Baby Momma 4
Ni’chelle Genovese
www.urbanbooks.net
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Acknowledgments
Epigraph
Prologue
NOVIE - 1
NOVIE - 2
GENESIS KANE - 3
NOVIE - 4
NOVIE - 5
NOVIE - 6
GENESIS - 7
NOVIE - 8
NOVIE - 9
NOVIE - 10
NOVIE - 11
GENESIS - 12
NOVIE - 13
NOVIE - 14
NOVIE - 15
NOVIE - 16
NOVIE - 17
NOVIE - 18
Novie - 19
NOVIE - 20
NOVIE - 21
GENESIS - 22
NOVIE - 23
NOVIE - 24
NOVIE - 25
NOVIE - 26
NOVIE - 27
NOVIE - 28
NOVIE - 29
GENESIS KANE’S JOURNAL - 30
NOVIE - 31
NOVIE - 32
NOVIE - 33
NOVIE - 34
NOVIE - 35
Justus
Copyright Page
Acknowledgments
To the creator of all things, including this wonderful talent that I’ve been blessed with—I give God all the glory.
I owe an extra special thank-you to the entire Urban Books family. Carl and Martha, both of you are amazing to work with, and I am forever grateful for all that you do. To Joylynn, I couldn’t ask for a better literary agent. You’re the only person who can curse me out without using a single curse word.
Thank you, Smiley, for such a dope-dope-dope cover. I still get chills whenever I look at it.
Follow me on Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, and Pinterest @NichelleG4.
“You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view . . . until you climb into his skin. And walk around in it.”
—Harper Lee, To Kill A Mockingbird
Prologue
I
Four Years Ago
Washington, DC
I pulled frigid air in through my nose, letting it fill my lungs, freeze my insides. I’d spent the last week shut away inside a room no bigger than a broom closet. The smell of my own waste still filled my nose. I cringed at the gritty texture of my own filth and dirt crusted underneath my nails.
The wind whipped around me, sent my hair cutting into my cheeks. If I had any sense, I would’ve dressed a little more rugged, worn something other than leggings and my favorite sweater. It was just some old, ratty, cotton-ball-thick-thing that was the color of coffee with two creams. It wasn’t name brand or anything special. But it was one of the last things my dad had given me before we fell out, so I loved it just as much as I hated it. I didn’t appreciate the fact that I’d probably die wearing the damn thing. But, it’s not like I knew that a week ago when I put it on.
My arms were wrapped around my body tighter than a straitjacket. I clenched and unclenched teeth to keep them from chattering from the cold and maybe from fear. I’m not sure which one. But I was feeling this sickening never-ending roller-coaster drop kind of feeling.
Adrenaline sent tremors of terror through my body, rocking my ankles, knocking my knees together. I forced one foot forward, and then the other, shuffling across gravel, tattered cigarette butts, and busted up pennies that might have been wishes. When I couldn’t go any farther, I looked out over the tips of my shoes barely hanging over the gunmetal-black edge of the bridge. Silvery-black waves rippled across the water beneath me. It looked so close and so terrifyingly far that it took my breath away. The pounding from my heart rocked my whole body.
There was a heavy churning ache in my chest as I guided my feet forward. I opened my eyes long enough to blink. I inhaled, throwing all of my weight forward, curling into myself. Not in my worst nightmares had I ever imagined something like this. I was curling into myself. My nails cut into my skin through my sweater. I hunched forward, plunging through the air like I was trying to split my back open and spread wings before I reached the bottom.
Air rushed into my face, beating against my skin so hard and fast I couldn’t get a breath in to scream. My stomach floated in my chest, tingling the same way it did when I rode the roller coasters at Busch Gardens. There were so many thoughts fighting, fading, and clouding my head that holding onto a single one was like grabbing at smoke. All except one—the last one—and it was more of a feeling than a thought. It felt worse than everything I’d been through that’d got me up on that bridge in the first place. It was even worse than the falling in itself.
