Strawberry Mansion: A Philadelphia Story

by Julia Press Simmons

Genres: African American Urban

Synopsis

Strawberry Mansion: A Philadelphia Story is a dramatic tale of three young friends who must rely on their connection to each other to weather tragic storms.
 
Tabitha lost her freedom in high school when she hooked up with a boy who would impregnate her and make her his punching bag. Lisa is deemed "the strong one" by her friends, but her own past of sexual abuse and pregnancy at the hands of her stepfather keeps her one second away from falling apart as the drama builds. Their younger friend, Shanice, is a hellion, ready and willing to let any boy have her just to get the affection she believes her mother has withheld. As their world spirals out of control, they cling fast to one another in the hope that love, friendship, and strength will not only keep them together but will also move them to a better place in their lives.
 

Release date: March 31, 2026

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 304

Sample

Tabitha lost her mind on a sunny Wednesday in May.

She was cooking breakfast, nothing special. Eric didn’t like special. He liked bacon and eggs, toast and coffee—black. The salty and sultry scent of the bacon wafted through the air as her 3-year-old daughter, Erica, made a mess of her bedroom. Tabitha smiled at the thought of her daughter gleefully pulling out every toy she owned. Then her smile faded. She hoped Erica didn’t make a big enough mess to spike her father’s temper.

Tabitha sighed and wiped the sweat off her brow with the back of her hand. Walking to the back door, she cracked it open, hoping to let in a little air and a little heat out, but there was no breeze. The air outside was just as hot and thick as the air in the kitchen. “Summer’s coming in hot and early,” she mumbled as she picked up a piece of bacon and started to nibble. She resisted the urge to peek into the living room to see if Eric was still out there reading the paper and, instead, focused on the kitchen, making sure that everything was in its proper place before serving.

As Tabitha set the table, Erica ran into the kitchen dressed in a Cinderella Halloween costume she refused to take off at home. She’d been obsessed with Cinderella ever since her grandmother bought her the costume and videotape last October. Tabitha looked at the tattered gown and shook her head. “Mom said you would be over Cinderella by Christmas, and now it’s almost June.”

Erica twirled in the dress and then went into the cabinets near the stove, with her eyes on the pots and pans.

“Oh no, you don’t, little girl.” Tabitha pulled Erica out of the cabinets by her leg. “You know you can’t bang on those pans when Daddy’s here.”

“But Daddy’s leaving, Mama.”

“He’s not going anywhere, little girl.” She smiled as she smoothed Erica’s hair, which was quickly becoming little more than an Afro with barrettes.

“Uh-huh, Mama. He’s putting on his coat.” Erica pouted and skipped back into the living room.

Not again, she thought. Tabitha checked her watch. It was barely six o’clock, and he had Wednesdays off. She placed the dishes on the counter and followed Erica into the living room. He hasn’t been home for a whole week, and now he’s leaving again?

“Daddy, Daddy,” Erica yelled as she ran up to Eric, pulling on his coattails. “If you’re going to the store, Daddy, can you get me some potato chips, please, please, pretty please?”

“I’m not going to the store, baby girl,” he said. He smiled down at her with his warm chestnut eyes. “What have you done to your hair? Your aunt Shanice fixed it so pretty yesterday.” He touched one of her unruly ponytails and smiled again. “You better go clean your room before your mother has a fit.” He swatted her bottom, and she ran into her room with a little yelp.

Tabitha took a deep breath and put on a big smile. She quickly scanned the room, making sure nothing was out of place. The last thing she wanted to do was make him mad. Satisfied with the house, she smoothed her hands down the length of her ratty old nightgown. She was suddenly too conscious of her appearance. Memories of him laughing about her with his friends sprang to mind. He said she was 19 years old, growing on 60, and had the sex appeal of a grandma in a nursing home. Tabitha wanted to dress up for him, but she didn’t own any sexy clothes, and she was always so tired from chasing Erica around and keeping the house up the way he liked.

She fidgeted with her nightgown. You could have made a little effort. Now look; he’s leaving again, she thought, and when he goes, you have no idea when he’ll return.

“Where’re you going, baby?”

