dèyè w.”
“My brain is not in my behind,” Jeremy snickered. “There’s nothing wrong with me. I was doing the right thing, being a gentleman. Her family is just crazy.”
“If they want you to leave their daughter alone, then why can’t you?” Madeline said, dropping her hands at her sides. “Your father was looking for you. He left already for the restaurant. He’s meeting with the Fuentes brothers.” Madeline turned toward the kitchen. Jeremy and Lovelie followed.
“You didn’t want to go with him?” Jeremy asked Lovelie.
“He wanted you to go,” Lovelie said as she sucked her teeth.
“Couldn’t be too serious if he chose me over you,” Jeremy noted.
“Doesn’t matter,” Lovelie said. “You don’t take anything seriously anyway. Everything is about these silly females with you. So they chased you home, huh?”
The siblings sat down at the kitchen table together while Madeline plated their dinner.
Jeremy nodded in response to his sister’s question. “Like I said, I was just walking her home from the park… then this black Mazda Miata pulls up, and like five Dominican dudes hop out with sticks. So mwen te kouri—” Jeremy demonstrated his speed by slapping his hands together.
“I bet you took off like a bat outta hell,” Lovelie said, giggling.
Madeline placed her children’s meals on the table.
Jeremy hunched forward, ready to dig into the white rice, bean sauce, and stewed chicken, but Madeline swatted his hand away. “Lave men w!”
“Yes, please wash your hands,” Lovelie added. “We don’t know where those dirty fingers been.”
Jeremy quickly flipped her the bird behind Madeline’s back.
“The middle finger?” Lovelie exclaimed. “Classy. Mature.”
“Kisa?” Madeline asked, spinning around on her heels.
“Nothing,” Jeremy said as he bopped out of the kitchen to wash his hands.
Augustine did not return home until after eleven that night. “Jeremy, antre isit la!” he shouted for Jeremy to meet him in the living room.
Madeline and Lovelie had already called it a night, but Augustine knew his son would be up. “Ki kote ou te ye pi bonè?” he now asked, wanting to know where Jeremy was earlier.
Jeremy sighed. “I was walking a friend home. I didn’t know you wanted me to roll out with you—”
Augustine shook his head. “The Spanish girl?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” Jeremy said, lowering his eyes to the ground.
“And sa ki te pase?”
“Some guys pulled up on us in a black Mazda Miata and chased me away from her.”
Augustine shook his head again. “You don’t learn,” he grumbled, “especially with this one. Her father is an important man here in the States, and she is very young. You think I don’t know she’s still in high school? I don’t want to have to tell you again to leave her alone. Do you want me to send you back to Haiti?”
Jeremy shook his head.
“Leave that girl alone. You missed a really important meeting with the Fuentes brothers tonight—”
“I was surprised you didn’t take Lovelie with you,” Jeremy blurted out.
Augustine shot him a stern look. “Lovelie is the oldest, but you are my son. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t be able to rely on you as much as her.”
“Maybe I’m not cut out for this. I told you, I want to go to law school.”
“You will,” said Augustine, “but you still have obligations to the family. I can’t send you off to law school without you knowing the inner workings of the businesses here. When you get your degree, you will be responsible for defending and protecting us when it comes to the law. Eske ou konprann mwen?”
“Yes, I understand,” Jeremy responded solemnly.
“Good,” said Augustine. “I made a deal with the Fuentes brothers. We have somewhere to be early tomorrow morning. Be in this living room dressed and ready to go by seven.”
Jeremy nodded and went back to his room.
]]><![CDATA[Chapter Three - Marsha]]>Thu, 30 Jul 2026 04:11:00 GMThttps://vanessamoorellc.com/all-the-wrong-reasons/chapter-three-marshaIn four weeks, I realized Jeremy and I had been on six dates. Brooklyn and Queens restaurants and lounges had become our go-tos so that we wouldn’t be seen together. I had to admit, I was the happiest I’d ever been since my days back in Antigua with Desireé. I often wondered what she would make of me sneaking around with Jeremy. She would probably be glad that I could relate to her in that aspect. She’d landed like a bomb in my high school because of her parents’ four-year separation. That separation kept her away from the boy she often called the love of her life. 
“But things would be different now,” I told myself out loud as I dressed for my seventh date with Jeremy. Desireé would be in her twenties as well—probably living out her dream of being married to the love of her life and possibly a mother. As outgoing, outspoken, and flirtatious as Desireé was, all she wanted to do was get married and create her own family. That’s probably exactly what she’s doing, I thought. She would still be the perfect person for me to talk to, as she had already been through this type of situation. 
I shrugged my shoulders as I unraveled rollers from my hair. I wondered if the day would ever come when I would be reunited with my old friend. I ran my fingers through the curls, pushing the left side behind my ear, styling my hair as Sheila had done for me on a few occasions. Several times, Sheila asked what was up with me. Why was I suddenly doing my hair differently, dressing differently, and sometimes not at home when she returned from work?
“Yuh meet someone t’rough ya school friends?” she asked me one night, when I returned home from a date late.
“No, not really,” I said honestly, but then followed that up with a lie. “A group of us been hanging out.”
Sheila nodded her head slowly, and I could feel her eyes on me as I tried to pass her quickly. “I don’t know what’s goin on wit you,” she mumbled.
I wiggled myself into a tight denim dress I had picked up on Fordham Road. It was probably the most revealing thing I owned. I hated bringing attention to myself in skimpy clothing, but I had to admit, I didn’t mind the attention I got from Jeremy. His hands were like a magnet to my body. He was always touching my lower back or boldly resting on my behind when we walked. He constantly gripped my tiny waist in his large hands, and he hadn’t asked permission to kiss me since the first time. When asked, he proclaimed that I was his woman, and I loved it.
I smoothed my hands over the denim dress in the mirror and slipped my feet into a pair of clear jelly sandals. Eight bangles adorned my wrists, four on each one, and medium-sized gold hoops dangled from my ears. Last but not least, since Jeremy let it be known that he loved my lips, I smoothed pink-tinted lip gloss on them. I smiled at myself in the mirror, happy with what I saw, knowing that Jeremy would be both happy and impressed.
We met at our usual spot, up the block and around the corner. This time, Jeremy didn’t plan to go far. “City Island?” he asked me, as he pulled away from the curb.
I nodded eagerly. I had only been there once before. The family had taken Ansol to Crab Shanty for his birthday. I didn’t think the food was amazing, but it was much better than the so-called seafood served at the small takeout Chinese restaurants that existed on every block in The Bronx. 
“We’re not that far from the house,” I said, as the proximity to home began to rattle my nerves.
“We’re not staying long,” said Jeremy. “We’re here for dinner, and then we’re gonna go to a spot in Queens.”
We ended up at Crab Shanty, and when the waitress came to take our orders. I noticed how Jeremy didn’t give much thought to ordering the most expensive things on the menu. He didn’t even blink when asking me what I wanted, and I responded with entrees on the expensive end. When the waitress walked away, I leaned in and asked, “I t’ought you weren’t working right now. How can you afford this?”
“That’s not your concern,” Jeremy said. “You want the food or not?”
“I do,” I said, thrown off by his sudden agitation.
“Okay then,” Jeremy said. “Don’t worry. If I couldn’t afford to be here, we wouldn’t be here.”
I nodded my head, deciding to trust him. He was a little older than me, and on his way to becoming a lawyer; he had to know how to manage his money.
Later that night, we went to see a Haitian kompe band. Antiguan people loved to dance to soca and calypso, and I could move my hips, but I was always too self-conscious to completely let loose the way I watched my siblings and cousins do on many occasions. With Jeremy and Kompe, it was different. As he pulled me in close, I would close my eyes and lose myself in the rhythms of the music and Jeremy’s heartbeat. I’d melt into him, and we’d become one, gliding and grinding across the floor. 
I floated like a feather up the tenement stairs when I got home that night. I could smell Jeremy’s cologne on my skin, and thought for a moment that Sheila might catch a whiff, but I kicked the thought out of my mind. It was a Saturday night. Sheila was probably at her third party. Still, I slid out of my jellies near the door so as not to disturb anybody, just in case. I walked lightly in the direction of the hall when Sheila flicked on one of the living room lamps.
“Welcome home,” she said smoothly.
“Sheila?” I said with a startle.
“Where yuh been all night, Marsha?”
“Out,” I shrugged.
“Out whey?” Sheila asked, jumping right into Antigua-talk.
I knew she was upset. She practiced sounding “American” so much that it was shocking when she let the West Indian dialect roll off her tongue. She didn’t talk like that regularly. She only spoke that way when she was around a lot of Antiguans or Jamaicans, or when she was angry. 
“I went to dinner.”
I noticed Sheila was dressed as if she had indeed been out herself. But I couldn’t figure out why she was home earlier than usual.
“Wit who?” Sheila asked.
“Friends. Is someting the matter?” I questioned back.
Sheila chuckled. “Is someting the matter? How bout when ya muddah ah call and tell mi say she hear she daughter out in the streets wit a Haitian mafia bwoy. An mi tell she, ah nah true. But come to find out, when mi ah go party in Queens ah see smaddy who look jus like ah you, ah whine pon smaddy who look jus like Steven dutty rass-clot friend Jeremy.”
I felt a shooting pang in my lower belly. I hadn’t felt anything like that since being put on the spot in high school by Desireé. Desireé. What would she do in this situation? She would stand up for herself.
“So?” I shrugged once more.
“So?” Sheila retorted. “Didn’t mi tell you to stay away from him?”
“You are not my mother,” I reminded her.
“But is me who is responsible fa you while ya here.”
“So yuh finally get what yuh want!” I shrieked, my tone a little higher than I wanted.
“What?”
“Since mi reach, yuh been pushin me to date. So now mi ah date!”
“But not him!” Sheila yelled.
“Why not him?”
“So many tings, Marsha. You’re a good girl, you could neva understand.” Sheila now sounded as if she wanted to cry.
“I’m not a baby,” I said softly.
“It’s not about that,” said Sheila. “He’s a womanizer, and him fam’ly do all kinda illegal tings! It’s just not a good look. You could get really hurt.”
“Jeremy wouldn’t hurt me.”
“How do you know?”
I didn’t know. I just knew how I felt with him. “Mi jus know.”
Sheila’s face twitched as if she would burst into tears any minute. “So that’s who yuh been wit?”
I nodded.
“Why did you lie?”
“Cuz I knew you would get vex wit me.”
Sheila shook her head and stepped closer to me. “Oh, Marsha, I wish you wasn’t so blind. But mi can see it in ya eyes. You have no idea what this man is capable of.”
I cocked my head to the side. “Neither do you, Sheila. He’s into me. I might even tink he loves me.”
Sheila’s shoulders sank. “If yuh tink so, then there’s no turnin back.”