The scream that finally tore its way up my throat should’ve hovered me over the water. It should’ve frozen time, or caught God’s ear so he’d hear me and give me a do-over. Regret exploded in my brain, spreading into my soul as I hit the freezing waves like a concrete wall. The shocking cold water instantly numbed my skin, jarred my bones, shaking my insides. After everything I’d done, I was going to die with you in my belly and I’d forgotten . . . Well, no, I didn’t forget. I just didn’t get a chance to give you a name.
II
March
There was a soft beep coming from somewhere nearby. My heart sent throbbing pulses of pain to my temples that synced with the beeping in my ears. I tried to swallow, but the inside of my mouth felt like sandpaper. All of my body parts were waking up individually. Feeling came back to my limbs one by one in the form of pins and needles as my senses came back.
The smell of onions, Black & Mild smoke, and something familiar met my nose. Somewhere outside my room, a man was speaking in a rough, quiet whisper.
“Yo, I know you ain’t still talkin’ about that shit? How long ago was that job though?”
He paused to make several long honking sounds with his nose. I gagged as he snorted up and swallowed snot.
“A’ight, well, if and when she wake up, I’ll let you know so you can have that revenge chat or get that revenge pussy. The bitch probably brain-damaged, but shit, if you wanna talk to or fuck a comatose ho, it’s whateva. You the same nigga who was like fuck the spiders, fuck karma. And where that shit get yo’ ass?” That was the familiar smell I smelled. It was Tariq. He doused himself in Egyptian Musk body oil, and I swear that smell could travel through the walls. It was enough to pry my eyelids open. As things slowly came into focus, a chilly breeze came through a window beside my bed. The unfiltered sunlight hurt my eyes, but it was the best kind of hurt I’d ever felt. It meant I was alive. Everything was bright green with flashes of electric-blue sky. The air felt and smelled like it was the beginning of spring, but that was impossible because from what I remembered, it was just hot and humid out. It was just July.
Flashes of silvery-black water came rushing up to my mind. Tears welled up in my eyes. All of the hurt and disloyalty washed over me. I survived. Oh God, I’d survived. But something was different. My body felt different. I dragged my hand toward my stomach, squeezing my eyes shut tight. That warm fullness that I’d felt in my belly for so many months was gone. My stomach wasn’t even round anymore.
Tariq’s footsteps echoed across the hardwood floor. They weren’t moving toward me. A bottle hissed open, the cap bounced, making a soft metallic whir before falling flat with a tiny plink. Women moaned loud over the sound of sleazy music. He was watching porn.
I fought against the invisible weights holding my body down. Looking around didn’t seem to take as much effort as moving, so I concentrated on that. It almost broke my heart to see that the room was damn near empty. There had to be something I could use to help me somewh
ere. A heart monitor and a clear plastic bag hung beside my bed on one side. I turned to examine the other side of the room, cringing when I realized the oniony smell was coming from my own body. Well, at least, I know that nigga wasn’t getting his kicks by sponging me down every day.
Moldy dark brown and black water stains marked the ceiling. The dark wood floor looked bare and dusty except for a small worn-out rug by the opened bedroom door. I couldn’t see much of the rest of the house from my angle. A small scratched oak nightstand sat beside the bed with extra IV bags lined up along the top of it. Relief hit me in a wave when I saw the dingy-yellowed cordless phone. Moving took nearly all of the energy I had, but I managed to lean as close to the side of the bed as I possibly could.
The beeping from the heart monitor sped up as I tried to lift my arms. It felt damn near impossible, like one of those dreams where you’re half-awake and half-asleep. The volume on the television lowered. I leaned back toward the center as shoes clipped across the floor in the direction of my room. Snapping my eyes shut, I tried to take slow, deep breaths while focusing on the birds chirping outside. I could sense his presence standing in the open doorway. The frame creaked under the weight of his back.
