Kismet 2

by Raynesha Pittman

Genres: Christian Suspense; Suspense

Synopsis

The saying goes: "A hard head makes for a soft ass." If that’s true, then Savannah James must be walking around with a pillow attached to her after playing games with Karma, seeking revenge and being punished for it by facing death twice.
It seems the thrill of playing with fate still remains. The lessons she should have learned from past mistakes mean nothing when her absent mother walks back into her life after 30 years, ready to rekindle a relationship that never existed. How long can Savannah expect to go on without fate coming back to haunt her? Will she ever realize that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree? The game she thinks she’s uniquely playing with life has an author of the same bloodline.
Kismet 2: Some Things You Will Never Understand picks up where the emotional rollercoaster ride of Kismet left off, except with more conflict and drama. Readers will feel an adrenaline rush from the erotic loops and free-falling drops of a bumpy romance like no other. Buckle up and hold on tight for this literary ride. Is it Karma or Kismet? You be the judge.
 

Release date: March 26, 2019

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 256

Sample

Ain’t that about a bitch—the ho that donated her egg only to abandon me thinks I’m supposed to care that she has hurt sweltering in the bottom of her eyelids and etched across her sorry ass. This estranged mother of mine was back from who knows where, after all these years, and acts like I’m supposed to give God the glory for finally having her by my side. Bitch, why? Can someone please tell me when, what, who, why, and where in the hell people are doing that at because I didn’t get that notice, nor do I want it!

Hell nah, I wasn’t going to jump for joy that she was in my face and not under a missing person ad on the back of a milk carton—not after twenty-nine years of her being a missing-in-action mother, I wasn’t. She could miss me with that shit. Even if she felt moved to cry until bags of water formed under her eyes, she could drown in them for all I cared. I wouldn’t play lifeguard.

I told myself if she were ever to come back, no matter what her reason was for her leaving, I’d ball up my fist and knock the spit out of her mouth as she tried to explain. You know, get in a sucker punch when she least expected it that would rock her world. Now that she’s sitting in my face, within arm’s reach, I don’t feel the need to because the clown-ass bitch was pathetic.

For years I spent my nights dreaming of the day we’d meet, and those dreams had finally come true. I won’t play saint. I did get the urge to ball my fist when she introduced herself and knock her ass out cold before she could complete the sentence. After wanting to for so long, it was mandatory that I caused her some type of physical pain to match my feelings of growing up motherless, but those feelings must have temporarily been put on hold because of the kindness she showed me and my daughter, Sade. Her kindness not only bought her time to talk with me, but it also caused me short-term amnesia. When she asked me what my plans were after beating cancer, I couldn’t wait to tell her. I was under the impression that I was chitchatting with a cool-ass nurse that’s dealt with some shit.

“I’m going to raise my daughter and my future stepson and give this family thing a real shot. It’s never been in me to be somebody’s wife or someone’s mother. I lived for me, and that didn’t work. So, I’m going to try something new and live for them.”

I was feeling like every woman, whatever that meant, and that my words were truly a lioness’s roar. I saw something strange when I looked into her pathetic eyes. It was weakness and, since I disliked weak people, it forced me to pay attention to the weak shit I knew she was about to say.

“That’s right, baby, take care of your family. It won’t work if the woman is weak and selfish. You got to put what you want to the side and get what is best for you all. You’re young, so it’s not too late to get back in them babies’ lives the way you should be. Once you leave them, a lot of times, you don’t get to come back, even when you beg to.”

And I finally saw the truth.

It was like a light switch being turned on the way my amnesia went away, and the truth shined bright. Everything around me began to get clearer than it had been before. Hurt and anger from everything that happened in my life that I had decided to let go came speeding back. And, at first, I still didn’t know why, but, the longer I sat there staring at her, the clearer it became. I could see her dimples, the same dimples my daughter had, for the first time out of all her visits, and she said her name was Peaches because of her love for peach cobbler. Something about the way she said my favorite dessert made my stomach growl, and that’s what gave her ass away. I couldn’t believe that I was face-to-face with the sorry, two-legged dog that birthed me, and she had the nerve to give me a pep talk that she thought was good advice that included a lie about her begging to come back.

The bitch never begged me to come back, I thought, and Memphis had never mentioned anything to me about meeting her, so I had to ask, “What made you decide to bring your ass back, Mama?”