“I don’t want to,” the words floated from my mouth as I realized I had fallen in love.

*****


Once the cat was out of the bag, my relationship with Sheila grew uncomfortably tense. I stopped sneaking around. Over the next few weeks, Jeremy pulled up to the front of the building and even came to the door to meet me as we headed out on dates. 
One Friday night, a week before I was to start teaching, Jeremy rang the doorbell. I’d been waiting for him in the living room and jumped out of my seat, ready to hit the town with him, but Sheila stopped me. 
“He needs to come in and say hello to yuh fam’ly,” she said. 
I rolled my eyes. “Why? You know him already.”
“Yes, but now it’s different. He’s dating my younger cousin who I am responsible for.”
“You keep saying that. I’m not a baby—”
The doorbell rang again.
Sheila nodded for me to open the door.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Jeremy asked when he saw my face.
“Sheila tinks you need to come in and say hello.”
“Oh, okay.” He stared at me, waiting for me to invite him in.
I sighed and whispered, “You don’t have to.”
“If this is what it takes to be with you,” Jeremy said, softening my resolve a bit. 
I stepped back and allowed him into the living room, where Sheila stood waiting.
“Good evening, Jeremy,” she said. I could hear her battling the disdain in her voice.
“Sheila,” Jeremy smiled, “if I’d known I was going to see your lovely face, I would’ve brought you some flowers. Marsha is keeping me at arm’s distance from the family.”
Sheila rolled her eyes. “Where yuh goin t’night?”
“Just the movies and dinner.”
“Movies whey? Dinner whey?”
“Nowhere fancy. We’re just going to the movie theater at Bay Plaza, and then we’ll go to the Red Lobster over there.”
“Since when Marsha like Red Lobster?” Sheila probed.
“I eat there sometimes,” I stated, ready to go. 
Sheila looked us up and down. “Well, have a good time then.” She turned away from us, heading towards the kitchen.
I rolled my eyes, and we made our way out the door.
The next night, we went out again, and again Sheila insisted that Jeremy come in and say hello. She asked where we were going, what time he planned to bring me back, and wished us a good time. I didn’t know where Sheila was going with this or what she thought she would learn from these pre-date interviews, and it annoyed me. I was not going to stop dating Jeremy, so what was the point?
Sunday morning, I made the weekly long-distance call to my mother in Antigua to catch up. 
“Every night now, she makes Jeremy come inside and say hello, good night, or whatever. For what, I don’t know,” I complained about Sheila.
“Well, you live there,” Mummy said, “it’s about respect.”
“But I’m not a child,” I went on.
“No but—” my mother sighed. “Don’t mek trouble, Marsha. Sheila is lettin you stay in she place rent-free. Yuh need fa get along wit she.”
“But at what cost, Mummy?” I begged for understanding.
“Is me ask her to look out fa you. This is her way of doing it. Maybe she is a likkle bit jealous that this Jeremy is likin you. Maybe she like him first.”
“I doubt it,” I said. “She always criticizin him. Since mi meet him, she criticize him, callin him dutty bwoy.”
“Well, I did hear he dated one of she friends, and it didn’t work out well. Yuh neva ask what happened?”
“No, I don’t care what happened. It has nothing to do with me. Maybe he did do someting wrong to her, but she is not me. He wouldn’t treat me the same way he treated Sheila’s friend.” I twirled the coiled telephone cord between my fingers. 
“Maybe not, and Sheila need fa see that, so have Jeremy over sometime. Invite him in before he takes you out. Sheila need fa see that everyting is going to be okay.”
I sighed with exasperation.
“She’s doing us a favor letting you stay there.”
“You can stop saying that,” I groaned.
“Muh jus want you fa be respectful,” Mummy softly demanded.
When I didn’t say anything else, Mummy went on, “I haven’t heard much about Jeremy from you, though. Tell me about him.”
Confiding in my mother wasn’t something I was used to doing. In fact, while growing up in Antigua, I didn’t even talk to my older or younger sisters. I only talked to Desireé. There was so much about my mother that I didn’t understand, and I didn’t want to be like her in any way. Instead of filling her in on all the little details, I decided I would keep my conversations with Mummy about school, work, and the family. I would tell her very little about Jeremy.
I cleared my throat, “Well, he’s twenty-seven, and he’s a law student. His family is from Haiti—”
“Yes, I heard about that,” Mummy said. “I also heard that he’s from the Anthony fam’ly. They’re gangsters or someting like that. Some of them come to Antigua to hide out.”
“Well, he never talk to me about those tings,” I said as I realized he seemed to be associated with a mafia-like family, which could be the reason he always had money.
“But what about you and him?” Mummy pressed. “How does he treat you? How do you feel?”
“I feel good.”
“I know he takes you out.”
“Yes.”
“And he pays all the time?”
“Yes.”
“Okay… that sounds good to me.” Mummy sounded like she was ready to hang up soon. “The most important ting about a man, Marsha—”
I almost didn’t want to hear it. My mother was not the right person to gain advice from. But I listened.
“—is that they take care of you. Money makes the world go round. A man is to provide. If he does that, everyting else falls into place.”
“Yes, Mummy,” I said, semi-absorbing her advice. This is exactly what I hated about her. She was happy to receive financial support from my father, and nothing else. She didn’t demand respect and didn’t seem to care that he had completely tarnished her reputation by sleeping around and planting children all over the island. I believed in my heart Jeremy would never do that to me, though. 
It wasn’t just about money for me. It was about being loved and respected. Until Jeremy, I never expected these things from men. Now that he was showing me those things, I not only knew it was possible, but I was enjoying it, and I would do whatever it took to keep my relationship exactly the way it was. 

*****


I took my mother’s advice about letting Sheila get to know Jeremy in a different light. Over the next few weeks, even as I started my new job teaching an unruly bunch of high schoolers in the north Bronx, I coordinated opportunities for Sheila and Jeremy to interact more. I invited Jeremy in when he came to take me on dates, openly spoke with him on the phone in front of Sheila, and I even invited him to Sunday dinner a few times. After a while, Sheila didn’t seem as hostile towards him. She wasn’t exactly nice, but I could see that she was trying to be polite, and I hoped that that meant she was trying to see that he wasn’t as bad as she thought.
One day after a class, I sat exasperated, my elbows pressed into my large plywood and metal desk that probably surpassed me in years and experience. While I didn’t expect teaching to be easy, I certainly didn’t expect it to be as rough. Before coming to New York, I’d heard plenty about unruly students. The high schools were in a terrible state, but I was teaching not far from where I lived, in a predominantly West Indian neighborhood. I thought for sure that would mean something to the students. I thought that at my young age, with my accent, apparently connecting me to the Caribbean islands they too hailed from, they would find me relatable. Instead, though, I was a joke to them, and five minutes into the start of every class, I wished to be rescued. I wondered how my history teacher Ms. Reid would handle these students. She was not one to be played with. I might’ve been the only student highly impressed with her travels and experiences, but everyone respected her. I wondered if there was a way I could reach her when a teacher, Mr. Joseph knocked on my door. I looked up and put on my fakest smile, because I wanted nothing more than to continue to wallow in my misery. 
“Good afternoon,” Mr. Joseph smiled politely and invited himself in. “Is everything alright?”
“Everything is fine, thank you.” I nodded and turned my attention to the lesson plans on my desk in front of me.
“That’s good,” said Mr. Joseph, continuing across the grey tiled floor. “I feel like I didn’t have a chance to officially welcome you aboard to the history department here at Columbus High School.”
I nodded without looking back at him.
“So, welcome. Um, I know things can be hard for first-year teachers. Especially for us small island people.”
I finally looked up again, and Mr. Joseph made eye contact with me.
“Where yuh from?” he asked. 
“Antigua, St. John’s.”
“Ah ha,” said Mr. Joseph. “You can be more specific. Antigua muh come from, and many of us are from St. John’s.”
I chuckled. 
Mr. Joseph had broken the ice. 
“I’m from Hodges Bay Area.”
Mr. Joseph nodded. “I am from Crosbies. Lindo? Any relation to Dr. Lindo?”
I nodded. “I’m his daughter,” I stated solemnly. 
“Well, I just stopped in to tell you not to hesitate to ask for help or anything. We have to look out for each other around here.” Using his left hand, he brushed the top of his right hand, indicating that he and I were “skin folk.” “Especially,” he added, “those of us with accents.”
I nodded. 
From that conversation, Mr. Joseph became my best work friend and mentor. He was in his fifties, with teenage children of his own. His wife, a native of Antigua as well, was a nurse at a hospital in Harlem. She packed Mr. Joseph’s lunch every day and sometimes sent something extra for me. They’d even invited me over for dinner, but I put it off, initially. Once students noticed that Mr. Joseph had my back, they gradually calmed down. I sometimes sat in on his classes to observe his technique and adapted what I could to my own classroom. Some of it worked, but I knew it would be a while before I could move with the ease that Mr. Joseph had in his classroom. 
One evening, Mr. Joseph and I were exiting the school building for the day at the same time. We stood for a while by the black wrought-iron gates, chatting about the upcoming unit I’d be teaching soon. It was November, and though the cold New York air was starting to cut its teeth, I didn’t mind lingering for advice on rolling out the unit and keeping my students engaged. We were just about to part when I heard a car ferociously honking. I turned to see Jeremy parked at the curb, waving me over.
“Oh, there’s my boyfriend,” I said to Mr. Joseph. “I’ll see you tomorrow! Please tell Mrs. Joseph I said thank you for the dumplins.”
“I will, Marsha,” said Mr. Joseph. “Have a good evening.” He waved at Jeremy, who didn’t wave back and continued towards his own car.
I hopped into the passenger seat of the Audi, and before I could properly greet Jeremy, he started with me. “Who is that?” he asked.
“Who?” I responded. In my excitement to see him, I’d forgotten about Mr. Joseph just that quickly.
“That man.”
Still unsure, I turned to look out of the car window.
“Don’t play with me, Marsha,” Jeremy said sternly. “The man that you were coming out of the school with.”
“Oh, that’s Mr. Joseph,” I explained, reaching for my seatbelt.
“Mr. Joseph?”
“Yes, Mr. Joseph. I told you about him. He’s from Antigua, and he’s in the history department.”
“Oh.” 
“What’s wrong?” I asked, recognizing that he was still upset.
“You have something going on with him?”
“Something going on? No. Of course not. He’s older—”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“That means something to me—”
“So that would be the only reason you wouldn’t talk to him?”
“What? No! I’m with you!”
“Are you? I came to pick you up today because our dates are cut short on the weekends. After all, you’re so tired, and you have so much to do to get ready for work on Mondays, and then I see you walking out the building with this man.”
I instinctively scratched the back of my neck out of confusion. “He’s my co-worker,” I said calmly, “and we were just leaving the building, saying goodbye for the day.”
