"Is that Monse?" a voice booms in the small restaurant owned by Jamal's dad. Dwayne's Joint BBQ. Still just as popular as it's ever been, paint still the same, just a few touch ups here and there. The soda streams are new though. They're touch screen now.
"The one and only," she smiles. "How are you doing, Mr. Turner?"
"Good, good," he says, gives her the biggest hug. "Jamal won't be back until next month. He'll be so happy to see you though, god, it's been so long."
She purses her lips, feels regretful because the last time she contacted Jamal was when they graduated high school. Shot him a 'Congratulations,' and received a string of emojis in return. Doesn't know what's been going on with Ruby and Jasmine but knows they dated shortly after she left. And Cesar, don't even get her started.
"Well, have a seat anywhere you like," Dwayne continues. "I'm gonna make you a special burger, on the house. Still don't like mustard, right?"
"Right." It was nice, a little homecoming for her even if she was the only one sitting in the booth the gang used to chill at. Feels a little too old for this, honestly. She doesn't remember anyone who enters the restaurant but Dwayne makes their orders without even being told.
The burger and fries he places in front of her taste even better than before, and she's not afraid to get her hands dirty. That's how you know it's good. A pile of napkins sit beside her plate, used to wipe the juice from her acrylic nails. She got them done two days ago, matte blush.
The bells to the entrance jingle, and she hears Dwayne go, "The usual?"
"You already know. Pour a shot of tequila in the shake though, yeah? Had a long day today."
"Yeah, yeah," Dwayne mutters, heading back to the grill. Clearly, he's dealt with this man's bullshit before. And so has she.
That voice belongs to none other than Oscar Diaz. He spots her instantly, his eyes always doing a scan of his surroundings. Something he picked up from working for the Santos for so long now, it's muscle memory to him. Still has that teardrop tattoo below his eye and the Santos cross along his neck. Not much older now, must be hitting his late 20s, but still wears that angry mug on his face like he still runs shit around here.
At first, he thought it was some random chick from Brentwood having stumbled into the wrong neighborhood. Lets his mask falter a little bit at seeing her, dumbfounded. Bet he doesn't even think before saying, "Wasn't you the girl Cesar was runnin' around with back in the day?"
"Yeah, I was," she says matter-of-fact. That was about six years ago when they were about 15, worried about where Cesar was going to sleep at night and trying to get him from joining the Santos. She hasn't forgotten that it was Oscar's fault. Can't believe she was lucky enough to get out of Freeridge the way she did. Is a little sorry at what she had to leave behind.
He lets out a low whistle. "Look who's all grown up now," he says, taking a seat across from her. She wears a cashmere sweater he knows she didn't buy from Ross, fits real nice against her figure. "Watchu been up to, huh?"
She scowls at him, bringing him back to when she was only 15 and already calling the Diaz boys out on their shit. Oscar hasn't forgotten the mutual love they shared for Cesar, or that time she got mouthy with him after he drove her and that other girl home from the carnival. Jasmine was her name. She was knocked out in the backseat when Monse kissed him drunk. The memory still shocks him. Kissing feisty underage girls wasn't really his thing.
"Since when have you cared?"
He blinks at her. Laughs. "'S just a question, mamÃ, shit. Just trynna make small talk."
Old habits really do die hard. This girl has resented him for years, and probably still does. She crinkles her nose. "Don't call me that. In fact, don't even call me anything."
"Okay," he says, raises both hands. Damn, this girl really knew how to hold onto a grudge. "Chill out. I just recognized you and had to see what you was doing back here. Not too often people who leave Freeridge ever come back."
Monse relaxes her frown, not quite smiling either though. "Yeah. And those who don't leave Freeridge end up stuck here for life."
Oscar knows it's not necessarily directed at him, but takes it personal anyway. He appraises her, looks her up and down. Takes it all in, the thin silver necklace around her neck, the red lipstick she wears that go along with her nails, and the way she holds her posture. Even her purse is name brand. "You might wanna be careful walking around here. Things get snatched up real quick."
She looks at him like he's crazy. "I used to live here. I grew up in this neighborhood, of course I know."
"You packing?"
The mace she hasn't used since she got it sits somewhere at the bottom of her purse. "Something like that."
"Just pepper spray, huh? Couldn't carry anything bigger in that purse of yours?" he chuckles. She shoots him a look that could kill, knows it could send a couple of Santos running. He's impressed, always has been, and the fact she's what now? 22 years old and cultivated that expression is even more admirable.
"Whatever. At least I got something. What are you doing here, anyway? Don't you have to take care of your little crew like you always did?"
"I ain't with them anymore," he says, slow. Rubs his face like he's been tired of it all for a really long time. "Got out of it about two years ago. The new generation has no respect anymore, it's different now."
"Oh, so they just don't respect you anymore," Monse smarts, eyebrows raised.
Oscar should have known better than to sit at the same table as her. Knows she's got a mouth on her that could only stay saying disrespectful ass shit as she gets older. Still, he says halfheartedly, "Watch your mouth."
That really does it. "Nah," she says, standing. "You don't get to talk to me like that. You chose to sit here. Not once have I ever liked you, not back then, and not now."
Feels a little bit like a slap in the face, but Oscar can do her one better. Should know better than to stoop to her level but they're only really eight years apart. It's not that much of a difference when they're both in their 20s. Maybe back then, when he was 24 and she was 15, it would have been petty of him. But now it's equal ground. "Yeah? Not even when you kissed me?"
Her lips twist back into a grimace, disgust marking her pretty face. "Why would you even bring that up? I was drunk, young, and stupid. I didn't know what I was doing."
He shrugs, thinks it's funny seeing her fed up with him. Hits different now that she's older. Reminds him of his homie, Tony's girl, a little bit. As pissed as she is when Tony gets drunk all night, she's still the one cleaning him up every morning. Oscar used to think Tony was the lucky one, having found a woman like that who wasn't running with the Santos. "You must've been feeling some type of way about me."
Monse opens her mouth but shuts it again, remembers to take a deep breath, something she learned from her pilates class the last year of college. Oscar looks amused. Stays working her damn nerves. It happened six years ago, she reminds herself. It's over, it's done now. It's not something she has to think about. It isn't even relevant.
"I'm leaving," she says, clutches tightly onto her purse. "I hope I don't run into you again."
She turns her back to him and starts to walk away, her curves evident under those jeans. Oscar, not like he can help it, mutters, "Damn," under his breath. She really is grown now.
Like any woman, she hears it. Turns back around mid-step. "Excuse me? Were you just looking at my ass?"
Oscar clears his throat, feels a bit embarrassed because it's STILL Monse, his little brother's girl from way back. Answers instead, "You never told me whatchu was doing back in Freeridge."
"Go to hell," she says, giving him the finger. He watches her leave the diner, getting into the nicest car in the parking lot. It's a deep blue Audi R8, a small thing. Figures he can easily find her anywhere in Freeridge because of it.
Dwayne comes out with Oscar's usual order, sets it in front of him. "Oh, she left already. You get a chance to talk to her? I know she and your brother were really good friends."
"Yeah," says Oscar, takes a bite into his burger. Always hits the spot. "She's exactly how I remember."