I’ve asked her that same question twice in the last ten minutes and haven’t received a response yet. She just grinned with those deep dimples of hers and stared at the ceiling like it would reveal the answer. There had to be something else wrong with me that the CAT scan didn’t find because I don’t know why the doctors aren’t removing my foot from her ass, but what I do know is she isn’t leaving this hospital room without telling me what made her decide to come back now!

“I still don’t hear shit, and I know your mouth works. You run that motherfucka well. That’s how I knew who you were. Answer me!”

Until now, she didn’t have a problem with running off at the damn mouth. I couldn’t pay her ass to shut up, but all of a sudden, she decided to turn mute. I don’t know who she thought she was dealing with, and I didn’t care. She had another ten seconds to answer my question before I jumped out of this hospital bed and gave her a reason to wish that she hadn’t returned. I don’t give a damn about her egg donation.

“Trisha, Peaches, whichever you go by, I asked you a question. Or do I have to wait another three decades for the fucking answer? I didn’t ask or beg for you to come back, so what in the hell are you doing here, and most importantly, why?”

I was still weak from the combination of medicines they had me on and sore from the waist down from surgery. It didn’t take a degree in pharmacology to know cancer medications and pain medicine didn’t mix, no matter what those doctors and their research said. However, even in my weakest moment, she had me feeling tough, and if she didn’t answer to my liking, I’d show her just how tough I was. The fucked-up part about it is that I knew her response would confirm, without a doubt, she was my mother. I had a feeling it would sound like something I would say with a lot more heat and wisdom behind it. That woman, or lack thereof, standing in front of me, returned the eye contact as her mouth opened.

“Who in the fuck do you think you talking to, Savannah? You must be smelling your own shit and think you can say whatever it is you want to me; is that it? Let me tell you something, little girl, I’m going to answer your smart-ass question, but for me to do so, I’m going to need a teaspoon worth of respect from you. Not as your mother; that will come with time, I’m sure of it.”

That woman was going straight to hell. Her devilish smile was nothing more than a boarding pass for her one-way trip. If I were spiritual, I would have prayed before she continued.

“And only my close friends and makeshift family call me Peaches; you can call me Trisha since we don’t know each other. You don’t have to ask me again, smart-ass. I see you’re not ready to treat me like I’m your mother.”

I smacked my lips as loud as I could and mumbled, “Bitch, please!” at her words, but that didn’t stop her. She picked up right where she left off.

“I will repeat that just in case you didn’t hear me over that stank-ass ego of yours! We don’t know each other, so we need to respect each other like we are two strangers meeting for the first time in the streets. Am I overstood? Because understanding ain’t never been good enough for me.”

I liked her style already. Straight to the point and demanding, but she seemed to have forgotten she was on my time now.

“Yes, we have an understanding, Trisha, only if you remember my name is Savannah, not little girl, and surely not your little girl. I don’t have, want, or need any mothers in my life, stranger. This little make-your-wrongs-right session you have going on will work at my pace, so, don’t get comfortable with running the show. I’m the star in this drama, and having a costar ain’t never been good enough for me!”

We rolled our eyes at each other simultaneously, as if we planned it. Daytime soap operas’ hospital scenes didn’t have shit on what we were acting out in this room. If I weren’t a star in all of this, I’d love to be a nosy-ass fly on the wall to witness it.

Trisha leaned back in her gray, run-down hospital chair, turned her stare up to the ceiling where there was nothing besides the track lights that ran parallel in their dirty, off-white casting, and shook her head. I hated to have to admit, but she was beautiful. Everything on her face was proportioned to perfection, from the deep curves of her lips, the depth of her dimples, to the Asian-like slants of her dark brown eyes. My father was in his sixties; there was no way I was going to believe she shared his age. She didn’t look a day older than forty, especially not with her long, jet-black hair pushed back into a ponytail. Neither wrinkles nor stress lines had yet to touch her light brown face. Her skin tone resembled slightly darkened caramel shined with a bronze glow that reminded me of that first week of summer tint most women received from the sun. The scent that radiated from her skin was welcoming and relaxing. It wasn’t harsh on the nose like older women’s perfumes tended to be. There was something about her smell that reminded me of freshly baked sugar cookies, hot out of the oven. The alluring scent filled my body with warmth and comfort, causing my mouth to shut, and allowing my nose to do all my breathing.