“How do I know you’re telling me the truth?” Jeremy pushed.
“Because I wouldn’t lie to you.”
“Yeah, but how do I know that?”
“Jeremy, I don’t know what you want me to say or do.” 
“I want you to know your place as my woman, and don’t let me catch you hanging around other men.”
My heartbeat sped up. I released my seatbelt and put my hand on the door handle to exit the car. 
“Where do you think you’re going?” Jeremy bellowed, further unnerving me.
“I don’t want to fight, so I’m going to take the bus home as I planned.”
“I’m not fighting with you. I’m just telling you what I’m not gonna tolerate.”
“But I’m not doing anything behind your back!” I yelled, louder than intended.
“Don’t do it in my face either!” Jeremy yelled.
I felt tears trying to force themselves from the pockets of my eyes, but I didn’t want to give Jeremy the satisfaction. I pushed the passenger door open and exited the car. I rushed down the street so fast I almost forgot where I wanted to go. As I paused to gather myself, I drew in an ample amount of the crisp air and brushed away the few tears that had escaped. I saw a few people watching me, so I straightened up, smoothed my hands over my clothes, and calmly walked toward the bus.
I didn’t tell anyone about the argument between Jeremy and me. I knew that it would only taint Sheila’s impression of him, and I didn’t need that. If I told my mother, it might come up in other conversations that could come back to Sheila. So, I said nothing. Late that evening, though, Sheila called me to the phone, and I knew it was Jeremy. 
“Hello?” I tried to keep my voice even. If it weren’t for the dissipating negative energy between Sheila and Jeremy, I wouldn’t have even taken the call. I couldn’t let Sheila know we were possibly having problems, though. 
“Marsha?” Jeremy sounded nothing like the way he had earlier. Earlier, he was cold and hostile, but now he was back to his warm, charismatic self.
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I mumbled, while Sheila deliberately stayed within earshot. 
“I just really care about you,” he said.
“I understand that.”
“You do?”
“Yes.”
“Sheila is nearby?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Can I pick you up tomorrow from work? I promise it will be different. It won’t be like today.”
“Sure.”
“Do you want to go anywhere for dinner?”
“I don’t know, Jeremy,” I said, watching Sheila out of the corner of my eye, “we can figure it out when you get there.”
“Okay. I’m really sorry for blowing up at you. I get nervous about losing you. You’re beautiful and smart—”
“Yeah, no big deal,” I said, just wanting to bury the whole ordeal.
“Okay then,” Jeremy said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” I whispered as I hung up the phone. I nonchalantly walked past Sheila, who pretended to be doing something in the kitchen cabinets. I let out a sigh of relief once I was in the privacy of my own room. At least he apologized, I thought to myself. Hopefully, he would never act like that again. I didn’t want to lose him either, but more importantly, our relationship had to remain perfectly intact, because I did not give in to love just for it to turn out a mess.

*****


Marsha breathed deeply as she covered the ground, barefoot, from her back porch, across the yard to the four mango trees. She dropped her book, catalogs, and magazines at the trunk of her favorite tree, taking time to enjoy every part of her ritual. She laid out a throw blanket, and then sprawled herself across it, propping up a bag of peanuts and a bottle of Malta within her reach. She smiled slightly to herself. It was time to lose herself in the affairs of New York and London.
Antigua was quaint and quiet for an island. All of the drama was in politics, and the liveliness existed through the sailing, holiday, and carnival seasons. Marsha was aware of the political issues, but not enough to feel deeply about them. Though she appreciated coming from a people who found any reason to get together and celebrate, she never felt as free as everyone else to jump and dance the way they did. She was content with watching from the sidelines. If she’d seen one carnival road march, she’d seen them all.
New York, London, and Toronto had fashion, scandal, political upheaval, and celebrity gossip on any given day, and Marsha loved to immerse herself in those worlds. She longed to know what snow was like and how the sun could shine on ice. She wanted to know exactly what it felt like to sit in front of a fireplace, or to look up and see buildings that reached the clouds. Whenever Ava and Marshall watched The Little Mermaid, Marsha quietly empathized with Ariel’s craving to be a part of another world.
After hours of reading, daydreaming, and dozing off, Marsha finally decided to go inside. Dinner would be ready soon, and though they were allowed freedom on the weekends, the Lindo kids still had to sit down to have dinner at the table with the family on a Saturday night. If there were friends around, they were invited to eat at the table as well. Lucinda and Beverly sometimes played soca music in the living room after everyone had eaten, allowing a party to start itself up. But most Saturday nights, they sat on the veranda until the sun completely gave way to the moon.
Marsha was almost startled to see her father home and relaxing in the living room. The only time he was there was on Sundays between church and dinner. Once, when she was about seven, Marsha asked him why he was never home. His response was, “I’m an important man with important engagements.” Marsha had no idea what that meant, but after a while, she realized what “important engagements” must have kept her father out of the house for so many hours.
“Where have you been?” he asked, just as startled as she was.
“Outside,” Marsha stammered.
“Outside, whey?”
“By the mango trees.”
“Oh… still daydreaming about havin a life, instead of livin a life, huh?”
Marsha’s nose wrinkled. “I do have a life,” she defended herself.
“If that is what you want to call it,” her father rubbed his hands together with his eyes on the television.
Marsha said nothing and headed to her room, where she found Jacinta preening in front of the mirror.
“What yuh tink?” Jacinta asked as she ran her hands down the sides of the fit-n-flair spaghetti-strapped dress.
“Whey yuh get it?” Marsha asked.
“Why does that matter? Muh ask you how it look.”
“Yuh ask me what I tink.”
“Ah the same ting, Marsha, jus answer me nuh!”
Marsha shrugged. “It’s okay, I guess.”
Jacinta sucked her teeth. “Mi guh ask Paige.”
“So she can just steal it and ruin it?”
“She only do that to your tings.”
Marsha sighed.
Suddenly, Beverly was in the doorway. “Pretty dress,” she said, smiling at Jacinta.
“Tank you, Tanty. Marsha wouldn’t tell me if the dress look good or not.  She’s so jealous.”
“Marsha not jealous of you. She nuh have no reason to be.” Beverly finally turned her attention to Marsha. “Marsha smaddy pon di phone fa you.”
“Who?” both Marsha and Jacinta exclaimed.
Beverly stepped back, chuckling. “Um… she name Desireé, she say she ya school friend.”
Marsha rolled her eyes. “What did she want?”
“Mi nuh know and mi nuh ask. Go and see fa yaself.”
Marsha brushed past a snickering Jacinta and went to the kitchen phone that hung on the wall with its long, coily, winding cord. “Hello?”
“Hi, Marsha?” Desireé’s voice chimed through the phone.
“Hi.”
“What are you doing?”
“What do you mean?”
“What are you doing tonight? Are you going out or anything?”
“No. Why? Is everyting okay?” Finally, Marsha thought to herself. This girl is finally going to reveal why she’s been buzzing around. She’d heard about her GPA and who her father was; it was time to beg for help in one class or another.
“Everything is fine, chica,” Desireé laughed. “I just wanted to know if you wanted to go to the movies with me tonight. My mom is going to drop me, but she’s not going to stay and watch the movie.”
“Okay,” Marsha said, not caring to answer the question either way. She figured acting clueless would get this chatterbox off her parents’ phone.
“Since I must spell it out, I’m asking if you wanna get out of the house and hang out with me?”
Marsha wasn’t in the habit of lying, and she couldn’t think of a reason why she couldn’t go. She didn’t dislike Desireé, and she was sure her parents would consent. They didn’t have a reason to say no, either, as long as she went after dinner. “I have to ask my parents.”
“No problem. You wanna call me back?”
“Sure. Wait, how yuh get muh number in the first place?”
Desireé tittered. “Student directory.”
“Oh…”
“But write my number down in case you don’t have yours nearby.”
In the middle of dinner, Marsha decided to ask if she could go out with her friend. Almost everyone dropped their forks. “That’s who called some time ago?” her father asked.
Marsha nodded.
“Since when Marsha get friends?” Jacinta goaded.
“Since she start secondary. Right?” Beverly nodded in Marsha’s direction, smiling.
“She jus a school fren. She’s from DR, and she don’t know too many people.” Marsha explained briefly.
“And you care?” Paige dug further.
“She’s not always as evil as she pretends to be,” said Josue.
Marsha started to second-guess asking to go anywhere with anybody. She should’ve known she would be the talk of the night in her house, for simply doing what other teenagers did all the time. The thing was, she was not a simple teenager. She was not interested in trivial things. She was a deep thinker who spent her time in solitude, feeling too good to partake in the world around her. She cleared her throat, on the verge of changing her mind, when her father clarified, “So she’s a school friend?”
Marsha nodded.
“Who’s driving to town?”
“Her mother.”
“Would her mother come in and say hello?” asked Lucinda.
Marsha wasn’t sure, but she nodded her head.
“Okay,” said Dr. Lindo. “Call her back when yuh done eat so you can go out and have a social life.”
Jacinta and Paige giggled some more.
“What is so funny?” Beverly asked.
Paige shrugged her shoulders. She was only following behind Jacinta and feeding her own craving to have something to dig at Marsha about.
“Jus cuz Marsha is smart and quiet don’t mean she shouldn’t have friends to go out with. At least she mek a friend who’s not into foolishness like other people I know.” Beverly stared a burning hole into Jacinta, who was always tagging along with friends who were up to no good.
“Call back yuh friend, Marsha,” said Dr. Lindo, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Go out and be fourteen.”
]]><![CDATA[Chapter Two - Jeremy]]>Tue, 28 Jul 2026 02:30:37 GMThttps://vanessamoorellc.com/all-the-wrong-reasons/chapter-two
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“Guess who I just went out with?” I asked as I stretched out on the couch in my basement apartment, feeling like I’d just won a million bucks.
“Who?” my friend Rooster asked, choking on marijuana smoke on the other end of the phone.
I kicked off my Jordan 14s, and they hit the floor with two loud thuds as I sank deeper into my couch. “The fine, fine Marsha Lindo.”
“Yuh lie!” Rooster shouted.
“As you Antiguans say,” I chuckled, speaking my best Antiguan dialect, “‘Muh nah lie!’”
“How’d you pull that off?” Rooster asked, sounding all in.
“I got her number at the party,” I replied very simply. I knew if Rooster could see me he’d tell me to stop grinning like a goofball.
“I t’ought Sheila shut that down,” he contested.
“She tried. But I still danced with her and got her number before we left.” I was beaming so hard, my face hurt.
“Wow,” Rooster gasped. “Steven know?”
“Nah, and don’t tell him. He might slip and tell Sheila.” I played with the gold pinky ring on my left hand.
“Yeah. That family is tight,” Rooster went on. “And Marsha had a reputation back home.”