“Out,” he said, shifting the magazines around on the coffee table. “Tab, you seen my keys?”

“No,” she lied, knowing she had hidden them the night before. She took another deep breath, walked up to him, and tried again. “Where are you going, baby?”

He rolled his eyes. “I said I’m going out. Are you fucking deaf?” He patted his shirt and pants pockets. “Where in the hell did I put my keys?” Eric passed by Tabitha to look on top of the dining room table. He gave off a whiff of alcohol.

The smell melted into Tabitha, almost intoxicating her. Damn, she thought. I should have hidden that case of beer too. Malt liquor brought out the demon in Eric. He could be reasoned with when he wasn’t drinking, but after a few beers, you were better off dealing with the devil.

How did I get here? she thought, fear vibrating through her body. Whenever she was out, she noticed other people her age laughing and joking without a care in the world. They wore the latest fashions, and their hair was cut in the latest styles. She didn’t know what it was like to live life as a 19-year-old. She became a mother at 16. She had no clue how to be a teenager at all. Her best friends, Lisa and Shanice, still got to go to school and school dances. She never even got to go to her prom. Her mom made sure she received her GED, but it wasn’t the same as experiencing a graduation ceremony. She didn’t like school when she attended and never really participated in school functions, but that was before Eric put her in prison. Before she could snap her fingers or blink her eyes, she went from a high school student to a mother/fake housewife with a man who made every step she took a nervous one.

She saw her reflection in the mirror and quickly removed the scarf from her head. She knew Eric wasn’t fond of headscarves, but she was self-conscious about her new haircut. Not everyone could look like Toni Braxton, but Eric wanted the haircut, and Tabitha would do anything to keep him happy—anything. I don’t even look like a teenager, she thought, glancing at the mirror again and taking in the dull sadness and fear in her eyes. She didn’t look old. Her smooth brown skin was tight and wrinkle-free, but she didn’t look young either, and she never looked happy. Walk lightly, Tabitha. Be easy. Don’t make him mad. She watched Eric warily as he stomped around their tiny apartment, looking for his keys.

Clearing her throat, Tabitha said, “Well, duh, I can see that you’re going out. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see that.”

Eric ignored her and started digging between the couch cushions for his car keys.

She pulled playfully on his coattails, but she wasn’t graced with a good-natured response, not even a smile. Eric’s face crumpled into something demonic. The change in his mood was so sudden Tabitha didn’t have time to react. Eric stood to his full height and punched her with such force that she flew back into the entertainment center. She crashed into the lamp and fell to the floor.

Eric’s warm brown eyes turned black with rage as he repeatedly kicked her in the gut.

Tabitha’s world erupted in pain. No, oh God, no. I’m so sorry. Fear kept her mouth closed tight.

Erica appeared in her doorway, screaming. Her eyes were wide and frightened. “Are you OK, Mama?”

It hurt Tabitha to breathe. “I’m OK, baby. Go back to your room.”

Erica didn’t budge. She just stood there and broke into tears.

“Go to your room!” Eric shouted. The child disappeared behind her door as Tabitha lay on the floor, surrounded by broken glass. Eric towered over her. “Look at you, you fat, ugly bitch. Who would want to stay here with you?” he laughed. He hocked spit into Tabitha’s face and turned his back on her.

The world tilted. His laughter echoed through Tabitha’s mind, transforming her fear into a wild rage. Something inside of her snapped. She looked at him and no longer saw the man she loved. Instead, she saw a monster who hurt her; all she wanted to do was end the pain. With a growl, she grabbed a shard of the broken lamp and lunged at him. She tripped over Erica’s toy and missed her target—his stomach—but slashed a deep cut into his thigh.

Eric grabbed his leg and fell back onto the sofa. “What the fuck is the matter with you? Are you fucking nuts?”

He didn’t look so sure of himself anymore. Tabitha stood over him, clutching the broken glass so tightly that it ripped into her hand. Blood soaked through his jeans and started to pool on the floor.

“Oh my God, oh my God, look at my leg, Tab. What the fuck is wrong with you? Put the glass down, Tab. Baby, just put the glass down.”