To sum Trisha up, she looked like a childless woman with no cares in the world. Even her Coke-bottle shape that seeped through her white and pink scrubs gave me more reason to protest her age. Her small, ringless hands and average-sized feet gave the impression that she had never worked a day of manual labor in her life. Checking out the flawless woman who sat in front of me pissed me off even more.

“Any day now,” I said, so she could snap out of whatever it was she was thinking about. The sooner she answered my question meant the sooner she could get out of my face. If my imperfection caused her to leave me as a child, why would she allow it to be the reason she came back? I needed to know.

“Savannah, I’m sure Dwight has given you his side of the story. All I ask is that you listen to mine. I wanted to come back and tried many times, but your father, he just wouldn’t let me, honey.”

Oh no, she didn’t, I thought. If she thought she was going to put any blame on my daddy in that fake-ass, loving mother voice she was trying to use, she had another think coming. I sat up as tall as I could for a woman who just had a hysterectomy earlier that day and said, “You need to tell your story without shifting any blame on my daddy, or you can get your shit and leave like you normally do. I want to hear your side, without your fingers pointing at anyone because, at the end of the day, you’re the one who did all the wrong, so cut the shit, Trisha. I speak and comprehend bullshit fluently. Now, am I overstood?”

She had the nerve to give me a crooked smile before she said, “I had to see who I was dealing with. Forgive me.”

“Trisha, I’m not that bitch, nor is this the time you’d want to test me. You can go ahead and answer the question or get the fuck out. How’s that for showing you some respect? Talk or walk!”

She began laughing like the shit was funny. “Oowee, if looks could kill, I’d be cremated. You’re more like me than I thought. I guess I was wrong, and you can handle the truth given to you straight. After hearing about all the crazy shit you did in California, you just might understand it too.” Her laugh, which had gradually changed into a smile, turned into a shame-on-you type of head nod. She eased back into her chair to get comfortable once again.

This was a game to her. I wanted to call her a bitch badly and tell her to get the fuck out of my face for attempting to lie to me after all these years, but I bit my tongue to show respect to the mother I didn’t know. I couldn’t believe she nodded her head in shame at me without hearing my side of what happened in California, and why did I care that she had? Who was she in the first place to judge me for my act of revenge on my childhood enemies anyway? In a way, the drama that unfolded in California was all her fault, if you think about it. I was made fun of for being boyish and had to move away from California after high school to get away from hearing my name in a sentence with the words “dyke” or “lesbian.” I smoked two ounces of weed a week, some weeks, even more, to help deal with the torment I went through growing up motherless.

My father and uncles tried their best to make me as ladylike as possible, but a man can’t teach a girl how to become a woman. That’s what a mother is there for, but I wasn’t lucky enough to have guidance from my mother. She ran out on the one responsibility she owed me, and it shows in everything I do. Just look at me, now engaged to a college-educated drug dealer named Andre, who I only knew for a week before he went to jail. I’m sure if I had a mama around, she would have taught me better than to settle for this shit.

Dre, as he preferred to be called, was a one-night stand that went all the way wrong. I don’t do serious relationships, but I fucked up and got pregnant by him after that one-night stand turned into five days of amazing, backbreaking, leg-shaking, and knee-knocking sex.

I do have to give Dre his props; that man knows his way around a woman’s body with no map or GPS needed. I have never been one of those women who instantly fall in love with a man just because I’ve slept with him and the dick was superb. Sex was nothing more to me than a way to release built-up energy like exercise. If it took more than one machine to exercise my entire body at the gym, it would take more than one man to release my built-up stress completely; or, that was my thinking before meeting him.

No, love wasn’t in my vocabulary, but there was something about Dre that made me leave Nashville, Tennessee, headed back to Atlanta, Georgia, with my heart on my sleeve and the pink slip to my pussy signed over to him.

At first, I thought it was because of the dick and tried to shake the feelings Dre left me with. Then, I found out I was pregnant, and, even worse, it was too late to terminate the pregnancy. I quickly decided to correct my mistakes by giving our daughter away to foster care two days after her birth. I didn’t want a child in the first damn place, and if I had known I was pregnant sooner, she would have been aborted like all the other pregnancies that came before her. I know it sounds fucked up, but sometimes the truth is fucked up.

After that drama, I packed up and moved to the other side of the country so my steps couldn’t be traced, but Dre played detective and tracked me down just like a bounty hunter all the way to the West Coast. I did all of that to free myself from this man. However, everything I did quickly became a waste of time once I saw his face again. That was the moment I knew I had fallen in love with him during those five days of paradise. I’m sure Dre will expect me to break my agreement with the Jeffersons to get our daughter back, and then he’ll go snatch up his son to play house, which is a game I have no interest in, and it’s all her damn fault!