“Oh yeah? She doesn’t seem like the type.” I thought about how shy and quiet she seemed.
“Not the type you’re tinking, though.” I could hear Rooster taking another pull off a joint.
“So what kinda reputation?”
“Y’know her father is Dr. Lindo, the minister of education for the whole island. Him have someting like ten or twelve kids. Marsha is somewhere in the middle. Most of them is cool, but she is stuck-up, man. She never dated back home.”
“Ah,” I said, envisioning Marsha’s pretty face. “So she had a rep for being what y’all call ‘stush?’”
“Yeah. She didn’t party too much. Didn’t talk. Only hung out with this one Spanish gyal who was there for a likkle while. She act like she was too good to socialize wit anybody, y’know? I was surprised they even t’rew her a party the other night.”
I tried to process what Rooster was saying, along with what I’d experienced with Marsha. For sure, she acted like she was above those around her, but I thought it fit her. She was beautiful and articulate, and obviously smarter than most. I couldn’t think of anyone else I knew like her.
I’d certainly seen and had my share of women. Yet, no one compared to Marsha. I didn’t know what to say when she told me that instead of having all summer to hang out, she had all summer to prepare for her new job. It was usually the other way around. I could talk any innocent girl off her parents’ doorstep, but the resistance in Marsha told me this conquest would be much harder. I’d heard plenty about her from Sheila and Steven, and a few of their other cousins. I didn’t expect her to be as intriguing as she was when we met, though. I thought she’d be boring. She wasn’t the first to play hard to get with me, but she was the first to make me feel like I had to prove myself. I appreciated intelligent women, and many of them loved to talk and put their genius on display. Other women would’ve rambled off uninteresting details about themselves and made it clear that they were willing to give me whatever I wanted. Marsha asked questions and only offered information when asked. She was a mystery that I couldn’t resist trying to solve.
On top of it all, she had that model body. I could easily tilt my head down to lean in for a kiss and wrap both arms around her. She would fit like a puzzle piece leaning into me. These thoughts flooded my mind as Rooster’s conversation drifted towards him, reminiscing about life on the island. I thought it was cool that they had fond memories of their island. My good memories of Haiti were more about the weather. Otherwise, the parliament was a mess, and the issues at the border between Haiti and the Dominican Republic caused too much strife.
“Hey man, I gotta go,” I said as my phone beeped signaling a call on the other line.
“Aight, peace man,” Rooster said.
I clicked over. “Hallo,” I greeted.
“Jeremy, sak pase?” Lovelie’s strong but feminine voice cut straight to my brain.
What could she want, I thought to myself?
“Tout bagay bon. Kisa?” I could no longer relax. I sat up on the edge of my couch, ready to run down whatever my sister needed to know about the most recent deal between my family and the Dominican cartel we were dealing with.
“You didn’t call me after the meeting with Gonzalez. I need to know what’s going on so we can follow through with the plans for the newest barbershop. If I don’t know how the money is going to flow, then I can’t open the business.”
“Everything is fine,” I assured her. “Go on and do what you gonna do. I’ll be down in Miami for a few days to help set things up. They know it’s a barbershop we’re working with and everything.”
“Ah, okay,” Lovelie sounded calm.
“Everything good with you, Sis?” I asked, trying to show concern for her beyond family business.
“We good,” Lovelie said sternly.
“You need anything?” I tried a little harder.
“I need you to take care of business and not get caught up in no shit with another bitch.”
I felt a pang in my stomach. Too late, I thought as Marsha’s face again flashed before my eyes. “I never dealt with ‘bitches’ in the first place,” I assured Lovelie.
“Uh huh. Okay. I have to go. Long distance is not cheap, y’know.”
“Yeah, but you can afford it,” I chuckled.
“Bye, Jeremy.” Lovelie hung up before I could wish her farewell.
I took a deep breath and got off the couch. I wished I could call Marsha. The more I knew about her, the more I wanted to know. Sure, some of the women I’d gotten involved with before caused issues concerning the family business, but somehow I knew that would never be the case with Marsha. Her father was the minister of education in their country. There was no way he’d be caught up in anything corrupt, and therefore, Marsha herself was clean and clear. There would be no competition as there had been with the families of some of the other women. Marsha was safe.
The only benefit of a basement apartment in The Bronx is that it was always a cool refuge away from the humidity that covered New York City in the spring and summer months. Otherwise, I knew the basement was not a place I could ever confidently bring Marsha. It was tiny, dark, and almost all made up of concrete. It didn’t matter how expensive my entertainment setup was, or how plush my couch was, or how impressive my waterbed was. It was still a five-hundred-dollar-a-month basement apartment, and it was all my family was willing to do for me. While they were only willing to help me with the bare minimum, nothing I did was enough for them. I wanted to go to law school, and they only supported me through it while I was in Florida because the current family lawyer planned to step away from the business soon.
I went into my tiny bathroom that looked nothing like it smelled. Mildew and the milk-white tile did not match. One thing I loved about having Jamaican landlords was that they kept everything in top shape. They were a husband and wife duo. The husband was a contractor, and whatever went wrong, he immediately fixed. It didn’t seem like there was much he could do about the smell, though. I was sure he smelled it too, and I was sure that if he could’ve taken care of it, he would’ve.
I removed my clothes and stepped under the cool water sprouting from the wall in the shower stall. I closed my eyes as the water beat my scalp, then my face, and then down the rest of my body.
Marsha Marsha Marsha.
I thought of nothing else. Suddenly, I thought I heard the phone ringing. I popped my head out of the shower and listened. There was nothing. I had to wait for her to call. I couldn’t call her. She couldn’t call me if Sheila was around. I wondered, would she actually call, though? She would. I had to have hooked her with that candlelight dinner on Hill Avenue. The taste of home was to let her know I was interested in knowing her deeply. Food and music were solid ways to connect, and they opened doors to more. For the next date, I would surely take her out dancing. I would introduce her to Kompe music. For now, though, I just needed her to call.

*****


“This is all you, son,” Augustine said to his son as they pulled up to a small storefront on a short block in Little Haiti.
Jeremy looked the place over from the passenger seat. “What is it?” he asked his father.
“It’s a barbershop. I told you after high school, you would have your own business to run. Lovelie will run the laundromat, just over that way.” His father gestured toward a short distance away.
Jeremy nodded, almost disinterested.
“What do you think?” Augustine asked.
Jeremy shrugged. “I don’t know about running no barbershop,” he admitted as if his father wouldn’t know that.
“There isn’t much to know. Rent out the booths. Collect the money. Turn it in. That’s all. If you can’t handle that, I don’t know how you gonna eat.”
“I thought you wanted me to go to law school,” Jeremy said in a tone just short of whining.
“Oh yeah, you going to law school. But we have to be able to pay for it, and this is the way, son.” Augustine let himself out of the car and walked around to the entrance of the shop. He didn’t waste time waiting for Jeremy. He strolled right in, so Jeremy followed.
The place was decent. There was already some furniture scattered about, plenty of boxes, and tools lying around. “When will it be finished?” Jeremy asked.
“Another week or two,” Augustine said, rubbing his chin.
“Why aren’t the workers here now?” Jeremy said, picking up a drill. He placed it down and then flipped open the toolbox next to it. He shrugged. “I guess they can’t be too far; all their tools are here.”
“I let them have today off so I could bring you here and talk without interference,” Augustine informed him. “Nobody is going to take the tools. They know this is an Anthony business around here.”
“You act like this is Haiti. Like, you can just come to America and be a boss.” Jeremy knew he was overstepping slightly. He knew his father did not like when his authority was questioned, especially by his children.
Augustine walked up close to Jeremy. Jeremy squared his shoulders, glad to be standing eye to eye with his father, finally. Nothing solidified a boy’s feeling of manhood like being as tall as his father.
“I am a boss here. Anywhere I am, you better understand that I am a boss. This is Little Haiti in big bad America, and Americans are terrified to set foot in this area without protection. I came here from Haiti to set up shop before I blessed your mother’s womb with you, and never had a problem. Respect me as your boss and your father, and you won’t have any problems here either.” Augustine did not blink, and his eyes didn’t want for moisture or even flinch as he stared down his grown son.
Jeremy cleared his throat. “I just wanted to know if it was safe.”
“I brought you here to tell you this,” Augustine said, bypassing what Jeremy said, but not moving from where he stood. “You will manage this shop, turn the money in to me, and report to me. You will go to law school, and you will pass the bar. Then, you will head the family’s legal team. Things need to be kept in-house.”
“I understand,” Jeremy said weakly.
“And no fuckin girls,” Augustine said sternly.
Jeremy rolled his eyes.
“I’m serious. We have things to do. Now is not the time. The little Dominican one is out of the way. Now you can focus on what’s important. When you are head of the family’s legal team, then date who you want, fuck who you want, marry who you want. But for now, I don’t want any young bitches interfering. A woman is the downfall of every great empire. They too needy, and they talk too much. Every man needs a woman, but now is not the time, son.”
Jeremy nodded. “Yes, sir.”
]]><![CDATA[Chapter One - Marsha]]>Fri, 24 Jul 2026 01:47:17 GMThttps://vanessamoorellc.com/all-the-wrong-reasons/chapter-one
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Two days after the graduation party, I found myself sitting by the phone in the kitchen, my sweaty palms dampening the slip of paper on which Jeremy had scribbled his number down. I wondered if only two days were too soon to call. From what I heard when I sat quietly amongst Sheila and her girlfriends, and of what I could remember of my chats with Desireé, there were all kinds of rules to dating. No one knew I’d taken Jeremy’s number. I imagined that Desireé probably would’ve called him by now. My best and only friend, whom I hadn’t seen or heard from in years, had all the gall and not an ounce of shyness. 
The pendulum on the clock on the wall swung back and forth, being the only sound in the house while Sheila and Ansol were out working. I hadn’t realized I would have so much time on my hands, home alone. Sunday was easy. Sheila and I went to church, brunch, and watched Sex in the City that night. Monday was a little different, though. I started the morning having breakfast alone. The only plan I had for the day was to go to the library. After checking out several historical fiction books, I took my time walking back home. When I arrived back at the apartment, the silence took me by surprise. Back home in Antigua, the house was always abuzz with my siblings in and out, my mother and Tanty Belinda bustling around, or even my father entertaining guests on the veranda when he was home. During my years with Sheila and Ansol, I was so focused on school that I hadn’t taken time to stop and smell the flowers, or literally enjoy the quiet of the apartment in the middle of the day. 
As I discovered peace, I also discovered privacy, an opportunity to talk to Jeremy without Sheila’s knowing or disapproving comments.
I stared at the clock. It was now or never. I needed to go for it before my family came home.
“Alo.” Immediately, Jeremy’s voice was familiar to me again.