She could not believe that he was afraid. She took a step toward him, threatening him with the shard of glass. He scrambled to get away from her, his blood soaking the sofa.

Tabitha took another swipe at him and laughed as he recoiled. She feared this man more than anything in the world. He beat her so severely and so regularly that fear was her constant companion. She believed him when he said he would kill her, but at this moment, she wasn’t afraid—he was, and she found that hilarious.

She threw the broken lamp onto his lap and laughed again. The sound, nearly as demonic as Eric’s actions, felt foreign yet calming to Tabitha—and she couldn’t stop laughing if she wanted to. She laughed as she stuffed all she could inside Erica’s Barbie book bag. She laughed as she picked up a wailing Erica and headed for the door. She laughed when he asked where she was going. Tabitha laughed while she and Erica walked ten blocks to her mama’s house. Even as Erica walked alongside her and tugged her gown, asking, “Momma, are you OK? Momma, you’re bleeding!” Tabitha laughed.

She had an exhausted Erica in her arms when she reached her mother’s home. But Tabitha wasn’t exhausted in the least. A fire raged inside her, something that licked along the goodness she tried to exude. When her mom opened the door, Tabitha laughed at the startled look on her face.

“Tabitha,” her mother yelled, nearly hysterical, “what happened?” She grabbed Erica from her arms and ran her hand over every part of her granddaughter. “All this,” she motioned her hands over the blood on both Erica and Tabitha, “all this is yours?”

Instead of responding, Tabitha continued laughing while she stepped inside the home, walked up the steps, and entered the room of her childhood.

It was then she saw her reflection in the mirror on the far wall. She didn’t feel afraid, but there was still fear and deep sadness in her eyes. Her lips trembled, and then her eyes fell to the blood on her gown. She gagged, quickly ripped the nightgown over her head, and chucked it into the corner. She stared at the scattered scrapes and bruises on her body, hugged herself, and wept.

Always, in the beginning, Lisa was aware of the dream. Her stomach flopped. A tight coil of fear wrapped itself around her heart. But the feeling of awareness vanished almost as quickly as it formed. She was consumed by the dream. She was imprisoned by the dream.

“There’s never anything good on.” Turning down the sound, she flipped through the channels at warp speed. Her son’s cries cut through the air like a siren.

“That boy has a nice set of pipes.” She smiled, stretched, and then headed to the kitchen to get him something to eat.

No bottles in the fridge. “That’s funny,” she mumbled to herself. “I know I put his formula in there.” She checked the cabinets above the sink and the stove. No bottles. The baby’s cries became more insistent.

“It’s OK, li’l man. Mama’s coming. Where in the blazes is his formula?” She chewed on her bottom lip and then bent over to look under the kitchen sink.

The baby belted out a piercing scream—then silence. She whirled around. Her head spun. Her mouth went dry, and goose bumps dotted her skin while the soft, delicate baby hair rose on the nape of her neck. She froze for a few seconds, listening for the slightest whimper from her child.

She heard nothing.

“My baby,” she whispered. The silence was so loud. “My baby,” she screamed. She took the stairs two at a time. A million thoughts raced through her head.

“My baby, my God, my baby. Please, please, let him be okay.” She ran down the hall to her bedroom and paused when she came to the door. Lisa could not make herself go inside the room. His little crib was so very still.

Panic took her, making her move when fear tried to root her to the doorway. She walked toward the crib like a machine instead of a terrified young mother.

The crib was empty. “Jesus.” She tore away the blankets. “My baby is gone.” Her heart refused to believe it. She threw the stuffed bears out of the crib and flipped the mattress over as if her baby lay beneath it. Lisa stooped to check under the crib.

And then she froze.

She knew he was there before she heard him because she had to choke down the bile that rose in her throat whenever she was in her stepfather’s presence. He smelled of cheap cologne and even cheaper cigars.

“Lisa, what in the hell are you doing down there?” he asked in that horrible singsong Southern voice.

“I’m looking for my baby.” Her voice shook, but she willed it to be stronger. “He was crying.” She grabbed his teddy bear and clutched it to her breast, breathing in the fresh and clean newborn scent. “Then he just stopped and—”

“Aaaand?” He interrupted in that country drawl that she hated. “Well, of course, he stopped crying, sugar. He’s with his daddy!”