I could see Tariq’s face in my head. He used to have a nasty habit of sticking his hand in his pocket whenever he saw me, and that action in itself disgusted me. Someone told me niggas do that so they could stroke themselves whenever they see something they like. He would always stare at me for a second too long with his hand in his pocket. At least he was smart enough not to try anything with me.
Beer sloshed in a bottle. He gulped long and deep before his footsteps disappeared back down the hall. I waited until the television turned back up. This time, I scooted millimeter by millimeter while rhyming the lyrics to “I’m on One” in my head. It was my favorite Drake song, and it was the same tempo as the beeps from the heart monitor. I was beyond pleased with myself when the beeping didn’t change its tempo. I called the only person I could trust.
My voice came out in a scratchy croak.
“Shandy?” I said into the phone.
I wasn’t expecting to not be able to talk. The thought hadn’t crossed my mind.
“This me,” she snapped back. “And who the hell is this?”
I almost smiled. That was my Shan, always feisty as hell.
“It’s me girl, Novie,” I whispered.
“Oh my God! If somebody’s playin’ on my shit, I swear I’m gonna find you and—”
“Yeah, I need you to find me. I just woke up. I don’t know where I am. Tariq is here.”
“Girl, I know where you’re at. I came to see you. That fool was trying to holla so hard too. Lady J had you moved; she said it would be quieter if they put you somewhere other than the house.”
I wanted to scream, laugh, and cry all at the same time. It was getting harder to keep my heart from racing. Fresh tears were just waiting to fall from my eyes.
“I need you to go to the Anytime Fitness and get my ho-bag. You still got the key I gave you, right?” I asked.
“It’s around my neck as we speak,” Shan replied.
“Nobody can know that you’re going to get it or that I called you,” I told her in as firm a voice as I could.
There wasn’t enough money in my bag to get me far. I’d pinched off of it way too many times to help Shandy pay a bill or to buy something cute. But there were clothes, a phone with a clean sim card, and an extra ID in there. It was everything I’d need to get out of this shit and get myself together. Daddy didn’t like Swiss; he never did. I wasn’t ready to face my parents, not yet, anyway.
Shandy clicked her tongue. “Tariq has been trying to get at me all this time, anyway. Offerin’ to take me and the little one to the Cheesecake and whatnot. He ain’t gonna be a problem.”
I nodded even though Shandy couldn’t see me. Hearing about her baby made a wall of toothpicks well up in my throat. I hesitated just before hanging up. There was one more thing I needed to know
“Shan? My baby? Have you heard anything . . . about my baby?”
I held my breath waiting for her answer. If I was alive he needed to be alive too. This was our second chance, and I’d have to make up for what I did for the rest of our lives. Shandy hesitated. The tension made my pulse start racing.
“Okay, Novie.” She said my name in that after-school-special-tone of voice. It was that let’s-sit-down-and-talk-so-you-don’t-fall-down-tone of voice. “Girl, you know there will be plenty of time to talk about all that once I get you safe and—”
My arm was starting to shake. The muscles in my shoulder were on fire. I slid the phone back onto its cradle before Shan could finish not answering my question. The television volume lowered again. I knew he was coming this time, and he’d see my chest heaving and my body shaking. He’d see the tears running down my cheeks, and he’d either kill me, or let me go, or somehow, I’d escape. I tensed every muscle that I could control as his heavy feet slammed across the floor. The monitor sped up, but I couldn’t stop the sound of my heart breaking if I’d wanted to.
And then he stopped dead in his tracks, turned, and went back toward the living room, toward the sound of his cell ringing from wherever he’d left it.
“What up, Shandy? I won’t expectin’ to hear from you. Girl, I’m on watch until tomorrow. Shiiiiiit, for all that, I might can get away for a few hours. It ain’t like this thing here is goin’ anywhere anytime soon.”
I relaxed deep into the thin mattress. Lord knows I loved my homegirl to death. I’d owe her my life for this.