I cleared my throat. “Hello, this is—”
“Marsha, kijan ye?” Jeremy cooed.
“I’m sorry?” I said, immediately feeling embarrassed by not understanding what he’d just said.
“Kijan ye?” Jeremy repeated. “Kreyol for ‘how are you?’
“Oh,” I chuckled a bit. My speculations were right. He was Haitian. I cleared my throat of the nerves that clung to my vocal cords. “I’m fine.”
“Yes, you are.” His charisma didn’t miss a beat. “So, what is the fine, fine Marsha doin today?”
“Um, well, I jus come back from the library.”
“Library, huh? You really are a smart girl.”
While enthralled with his voice, I second-guessed making this call. I remembered that dating could be the gateway to being trapped with an inconsiderate man. I started to wonder, however, if that was my real reason, or if it was because dating was new to me?
“What did you find at the library?” Jeremy inquired.
“I took out Monster and The Color Purple.”
“The Color Purple? Isn’t that the movie with Whoopi Goldberg and Oprah talking about ‘you told Harpo to beat me?’”
I burst into a cackle at Jeremy’s rendition of the famous line.
Jeremy chuckled on the other end. “That’s not it?”
“No, that’s definitely it,” I laughed and cleared my throat. “I jus never heard anybody say it like that.”
Jeremy continued to laugh. “It was a pretty bad impression, huh?”
“Mm hm.”
We were silent for a moment, then Jeremy asked, “So whatchu doin tonight?”
“Tonight? Um—” My face grew hot with anxiety. This sounded like he was asking or about to ask me on a date, and there was no doubt in my mind that I wanted to see him, but could I handle seeing him so soon? 
“You busy? You got a date with some other smart guy?”
I released another nervous laugh. “No. I’m not. I didn’t have any plans for tonight.”
“So, you wanna go out?”
The short answer to that was yes. But how would I pull this off? Sheila had been on me for all four years of college about dating. Now that I was finally a tad interested, it was in someone that she didn’t approve of. I considered what Sheila would do if I went out with someone she didn’t approve of. Like, what could the consequences be? “Can I call you back?” I asked.
Sounding caught off guard, Jeremy said, “Sure.”
I hung up and ran to the bathroom. My palms hadn’t stopped sweating, my heart continued to race, and my mouth was beginning to dry up. “What is happening to me?” I asked myself out loud. I splashed cold water on my face and looked at myself in the mirror. If he wasn’t interested, he wouldn’t have given you his number, I thought to myself. Peering into my own eyes in the mirror, I wondered if I could maintain whatever it was that Jeremy seemed to like about me, or would he deem me “too stush,” like many of my old classmates back in Antigua, and give up on me? Then I asked myself, what would Desireé do?

*****
Sheila and Ansol weren’t yet home when I stepped out of the house in a denim mini skirt, lavender tank top, and flat white sandals. I slicked my hair into my favorite simple bun at the nape of my neck. Before heading to the front door, I double-checked the bathroom mirror and considered makeup, but I didn’t really know how to apply it. I dashed into Sheila’s room and scanned her caboodle filled with all kinds of color palettes, lipsticks, and pencils. I stuck to what I knew and chose the simplest pale pink lipstick, hoping that Sheila wouldn’t notice I’d been in her things. Puckering my lips in the mirror, I was struck with a tinge of guilt, because the only reason Sheila would disapprove was that Jeremy was the date.
I was still shrouded in anxiety. I didn’t want to run into Sheila or Ansol and have to explain where I was going. I left a note on the refrigerator stating I’d stepped out with a friend from school. A note couldn’t be questioned, and I wouldn’t have to lie. I rarely met with classmates, and my only reason for ever meeting up with anyone was to work on school projects. Sheila, more than Ansol, would know that I was up to something. To seal the deal, I agreed to meet Jeremy down the block and around the corner, on another quiet residential street. I didn’t want to run into them or chance them seeing me getting into Jeremy’s car.
The same butterflies I felt at my party fluttered around in my stomach when I saw Jeremy posted up against his 1997 Audi. He smiled widely, and the gap in his teeth caught my attention.  I hadn’t noticed it before, and I realized it added more to his appeal. His arms opened up as he peeled his body away from the car. I walked into his embrace and carefully enveloped him in my arms in return. Sandalwood, coconut, and a hint of marijuana wafted off his skin, filling my nostrils, seeping down my throat, coating my lungs, and calming the butterflies in my stomach. It was an ah-ha moment. I understood what connected men and women: an inexplicable natural high.
Jeremy walked me around to the passenger side and helped me into the car. He looked so sure of himself as he pulled away from the curb. All he had asked me earlier was if I wanted to go out, and what I liked to eat, so all I knew was that we were probably going somewhere to eat.
He turned up Hill Avenue, not too far from where I lived. “It’s hard to find Antiguan food,” he said. 
“Is it easier to find Haitian food? I wouldn’t mind trying it out if you would rather have that.”
“Oh no. I found Antiguan food. It just isn’t a fancy place. Don’t feel bad. Most Haitian restaurants are in Queens or Brooklyn.”
I nodded. My nerves were working up again when I realized we were not going to a restaurant, but a house. “Is this your house?” I asked.
“Nope,” Jeremy said as he helped me out of my seat. He took my hands in his and looked into my eyes. “Can you trust me, Marsha?”
I hesitated. Men were the least trustworthy beings on earth, as far as I knew. Now this sexy, charming stranger was straight out asking if I could trust him. 
“I would never do anything to harm you,” he said. “Something about you hooked me the other night, girl. I just wanna get to know you and make you happy if you let me.”
Maybe men aren’t so bad, I thought. Or maybe, just Jeremy isn’t so bad.
“Let me show you a nice time tonight,” he assured, still looking into my eyes.
I nodded and yet cautiously followed Jeremy down a narrow driveway that led to a grassy backyard where an older deejay was set up in a corner playing reggae. There were several patio tables covered by umbrellas with tiny candles as the only centerpieces. The yard was decorated as if there had been or would be a party. 
Jeremy led me to a table and pulled out a chair for me.
“Are you finally going to give me an explanation?” I asked as I continued to soak up the ambiance.
Jeremy grinned; that gap drew me further in. “So this guy that owns this house is from Antigua. I’m actually surprised you never been here. Apparently, this is a spot for a lot of your people to hang out. Anyway, on the weekends, he serves food, plays reggae and calypso music, and sometimes there’s dominoes. But people really come here for the food. There’s no Antiguan restaurants around here, but there’s this place.” Jeremy shrugged. “You really never been here on the weekend?”
I shook my head, although I did recall my cousins talking about going up to Hill Avenue for a plate. 
A man appeared in the doorway to what was probably the basement. He walked over and shook Jeremy’s hand. “Jeremy, good to see you. Maurice told me to have the backyard set up fa you. Ya try fa impress this beautiful young lady?”
Jeremy nodded. “I mean, I hope she’s impressed.
The man reached to take my hand, and I let him. “I’m Nigel,” he said, “welcome to my yaad. It don’t have no fancy name. It’s not a restaurant. I don’t even have a menu. But I know you was lookin for aut’entic Antiguan food, so you are in the right place.”
“Thanks for having me,” I said in my most polite voice.
“It’s my pleasure, pretty girl.”
“Okay, beautiful, pretty, don’t try to push up on my girl,” Jeremy joked.
The words, my girl, echoed in my ears. The date hadn’t even really begun yet. Did things really happen this fast?
Nigel laughed. “Okay then, young man.” He turned his attention to me. “So, what do you tink of grilled red snapper, seasoned rice, and callaloo?”
My insides warmed. Antiguan food had been relegated to Sundays at Sheila’s house. The three of us were too busy to cook during the week. New York had introduced me to fast food and TV dinners. I was deliberately eating to live at this point. I didn’t mind hot dogs until they became a regular thing. “Sounds delicious,” I said, smiling up at Nigel.
“Okay then. I’ll have it out to you shortly. What would you like to drink?”
“What are the options?” Jeremy chimed in.
“Ginger ale, apple juice, cranberry juice—”
“No rum?” Jeremy asked.
Nigel smirked. “Yuh come to an Antiguan house, and yuh expect we must have rum, huh?”
Jeremy shrugged.
“You t’ink you coulda handle English Harbor?”
“I’ve had it,” Jeremy assured.
“Had it and handled it is two different tings, young man.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Jeremy insisted.
Nigel then gave his attention to me again, and I settled on ginger ale.
I thoroughly enjoyed my meal, and though I was embarrassed by the belch that had erupted from the pit of my stomach, Jeremy seemed unfazed. I felt myself relaxing some more and going with the flow. 
Jeremy asked me a lot of questions, and he seemed to enjoy listening to me talk. Talking was something I didn’t do a lot of. He didn’t say much about himself, but he made me comfortable and kept me laughing. Oddly, at points in our conversation, my mind drifted to Desireé. I wondered what her life would be like if her mother hadn’t whisked her out of Antigua as suddenly as they’d shown up. As I wrestled with these thoughts playing in my mind like background music, I was slowly opening up to having a new friend in Jeremy.
“So do I have to drop you off at our meeting spot?” Jeremy asked as he neared my block.
“Unfortunately, I think that would be best,” I solemnly replied. I’d finally done the thing Sheila had been pressuring me to do, and I couldn’t even tell her about it.
Jeremy pulled the car over to the curb where he’d picked me up earlier. He got out and rushed to my side to let me out. Then he walked me to the sidewalk and held both of my hands firmly in his. 
Tiny hairs rose and prickled on the back of my neck as Jeremy looked me in the eyes. “This was a good, good time, Marsha.”
This must be what blushing and melting feels like, I thought as my cheeks warmed and my joints went weak. 
“Did you enjoy yourself?” he asked.
“Yes, I did.”
“Is this something we could do again?”
I shrugged, not wanting to consent to another date so soon. 
Jeremy chuckled. “I mean, if it’s not, you can say that. Or better yet, is this something you would like to do again?”
A giggle escaped my lips, and I didn’t know why I was holding it in the first place. I told the truth. “Yes, I would like to do this again.”
“Okay, I guess we’ll talk in a couple days to decide when.”
“I should call you,” I threw in, reminding myself and Jeremy that the family wouldn’t approve, so he shouldn’t call the house. 
Jeremy nodded his head, keeping his gaze steady in my eyes. “I don’t know if it’s too soon,” he said softly, “but could I kiss you?”
I tensed up, realizing I still hadn’t had a real first kiss yet. There was a high school mishap and nothing since. Was I ready for this? I didn’t even know what ready for a kiss should feel like, so I declined, slowly shaking my head.
“It’s okay,” Jeremy said, but disappointment was obvious in his voice. I didn’t want to let him down, but I couldn’t bring myself to do that just yet. 
“I’m gonna go now,” I said.
