Big Girls Do Cry by Carl Weber Page A

so, but Monica’s talking about getting a restraining order.”
    “Tony, I don’t know why you don’t just leave her. You could move down here, and we could get a place. That woman is crazy, baby. You’ve said it yourself.”
    “You know I can’t leave my kids, Isis.”
    I never won this argument, so it wasn’t worth going down this road. Best I kept to the subject at hand—getting some dick. “I know you can’t leave your kids. But how about for a weekend?” I crossed my fingers. “Can you leave them for the weekend to come see me? I miss you, baby, and so does Miss Kitty. You wouldn’t want me to have to give her to someone else.”
    “I know you ain’t planning on giving away my pussy.” Tony was one jealous motherfucker. Despite having a wife at home and not hitting this in almost two months, he still considered this his pussy. He couldn’t stand the idea of anyone else getting some of this.
    “Well, then you need to handle your business before the job is given to someone who can.”
    “Don’t play with me, Isis. I’ll be down there this weekend.”
    “Now that’s what I’m talking about. I heard my sister say they were going to New York for the weekend. We’ll have the house to ourselves.”
    “Sounds good. I’ll see you on Friday.”
    “Friday it is.” I could hear Monica in the background. “You gotta go, don’t you?”
    “Yeah,” he said sadly. “Don’t wanna piss her off too much. Last thing I want is for her to block me from coming down this weekend.”
    “I know that’s right, baby. Just call me tomorrow.”
    “Aw-ight. Love you.”
    “Love you too.” I hung up, wondering if he was going to keep his promise or not show up because of his wife like he’d done the last two times we were supposed to meet. Well, if he didn’t show up this Friday, I damn sure was going to show up at his house on Saturday.

Loraine
 7 
    “He’s home,” Jerome blurted out in disbelief, as if he were reading my thoughts as we pulled into the driveway of my Southside Richmond home. The “he” Jerome was speaking about was my husband, Leon, whose tricked-out black Mercedes was impossible to miss. Leon had been missing in action for the better part of a week. He’d walked out of the house after we had yet another argument over money.
    Leon was a very prideful man, and he was having a hard time adjusting to me being the breadwinner in our house. I just couldn’t seem to make him understand that we needed to save. He’d lost plenty of money trying to get in on so-called ventures that never went anywhere. I didn’t know where the hell he spent the rest of it, but he was never able to keep money in his pocket. Considering I was making the majority of that cash, it was pissing me off how careless he was. On top of that, he was asking me to give him his interest in the public-relations firm so he could invest it in Rashad’s hedge fund. Because I wanted more details about the investment before I said yes, he got pissed off, said I needed to stop trying to control him.
    In the heat of the argument, he’d smacked the shit out of me on his way out the door. Of course, I was pissed at first, but once I calmed down and thought about it, I realized I had pushed him too far. I had said some pretty belittling things to him, and I guess he had just reached his breaking point.
    You see, it takes two to argue, and I’m a sister who is used to making her point, so I say whatever is on my mind and let the chips fall where they may. It seems that with my husband, I hadmade one point too many, and he decided to end the argument by picking up his keys and heading for the front door. You just don’t walk out on me, so I snatched his keys from his hand and blocked the door. That’s when he called me a bitch.
    I’ve heard that saying: “Sticks and stones can break your bones, but words will never hurt you.” That’s crap. Don’t nobody call me a bitch to my face and get away with it. I slapped the shit out