Lisa awoke in a tangle of sheets, slicked with sweat. Her alarm clock buzzed angrily on the nightstand beside the bed. She picked it up and kissed it lovingly before she hit the snooze button and put it back down.

“You never kiss me like that.”

Lisa nearly jumped out of her skin. “Damn, Tony, you scared the hell out of me.” He was sitting in the corner of her bedroom, smoking a cigarette. The smell of the Newport reminded her of her stepfather’s cigar, and she had to swallow hard to keep from throwing up.

“You look like the hell was already scared out of you. Were you having that dream again?”

She snorted and sat up on the side of the bed. “It’s more like a recurring nightmare.”

“You want to tell me about it?”

“No. You want to tell me what you’re doing here?”

He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “I was hoping to get lucky.”

She laughed despite herself. “I guess this is your lucky day.” She stretched, arching her back provocatively, and her thick black braids brushed against the small of her back with the motion. She looked over at him and sighed. The concern that she saw in his eyes tore at her heart. She tried to move further away from her dreams and focus her attention entirely on Tony, who looked so handsome in his gray warm-up suit. Then to sway him from the conversation of her dreams and to remove the concern from his eyes, she stood in front of him and said, “You could join me in the shower, you know.” She left him standing there, sputtering, while she walked to the bathroom.

Letting her nightshirt fall in a heap in front of the sink, she looked in the mirror. She thought death itself was staring back at her instead of her reflection. Her skin was pasty and pale. Her eyes held deep, dark circles under puffy, swollen bags.

No 17-year-old girl should look so old, tired, and defeated, she thought. Girl, you must have big, brassy balls to invite someone to shower with you when you look like a troll monster.

Yawning, she grimaced at the smell of her morning breath, grabbed the mouthwash off the sink, and took a hefty swig.

Turning the shower on to hell, she grabbed her strawberry body wash and loofah, then rinsed her mouth before stepping into the spray. The hot water needled her skin. She clenched her teeth against the pain, stuck her head directly under the nozzle, and prayed that the hot water would burn away the aftereffects of her dream.

As always, thoughts of her stepfather left Lisa feeling filthy. Squeezing her eyes shut against the memory of his hands on her, she soaped up the loofah and began to scrub herself with a vengeance.

I can still smell him. She choked down the bile in her throat, envisioning his hand sliding up her thighs, his hot breath on her neck, and that country twang in her ears. She scrubbed furiously until she finally began to feel clean. Finally, she leaned against the shower wall, taking deep, rapid breaths.

Wrapping her hands around the base of her stomach, she allowed herself one shuddering sob for the child who once lived there. “I’m sorry, baby.”

She didn’t hear the shower door open.

“Lisa, baby,” Tony whispered as he entered the shower. Seeing her standing there naked and soapy under the spray had him instantly erect. “Damn, you’re beautiful,” he crooned. Tony ran his hand up Lisa’s arm and gently cupped her left breast.

“No!” She turned and swung wildly. Her right fist connected with his jaw with a loud crack. He took the punch with a grunt and barely had time to recover before she swung at him again.

“Don’t fucking touch me, you pervert. Don’t ever put your hands on me!”

“Lisa, stop. Damn.” His head collided with the soap dish while trying to avoid a mean left swing. “Are you fucking serious? You asked me to shower with you, remember?” He tried to get his arms around her, but she was slick with soap. “Lisa, what is wrong with you?” He blocked a knee to the groin and managed to get a grip on her, but she was trembling with fury.

“Look at me,” he yelled.

She kept her eyes closed as she struggled to get free.

“Damn it, Lisa; look at me.” She could tell he was trying to keep his voice calm. “You invited me in the shower with you,” he said slowly. He took a deep breath to settle himself. “Lisa,” he said quietly, “look at me.”

She opened her eyes slowly, realizing it was Tony, not her stepfather, who held her. She lowered her head and closed her eyes. Humiliation covered her as entirely as the water did. Sobs wracked her body as he gathered her close and whispered soothing words into her hair. She clung to him despite her initial embarrassment. He was strong and clean and not. . .