“Take your time,” Jeremy said. “I wanna drive by to make sure you get in safe.”
That statement warmed me from head to toe. Sheila made him out to be such a bad guy. Either he really wasn’t that bad, or perhaps I was the girl who had changed him.  
*****
​It was a blazing hot morning in September in Antigua when Marsha was dropped off at her new high school campus. She had been building an invisible fortress around herself for so long that she was almost numb as she walked across the grassy fields, feeling no jitters even on her first day as a ninth grader. Half the students’ faces she recognized, the other half she did not. Either way, it didn’t make a difference. She’d lost interest in having friends in primary school, and she was sure that she could rely on the old faces to inform the new faces that she was quiet, untouchable, and unreadable. After homeroom, she found herself a seat on a bench that gave her just enough sunlight to relax, just enough shade near a tree to avoid suffering under the blanket of tropical heat, and a good view of her history classroom. She wanted to be the first to enter and sit where she pleased. As the heat beat down on her neck, Marsha considered tying her hair into a bun at the nape of her neck, but she always wore her hair that way. She wasn’t one to get overly excited about the first day of school, even her first day of high school, but she thought it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to let her tresses hang loose. She was also becoming concerned that her hair would lose its volume and shine from constantly being tucked away. Over time, her mother’s hair had thinned out from always being pulled back. Marsha didn’t want the same for herself.
She had not anticipated the stares and comments from all the young men who passed her by, and she wished, with all her intelligence, that she could tap into that untouched part of the brain and will the door to her history class open. Did freshmen always get that much attention from upperclassmen? She knew history would be the highlight of her day, but then she’d have to spend the rest of the day with nothing else to look forward to but the next day. Her eyes stayed glued to the small building’s door with the number twelve on it.
“Niceness…” she heard a young man say in a low tone behind her.
She thought he might’ve been talking to her, but she didn’t bother to look up.
“Don’t you know who she is?” she heard a girl say, confirming that she was indeed the intended target of the young man’s flirtations.
“No, but I’m sure I want to,” the boy went on. “She look good… those long legs look like they lead all the way to heaven.”
Marsha pretended not to hear them as she pushed her knees together, tensing her slender body on the wooden bench.
The girl sucked her teeth. “That’s Marsha Lindo.”
“Ah, so what that mean?”
“She is Dr. Lindo’s daughter.”
The boy whistled. “Taal! Mi never know Dr. Lindo breed models… but Dr. Lindo breed some of everyting. You sure this one of he pick’ney?”
“No doubt she is. She is the wife’s baby.”
The low “ooohhh” came from others, and now Marsha knew there was a crowd passing her, not just a boy and a girl.
“She stiff like tree wood. She mek nuns look like ladies of the night,” the girl said, and the crowd snickered.
“She jus need some bad mon wood to mek her back bend,” said the young man.
“Good luck with that,” the young lady cackled along with the rest of the crowd.
Marsha narrowed her eyes at the number twelve, then looked down at her schedule to make sure she was in the right place at the right time. Nothing had changed since the last time she’d looked at the schedule. She had not made a mistake. She was in the right place at the right time, but her teacher was not.
Marsha continued to watch old faces greet each other in excitement. Some gave her a nod, regardless of how stuck up they felt she was. She would give a slight nod in return, with no facial expression, though.
Finally, she saw a tall, busty woman with long grey locs, wearing a dashiki, entering the classroom. Marsha stood up immediately and power-walked across the grass, eager to get the show on the road. Other students dragged themselves toward the classroom; the only other enthusiastic classmate was one of the unrecognizable faces. Marsha figured she must have been a student at a different primary school on the island. It wasn’t until they were settling in and making introductions that she learned who the fellow eager learner was.
“Well, Señora,” said the young girl with round wire-framed glasses and thick curly black hair resting on her shoulders, “My name is Desireé Almonte. I jus came here from Miami. I was supposed to go to the Carol Morgan School in the Dominican Republic, but jus a few months ago, my mother decided to move here to Antigua. So here I am.” She shrugged and smiled.
Marsha cringed hearing her pronounce the “u” in Antigua. That irked her nerves, but when she looked around the room, she noticed that Desireé had all the boys in a trance.
“You didn’t answer the main question,” said the teacher, who they’d all learned was a Jamaican historian named Ms. Reid.
“Oh, lo siento,” said Desireé, “I mean, I’m sorry. So, one thing I wish I could change in history is the annihilation of the indigenous people of our islands. I feel like we will forever be a lost people because we are living on land where the original people have been erased, and our other ancestors were snatched away from Africa and forced to forget their roots.”
Smart was the only word Marsha heard in her head.
Even Ms. Reid looked impressed.
The pro-Black students were intrigued and ready for discussion. The girls who were in class simply because they had to be there forgot that they weren’t supposed to be chewing gum, allowing their jaws to work Bazooka in annoyance. The boys who were there for that same reason watched her mouth, not hearing or comprehending a word coming from it.
When the bell rang, Marsha shoved her coveted Trapperkeeper under her arm and headed out of the room, back into the heat of the campus grounds. She stopped for a moment to check her schedule and find out where her next class was. When she looked up, Desireé was coming toward her. For a moment, she felt bad for the girl. She was new. There wasn’t anyone there to warn her about Marsha’s blank personality.
“I don’t mean to bother you,” Desireé said apologetically, “but do you know where this building is?”
Marsha set her attitude to the side and glanced at Desireé’s schedule. She didn’t know much about the campus either, so she shrugged. “Sorry. I’m new here, too.”
Desireé nodded. “Okay, gracias. I mean, thank you.”
“I speak a little Spanish,” Marsha admitted. “It’s fine.”
Desireé smiled and nodded. “See you around, I guess.”
Marsha cracked a slight smile and nodded.
As lunchtime approached, Marsha looked forward to finding herself a secluded spot in the picnic area to enjoy her turkey sandwich and her new book, The House of the Spirits. The popular kids tended to gravitate to each other, fulfilling their need to be the center of attention and therefore the center of the courtyard. Other quiet girls and guys like herself managed to find their pieces of solitude, giving Marsha hope that she would find her own. Eventually, she saw a grassy area that, like her earlier spot, had just enough sunlight to peek under the tree, providing just the right amount of shade. Always prepared, she laid out a throw blanket, size enough for a picnic for one, and propped herself up against the tree. Sandwich in her lap, thermos at her side, she was ready to dive into this classic story that she’d yet to read, about Estebán, Clara, and Blanca and the “big house on the corner,” when a shadow darkened the book’s page. Marsha looked up to see a grinning Desireé, bagged lunch in one hand, and backpack dangling in the other. “Hi!”
“You lost again?” Marsha asked.
A fleeting look of shock and confusion shot across Desireé’s face. But it was as if her smile couldn’t help itself. “No. I just… well, I still haven’t made any friends here, and you’re the only girl who’s been nice to me. So, I figured we’d eat together.” Her smile widened when she noticed the book Marsha was holding. “You’re reading The House of the Spirits? Oh my God, it’s so good. My brother thought I was crazy for reading it in like seventh grade, but it’s a good story.”
Marsha nodded. “I haven’t read much of it yet.” She hoped that statement would send Desireé on her way. Instead, Desireé dropped her backpack on the ground and sat against the tree next to Marsha.
Marsha let out a slow, exasperated sigh, but Desireé didn’t seem to notice. She opened a ham sandwich and started to eat.
The girls sat side by side, and a few pages into the first chapter, Marsha realized Desireé wasn’t sitting by her side to annoy her. She was a smart, beautiful girl with a thick Dominican accent, in a new school, in a new country. As much as Marsha loved to be alone, she could understand Desireé’s contentment with sitting side by side in silence.
Later that day, Marsha walked to the campus entrance to wait for her Tanty Belinda to pick her up. Belinda wasn’t her real aunt. She was her mother’s best friend who worked somewhat for the family as a nanny. Marsha was the baby of four siblings, but the big sister to the three new children that had been dropped off on the doorstep in the last few years. Lucinda Lindo opened her doors and her arms to her husband’s illegitimate children, and recently widowed Belinda came along to help. Marsha loved Belinda, but she felt she was only around to live in their big house, and she sometimes felt guilty for that thought.
When she reached the edge of the campus, she noticed Desireé wasn’t too far behind. Their eyes met, and Desireé picked up her pace, wearing the same grin she wore at lunchtime. Marsha’s eyes darted towards the road in hopes of seeing Belinda’s blue Toyota Camry, but she hadn’t arrived yet. Her mind juggled a bunch of ways to tell Desireé to get lost, but none of them seemed fair. Everyone else accepted her reserved personality and stone face as a reason to stay away. Desireé bypassed all of it as if she hadn’t noticed it at all.
“Waiting on your parents?” Desireé asked.
Marsha nodded. “Well, waiting for my aunt. She went to pick up my sisters from primary school first. She should be on her way here for me soon.”
“Cool,” said Desireé. “So how far do you live?”
“I live in Hodges Bay.”
“¡Me too, increíble!” Desireé exclaimed.
Marsha pursed her lips. She had a nagging feeling that she would never get rid of this girl.
“So maybe we can ride to school together sometimes, if my mom and your auntie don’t mind.”
“There’s seven of us,” Marsha blurted out.
“Seven? Like you have six siblings?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s amazing. I only have a brother… that I know of.”
Marsha didn’t see that statement coming. “That you know of?”
Desireé rolled her eyes. “My dad’s a ho girl.”
Marsha’s eyebrows shot up.
“Soy seria… I mean, serious.”
“I understood,” said Marsha.
“Right, you speak a lil Spanish.” Desireé sighed. “Yeah, that’s why we’re here in the first place. My mom just got tired of all the different women calling, showing up, claiming pregnancy scares… it was too much. Literally four months ago, she found a house here, sent for me and my brother, and enrolled us in school.”
“Your dad just let her leave like that?”
“Let her? He’s hardly around as it is. He works for the Dominican Republic embassy in Miami. He works so much I don’t know how he has time to have affairs, but men… y’know.”
Marsha empathized, but there was no way Lucinda could just pack up and leave Delmont and forget about separating him from his children. Her entire household did what Delmont said when Delmont said it, regardless of how many women called or dropped off children.
Finally, Marsha could see Belinda’s car in the pick-up line. “There’s my aunt,” she said to Desireé.
“Okay, it was nice meeting you, Marsha. Thanks for letting me sit with you at lunch!”
Marsha only waved as she hopped into the front passenger seat.
“Yuh mek a new friend?” Belinda asked.
“Tanty, yuh know mi don’t do friends.”
Belinda chuckled and turned up the music that Marsha’s younger siblings were bopping to in the back of the car.
High school would not be as uneventful as she’d hoped.