NOVIE
1
Where It All Began
A Maine coon the size of a baby lion trekked across the lawn. It found the perfect spot, sprawled out under a tree that provided shade, and yawned. The cat’s tail flicked back and forth as it stared lazily up at a baby squirrel lounging on a feeder no more than a foot above its head. Exactly, I thought. It was too damn hot for all that running, chasing, and climbing bullshit. Just like it was too damn hot for me to be sitting up in this nigga’s car waiting for him to get these damn Erykah Badu tickets from this mystery associate.
I waved a club flyer back and forth trying to cool myself down. Club Tryst. Humph, when did this nigga have the time to go there, and where was I? He probably went with his damn associates. That ain’t even sound right coming from him. Was associate the new word of the day on Madden or Call of Duty? Where did he pick that shit up from? Javion didn’t have associates. He was raised by his grandma in East Philly, he had a bum-ass-squad of niggas, and they lived where bum-ass-niggas lived . . . with their mommas or their baby mommas.
I craned my neck to stare up at the strip-mall-sized mansion in front of me. A fleet of shiny black cars stared back at me. Swiss was up to or getting into some shit; I could feel it. He didn’t know anybody with that kind of paper, and if they had it, they didn’t get it legally.
I cranked the AC in his Camaro up as high as it would go, running my finger through the frosty condensation that formed in the corner of the windows. He had one of those weird man-obsessions with his car. Washed and hand dried it twice a day, just like his ass, topped off all the levels, covered it good night, fingered it good morning. Okay I’m exaggerating. But I wasn’t about to be sitting with the shit on “midlow and not high because high runs out the Freon,” as he’d say.
I crossed and uncrossed my legs. Drummed my nails along the dash. None of this was sitting right with me. He’d used the word associate. I’m not saying my baby ain’t bright as day, but niggas don’t lie well. It’s not in their genetic makeup. This was all starting to remind me of a book Shandy couldn’t pull her face out of, where the nigga was inside fucking his wife all while the side chick sat waiting in the car. Baby Momma, that was the name of that book. I don’t think Swiss would do some shit like that. Nah, not with the way he thirst after this ass and these hips. But you could never tell with niggas these days.
I tried to ease my mind by rummaging throu
gh his shit. I couldn’t think of any other reason why the nigga would leave me unattended to go in some random’s—my bad—some associate’s house and take forever just to get concert tickets. Humph. Guess they had to make the paper, mix the ink, and print them out too.
I rifled through Burger King and miscellaneous takeout receipts in the armrest. As much as he cleaned his car, you’d think he’d throw away some of these receipts. I’d flopped down the driver-side visor when I noticed an old blue something creeping past. The sun reflected off the glass, preventing me from seeing inside. Blinking away sunspots, I fumbled, trying to put the visor back. It has to be a confused pizza delivery guy or something. I was so focused on the car I didn’t see the bushy spider until it plopped down out of the visor onto my lap. A gas bubble squeezed its way out of my back end, and a screech came out the other as I limbo’d over the center console, screaming bloody murder. I was halfway in the backseat before I realized it wasn’t a spider. It was front-row, center stage, Erykah Badu tickets. And the show was starting in less than an hour.
Sweat appeared on my upper lip. Even though it was frosty cold in the car, I was blazing hot and furious. The front door was still closed, and there wasn’t a sign of anyone moving around inside the house. A quick glance over my shoulder confirmed that damn blue car was still there too. It’d parked on the street with the front bumper sticking out into the driveway enough for me to see it. Every second made me feel like screaming or climbing out of my skin.
I snatched the keys out of the ignition and eased my French-pedi’d toes back into my gold heels. Swiss was the first dude I’d ever met who found a woman in heels sexier than seeing her naked. He bought more shoes for me than I bought for myself. He defended it by telling me how he loved to follow my long legs down to my pedicured toes peeking out of something sexy. Made him want to tear all up into this more than any lingerie ever would. Thinking about him thinking about me in my heels made me want to tear that fucking door down.
Baby Momma 4 Page 1