In truth, no one held a gun to my head and forced me to agree to this lifestyle change. But the only reason I agreed to this shit in the first place is that I felt guilty about doing my daughter the way Trisha did me and leaving Dre the way she had left my father.

Whether or not she realized it, her absence affected so many people’s lives. That slut, Keisha, one of the hoes who tormented me as a child that I had my revenge on, wouldn’t be fighting for her freedom behind bars or fighting HIV for her life if Trisha would have faced her responsibilities as my mother.

I will admit that I did take getting revenge a little too far, and now I must live with the fact that I passed out potential death sentences, but I don’t feel bad about it. I didn’t make any of them decide not to use protection with strangers. That was a death sentence that they brought upon themselves. Honestly, I didn’t know the prostitutes I selected were infected with the virus until after my plot was done, and honestly, I didn’t care enough to question it. I’m not trying to make excuses for what I did, just trying to kiss Karma’s ass a little more before she comes to visit me. I know she’s on her way.

The point is, my life is fucked up because of Trisha’s decision to leave, which was something I had no control over; otherwise, I would have forced her to stay, made her be a mother to me mandatory and not a choice, and then she would have known there was an obligation to love me. I still can’t believe she dared to come back when I got sick with cancer to play a mommy. Where was she when I started my period? Or decided to fuck girls because I was scared to get dick? Huh? Where the fuck was she then? Now I’m supposed to smile and be thankful that she’s here for me like she never left? Fuck that!

I’m angry and can’t let go of the anger, no matter how hard I try, and I don’t feel like I have to. I was going to let my past go after I avenged my childhood, but it was like fate stepped in and brought this entity called a mother back into my life so that I wouldn’t change the person I’ve been for the past fifteen years. Fuck it, then; that’s fine with me because I’m comfortable in my own skin. Always have been even if it brings hell to others. I’ve already dealt with Karma for some of the shit I’ve done before today. I got a little wiggle room on my slate to start my life over with, and I’ll try to keep it clean the best that I can.

I started my journey to greatness as a certified public accountant but being licensed to provide accounting services to the public wasn’t good enough. I needed to be the most recognized and world renowned in the field, and to become that, I worked my ass off in school to ensure that CPA was changed into a chartered financial analyst. Corporate financial analyzing and portfolio managing is what I do on a daily basis, and now that I’m a partner at Williams and Williamson, I’m also managing the accountants on our payroll. If I could block out the drama in my past to focus on being the best in school, I’m sure I could do it now. But first, I must know the truth.

During my rage, I missed the first five minutes or so of Trisha answering my question. When I tuned in, she was already at her pregnancy with my older brother, Memphis.

“I couldn’t believe I was pregnant! I thought about leaving and getting an abortion, but I knew it was too late, and if I left, who would pay your father’s bills? Dwight didn’t like the fact that I was flying back and forth from California to the South to sleep with different doctors, but that was my side hustle before I met him. After his drunk driving caused those people to die, he quit his job and didn’t have a dime to his name, so he wasn’t going to stop me from—”

I had to cut her lying ass off before she could finish her sentence. “What do you mean, his drunk driving? My daddy doesn’t drink and furthermore—”

She returned the favor by cutting me off. “He doesn’t drink anymore! After the accident, he picked up smoking cigarettes to ease his nerves. I’m surprised you ended up fighting cancer before him.” She had a look of victory on her face as she continued. “Oh, I see the saint didn’t air his dirty laundry. Well, let me tell you about your superhero father. He used to drive 18-wheelers back then, and from what I could tell, he loved it. The night we met, he was involved in a bad accident. He and the other two accident victims, a young high school-aged couple on their way to prom, were rushed to my hospital. Your father was banged up badly, but not as bad as the young couple. The girl had to be airlifted from the scene, and it took the Jaws of Life to cut the young man out of the overturned vehicle, which didn’t matter because he arrived with internal bleeding that no one would have been able to stop. Dwight had a few broken bones, but he would live. Your father was pissy drunk; the smell of alcohol was fuming through his skin like a loud aftershave.”

She waved her hand in a fanning motion across her face and squished her eyes as if she could still smell it. “I was assigned to him for intake and a mandatory drug test required. . .