]]><![CDATA[Prologue]]>Thu, 23 Jul 2026 03:18:48 GMThttps://vanessamoorellc.com/all-the-wrong-reasons/prologue
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Sheila and I entered the brick tenement building on East 226th Street in The Bronx. It was a warm Saturday evening in May, and she’d taken me to dinner to celebrate my graduating summa cum laude from Lehman College, with a bachelor’s in world history.
“Thank you so much for dinner,” I said, struggling less to shed my Antiguan accent.
Sheila grinned. “We had to celebrate your accomplishments. Uncle Delmont and Tanty Lucinda couldn’t be here, so I just wanted to do something to show you how proud we all are.”
I smiled back and turned to put my key in the door of Sheila’s second-floor apartment. As soon as we stepped in, the living room lights flicked on, and people shouted, “Surprise!”
Startled, I stumbled back a bit on Sheila.
Sheila grabbed my shoulders and squeezed. “I just didn’t think dinner would be enough.”
Hanging on to my smile, I shuddered a bit. The crowd of people overwhelmed me. I could see that most of the guests were my cousins, and a few were their friends. I took a deep breath and told myself, it’s just a house party. It’s not a club. It shouldn’t be too bad.
Soca music pulsated through the speakers, too giant for the tiny living room. I looked down at my feet, noticing that the plush, multicolored rug had been removed, revealing the polished wood floors. People pulled me into their arms and congratulated me from all different directions. I continued to remind myself that it was just a house party and did my best to steady my feet in my heels, for fear of tripping and falling. Sheila didn’t allow smoking in the apartment, but the scent of ganja wafted off the clothes of some of the guests, into the air. As I made my way through the tight crowd, the lights dimmed, and people started dancing. The living room only had two windows, but they were large and were both open halfway for the possibility of a breeze. Directly across from the front door was a door that led to the kitchen. To the right of the front door was the hall that led to the bedrooms. I considered darting down that hall for a moment, but I didn’t want to hurt Sheila’s feelings. The living room was lightly decorated with a banner that said congratulations above the windows, and white balloons scattered across the ceiling. West Indian people didn’t need decorations to enjoy a fete. It was all about the music and food. Seeing plates being passed through the swinging kitchen door let me know that Sheila had put a lot into this night, and I would have to grin and bear it.
Eventually, it was as if guests forgot they were there for me as they wound their hips to the joyous island music in the middle of the floor. Chairs had been taken from the kitchen table and placed in front of the windows. Two borrowed folding chairs sat in the only two empty corners of the room. The speakers sat in the other two corners, and the deejay was stationed right by the kitchen door.
The party grew before my eyes as more friends of my cousins and friends of their friends came through the door. I ambled around the guests and made my way to the kitchen, where I found Sheila’s friends hovering over pots of curried chicken, seasoned rice, pans of jerk pork, grilled red snapper, fried dumplings, sweet plantain, and beef patties. A pot bigger than all the others sat on the middle burner, and I knew it contained the mannish water, a goat soup often served in a Styrofoam cup. The ladies congratulated me, patting me on the bottom and asking me what I wanted to eat.
“No chairs in yah?” I asked, looking to sit at the kitchen table that took up half the boxy space, away from the actual party.
“No, Ansol put them all in the living room,” said Sheila’s friend Tina. “Ya want someting? Ya plenty magga.” Tina always had something to say about my slim build.
I shrugged, being that I’d just come home from dinner. “I’ll tek two patties, please,” I said, nodding towards the pan on the counter. Full or not, I could not resist them.
“No drink?” another of Sheila’s friends, Annette, asked.
“Rum and Coke,” the only drink I knew how to ask for.
The ladies handed me a small plate and a red plastic Solo cup with my drink. Everyone looked confused when I just stood in the middle of the stuffy kitchen holding my plate and cup.
“Someting else?” Tina asked.
I shook my head, no.
“Okay, so go enjoy ya party,” said Annette.
My heart sank a little at the idea of not being able to hide from the festivities. Once on the other side of the kitchen door, I saw that no one was sitting. They were all in the middle of the floor, hopping on their toes and winding their hips to the music. It looked like a great time, but I couldn’t join in. I hadn’t danced since I was at a party at a soccer player’s house back in Antigua. Now, the idea of moving my body and doing too much in a crowd was paralyzing. I was satisfied with being a spectator. So I chose to sit in a folding chair in the corner where I hoped I could continue to go unnoticed as I nursed my patties and drink.
I watched my female cousins smile and giggle at men who were doing everything to impress them. Even Sheila, at twenty-seven years old, was being wooed by the deejay. They called him Scratches, on account of he’d learned the deejay technique of scratching and mixing records. He led Sheila behind the turntables, showing her what tunes he would play next. When Sheila looked in my direction, I averted my eyes so that she wouldn’t call me over. She was always trying to hook me up with someone, but I was not interested. 
“This is Marsha,” Sheila would say, “The light-skinned Naomi Campbell.”
And every single time, I’d cringe at both Sheila’s description and the way men’s eyes would bulge out of their heads at me.
Sheila always talked about getting married someday and having children. Having children sounded nice to me, but if it meant having to be legally bound to a man, further ingrained with vows made before God, I could do without motherhood. I wasn’t interested in the domino effect that marriage and motherhood entailed. I didn’t want to be stuck at home, reliant on a husband’s money because I was kept pregnant and unable to work. If I were stuck at home, then I couldn’t stay on top of what my husband was doing, and if I couldn’t stay on top of what my husband was doing, then I would be subject to outside children being brought to my doorstep, begging for money or a place to stay.
I wanted no part of that lifestyle. No matter how many times I had been asked out, or how many men Sheila tried to hook me up with, I refused. So, there I sat, watching the other twenty-somethings engage in a variety of courting and dating rituals that I figured would forever be foreign to me.
Finally, my plate was empty, and my drink was nearly gone. I had to think of how to stay overlooked as I disposed of my trash.
My cousin Steven arrived loud and boisterous, his thick locs piled on top of his head, held together with a rubber band. A crew of friends followed behind him, two of them appeared to be Rastafarians like him. Their hair was loc’d as well, and they let it hang loose. One of them, I couldn’t tell if he was a Rasta or not. His hair wasn’t loc’d, but that didn’t mean he didn’t hold Rastafarian beliefs. Their energy made it obvious that my party wasn’t their first stop and probably wouldn’t be their last. Anytime I saw Steven on a Friday or Saturday night, he was just passing through, anyway.
When Steven saw me, he guided his friends over to me. “Yo! Yo!” he shouted, ready to launch into full-on Antigua-talk. “Dis ya muh likkle cousin Marsha! Young genius. Dis gyal ya smart ah rass bwoy!”
“She pretty too,” one of the ones with locs murmured.
“Aye!” Steven continued to shout, “Lindo family ah good lookin breed ya know!”
“This is the one favor Naomi Campbell?” the other maybe-rasta asked, ogling me up and down.
“So them say,” Steven shrugged. “Anyway, cousin, muh jus come to congratulate.” Steven hugged me, and I felt like I’d inhaled a cloud of marijuana. He released me and moved on to greet Sheila. All but one of his friends followed. He was tall with sepia skin and black hair cut low. His shoulders were broad, and his hands were big. I noticed because at my runway height of 5’11, it was rare for me to encounter men who towered over me. I felt tongue-tied as my eyes took him in, yet the struggle to unravel my words seemed greater when Steven’s friend introduced himself to me.
“I’m Jeremy,” he said.
I had to steady myself. “Hello, Jeremy.”
“Congratulations,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome.”
I tried to move past him, but Jeremy’s stature made it hard for me to get around him.
“Where you goin?” Jeremy asked, catching my hand.
I stiffened. “I just want to throw out my trash.”
“I can do that for you. Which way?” Jeremy took the cup and plate and looked around.
“Jus through that door,” I pointed towards the kitchen.
I watched him stroll through the crowd that seemingly parted for him without direction or convincing.
Something had come over me, and I couldn’t shake it. This was my opportunity to hide in my bedroom or find another corner, yet I stood there, frozen in place, unbothered by the dancing bodies bumping into me in the dimly lit room.
When Jeremy appeared in the kitchen doorway, his eyes met mine, and he smiled, appearing relieved that I hadn’t indeed fled to my room. He walked right over to me and took my hands. “Would you like to dance?” he asked.
Before I could answer, Sheila’s voice had taken up space. “She don’t dance.”
My eyes shot to my left, where Sheila stood folding her arms against her bosom.
“Oh, come now, Sheila,” Jeremy stepped back, dropping my hands and raising his own over his head. “Why you always givin me a hard time?”
“Because you is a hard time,” Sheila said sternly.
Jeremy sucked his teeth. “Steven!” he bellowed.
Steven walked over, shaking his head knowingly. “Wha gwaan? You two always ah fight.”
“Nobody fightin,” said Sheila, “muh jus try fa keep ya nasty friend from muh baby cousin.”
“Baby?” said Jeremy, “She look like a grown woman to me.”
“Marsha definitely one of the babies,” said Steven. “But dem jus talkin. Marsha cyan talk wid him?”
“No,” said Sheila. “Talkin turns to other tings.”
Jeremy rolled his eyes. “Marsha is the guest of honor. I jus was talkin with her and congratulatin her. Nothin wrong with that.”
“Don’t overreact,” said Steven.
Though squinted, Sheila’s eyes shifted back and forth between the two men. The party was slowing down, and Scratches was letting reggae play. Beres Hammond’s voice crooned through the giant speakers in opposite corners of the room, singing, warning partiers what one dance can do, and Scratches was headed in Sheila’s direction. He reached out his hands to her and started to pull her to the middle of the living room. Sheila let him guide her, but she looked over her shoulder and called out. “Jus left muh cousin alone dutty bwoy.”
Steven had grabbed a young lady to dance with, leaving Jeremy and me alone again.
“As I was sayin,” Jeremy held out his hands once more. “Would you like to dance?”
“Over there,” I said, pointing to a corner of the room. “I don’t like to dance in front of people.”
“No problem,” said Jeremy, and he led me to the space where I felt most comfortable.
He held one of my hands in his and placed the other hand on my waist, careful not to stand too close to me or do anything that could be deemed inappropriate.
“Why is Sheila callin’ you dutty bwoy?” I asked right away. This was the first time Sheila appeared bothered by a man trying to talk to me. She usually encouraged such interactions. I knew she hoped that it would break me out of my so-called shell, and I knew her friends wanted to taint my supposed good-girl image just a little bit.
Jeremy laughed. “Sheila don’t like me too much.”
“But why?” Marsha questioned.
“I dated one of her friends, and it didn’t work out. Sheila never like me since.” The more he talked, the more his Haitian accent came through.
“That’s all?”
“That’s all.”
“Anybody ever tell you how pretty you are?” Jeremy said, looking into my eyes. Before I could answer, he replied for me. “I bet it happens all the time.”
I still didn’t speak. I focused on my two-step to the beat.
“You seein anybody?” Jeremy asked.
“No,” I almost whispered, and shook my head.
“Maybe we can go out sometime.”
“No, thank you.” I didn’t mean to sound so curt.
“Serious?”
I nodded my head yes.
“Why? I mean, if you don’t like me, I understand. I’m just curious.”
“I don’t go out,” I stated, still spouting short answers that bordered on rude.
“Pou kisa?”
“Huh?”
Jeremy shook his head. “I mean, what? Why don’t you go out?”
“I prioritize my learnin and my career over going out.”
Jeremy looked like he was choking. “Your learnin is finished. This is your graduation party, no?”
“Yes, but I’m getting a master’s degree next, and I’m going to start teaching global history in a public school in September.”
“So, you have a whole summer to go out,” Jeremy pushed.
“I have a whole summer to prepare.”
Jeremy hesitated. “Wow.”
“What?” I asked, unsure of what I might’ve said to elicit shock from him.
“I don’t think I’ve ever met anybody so dedicated to—”
“Learnin?”
“Yeah, and work. Nothing else interests you?”
“No.”
“Really?
His questions were too much, and although we’d just met, I wanted him to like me, and I didn’t want to say anything that might turn him off. “I just don’t make time for frivolous tings,” I said finally.
Jeremy’s eyes stretched at me. “Do you consider making new friends frivolous?” he asked.
Had anyone else asked this question, the answer would’ve been yes. “No.”
“Good,” Jeremy smiled. “Cuz I want to be your friend, and I hope you can find a way to make time for me. I promise you, your time wouldn’t be wasted.”
My heart raced, but I rode the wave. We continued rocking to a new song that began to play with a similar rhythm and tempo.
Then, suddenly, Jeremy stopped dancing. “Wait here,” he said.
I watched him walk away, wondering where he was going and what he was about to do. I didn’t want him to leave, but I didn’t want to get involved with him. I just wanted to know more about him. His energy was warm and welcoming. Perhaps because he didn’t harp too much on the bubble I kept myself in. I was used to being asked, “Why you so quiet? Why don’t you go out? Then the assumptions followed, especially because of who my father is. Oh, ya too good for common people, because you ya daddy name start with doctor? So far, it didn’t seem like Jeremy wanted to take his line of questioning there. I felt like he genuinely wanted to get to know me. When I saw him coming back towards me, I felt a slight sense of relief.
Jeremy held out a piece of paper and a pen to me. “Can I get your number?” he said.
I hesitated, but I realized I could find out more about him. I scribbled my name and number on the torn paper. Jeremy tore off another piece and wrote his name and number down. He pressed it into my palm and whispered in my ear, “Put this away so Sheila don’t see.”
I did as she was told.
“One more dance?” Jeremy coaxed.
“One more,” I agreed, and placed my hand in his, the same way I’d done before. This time, I could feel butterflies fluttering in my belly, and Jeremy’s scent, a mix of sandalwood, marijuana, and cocoa butter, clouded the senses that usually kept me on guard.
Maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad gettin to know this guy.

*****


It was a big day at St. John’s Primary. Marsha’s father, Dr. Lindo, made annual visits to all of the schools on the island, and today would be that day for Marsha’s school. Teachers used the moment to shine and show off the hard work they put in, along with their students. Since kindergarten, Marsha would be just as thrilled as her teachers and classmates about her father’s visit. Dr. Lindo never extended any special treatment toward her during these visits. Still, Marsha would be excited to see his expansive figure, in a silent boast, strolling from classroom to classroom in his well-fitting suits. Male teachers and administrators shook his hand eagerly and laughed heartily with him while female faculty swooned. Students smiled happily towards him and anxiously hoped that he would lean over their shoulders to ask what they were learning about.
On this particular visit, Marsha wanted to have lunch with her father. She asked her teacher if she could go and find him to sit with him. Her teacher agreed and allowed her to leave the outdoor seating area to look for her father in the main building. Like any other elementary-aged child, Marsha couldn’t wait to play with her friends at recess, but this day, she would give all that up to sit with her father, the great Dr. Lindo. She was already well-known for being his daughter. It would be even cooler for her to excuse herself from the daily routine of a thirty-minute recess to engage in conversation over lunch with Dr. Lindo, because he was her father. Marsha skipped happily towards the main office and entered the warm, mostly beige room that smelled of coffee, paper, and copy machines.
“Can I help you, Marsha?” the school secretary asked, knowing that Marsha had come looking for her father.
Marsha nodded. “Do you know where Dr. Lindo is?” Marsha inquired, using the formality because her father insisted it be that way outside of their home. Antigua was small enough for everyone to know each other and know each other’s business, and Dr. Lindo had quite a reputation. One way he figured he could maintain some type of order with his own family and boundaries from non-relatives was to have his children refer to him as Dr. Lindo in public or formal settings.
“You should find him in the office there,” the secretary pointed out before returning to her filing.
Marsha, still without a worry or care in the world and giddy with privilege, walked nearly on her toes over to the office door and knocked. No answer. She turned to the school secretary, who was engrossed in her work. She hadn’t noticed Marsha still standing there. Marsha knocked again. Nothing. This time, Marsha pushed the door open slowly. Her heartbeat took off like butterfly wings, but her breathing stopped. She could feel beads of sweat crowding her forehead and the hairs standing on the back of her neck. Fight or flight played tug-of-war in the pit of her stomach. Her mouth went dry as she watched her father speaking softly into a third-grade teacher’s ear, his left hand caressing her rear end over the material of her cotton dress. The teacher’s giggles nauseated Marsha. She hadn’t seen much of this type of interaction between her parents, but she knew this behavior from her father should have been reserved for her mother. She stepped back and let the door close softly. Flight had won, but Marsha had to play it off. Once again, on her toes, she made her way back to the outdoors to play amongst her peers and forget what she’d seen.
Except, she hadn’t forgotten. For weeks she was conflicted. The more she thought about it, the more she feared she would blurt it out. She didn’t even know how to put it into words, but she knew the words could form themselves and escape. So she talked less. She talked so little that she started to only speak when she needed to. She hated her father for what she’d seen, but she knew she would hate herself more if she brought it up to her mother and caused strife between them. So Marsha closed herself up. She withdrew from friends and lost herself in books. She functioned this way until the first day of high school. By this time, her reputation went from being Dr. Lindo’s smartest child to being his most stuck-up child. “Stush-gyal,” is what they called her. What right did Stush-gyal have to be so standoffish when her father was whoring around the entire island, leaving behind bundles of joy as parting gifts? Some of the recipients of these gifts had shown up on the family’s doorstep, ready to return to sender, and Lucinda would accept these gifts with open arms. She would feed, clothe, and dote on them the same as she’d done with her own bundles of joy. This is what created the strained dynamic between Marsha and her mother.

*****


Only Jeremy kept his eyes on his father as he trudged back from the airline customer service desk, steeped in frustration. His mother, Madeline, fiddled with the ends of her shirt while his sister Lovelie pretended to be engulfed in her book.
“Kisa yo te di papi?” Jeremy inquired about his father’s conversation with the flight attendants.
Augustine rolled his eyes as he plopped down next to his son. “There’s nothing we can do. There are no other flights. We are stuck here. There’s a storm in Miami.”
“But for how long?” Madeline asked, finally looking up from her fingers.
Augustine sucked his teeth. “They don’t know.”
“So that’s it?” Jeremy asked.
“That’s it,” said Augustine.
“What are we going to do?” Lovelie asked no one in particular, as she never took her eyes off the pages that supposedly intrigued her.
“We’re going to wait,” said Augustine.
“Maybe we should go back home,” said Madeline.
“No,” Augustine said. “Our luggage is checked. I’m not takin taxi all the way back to Thomassin to have to come back here when I don’t even know what time to come back. We wait. That is all.”
Lovelie sucked her teeth.
Madeline pinched her.
“Ouch!” Lovelie screeched, peeking up at her mother.
Madeline glared at her, causing her to lower her eyes back to her pages.
“I’m gonna get a snack,” Jeremy said as he stood and stretched his long arms and legs.
He found a little stand selling patties fresh out of the oven. He ordered two patties and a cola, and decided he would eat his snack at one of the two tables. Just as he made himself comfortable, a bushel of bouncing jet-black curls caught his eye. His eyes traveled from the wild ponytail to the slender shoulders, and suddenly, the sun-baked beauty turned and their eyes connected. Jeremy’s mouth went dry as she smiled and trotted in his direction. He frantically searched his mind for something to say, but then was equally disappointed and relieved when the young girl with wire-framed round glasses passed right by him. “Ellos tienen colas por aquí!” she shouted over her shoulder to a young man who looked just like her.
Jeremy quickly figured out she had to be Dominican. He knew they would easily cross in and out of Haiti, but all kinds of drama stirred when we crossed in and out of the Dominican Republic. The boy waved her off as she continued to the mini fridge by the counter. She took out a soda and brought it over to the register. After getting the price from the clerk, she reached into her pocket and cursed under her breath, “Shit.” She looked up and quickly called out, “Castel!”
The young man shouted back to her, “What?”
“I left my money with Mami—” she shouted back.
“So go get it!” Castel shouted back.
“Just lend it to me until we go back to our gate!” the girl yelled.
“No! Go get your money. You knew we were getting something to eat, stupida!”
The girl sucked her teeth and folded her arms. She seemed to be thinking for a moment, then she said something to the clerk and dragged herself away from the counter.
Jeremy had by now regained his voice. He stood up quickly and stepped into the girl’s way.
“Ay, excuse me,” she grunted.
“I can pay for your soda,” Jeremy offered.
When the girl stared up at him, she looked him directly in the eyes. It seemed that she’d lost her breath for a moment. Jeremy’s heart raced in his chest as he noticed she seemed to be experiencing what he’d experienced just a few minutes before.
The girl cleared her throat. “I don’t know you,” she murmured.
“It’s okay,” said Jeremy. “I know you don’t wanna walk all the way back to your gate.”
“I have my own money,” the girl said.
Jeremy shrugged. “If it’s bothering you that much, I can lend it to you for now. What time does your flight leave?”
The girl shrugged her shoulders. “We’re freakin delayed for I don’t know how long.”
“You flyin to Miami?” Jeremy asked.
“Sí, pero there’s a storm or whatever.”
“I’m flying to Miami too. You got plenty of time to pay me back.”
Jeremy walked over to the clerk and put money down on the counter. “Get your soda,” he said to the young girl.
“Gracias,” she said as she removed the bottle cap and took a swig of her soda.
Stealing an opportunity to get to know her, Jeremy suggested, “You wanna sit with me while I eat my patties?”
The girl looked over to where he had been sitting, then over her shoulder towards the gate, then finally looked at Jeremy again. “Sure,” she said.
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