by Aya De León
And he hated it.
But at the same time, Rashad was strangely tempted to grab his wife in his arms, slap her one good time, kiss her, and tell her that they were both acting silly. He wished they could get their emotions in check, work things out, save the marriage. He really didn’t want to file on her, but she was acting unreasonable. He wished she could get some sense into her stubborn head. Maybe she’d listen and let him come back home where he felt he belonged. But that scenario was a hopeless fairy tale. He knew Kiara was still pissed and he didn’t want to risk getting swung at in public.
“All righty then,” Rashad spoke up, anxious to leave. “Since I have less time than I originally thought, we need to make that move right now. I will have little man back here on Sunday night around eight.”
“Eight?”
“Okay, then. Seven.”
“Sunday afternoon, Rashad. I need him here by two so I can make sure he has time to take his bath, complete his homework, and eat dinner. Plus, if we decide to go check out that new Madagascar movie he’s begged us to see, we will probably want him around noon.”
We.
Rashad knew his wife was referring to her new man when she said “We.”
“Back by noon? That means I won’t even get to spend, hell, even a full twenty-four hours with him—”
“Sorry, but that’s just how it is.”
“You’re not sorry, Kiara. You’re selfish. I haven’t seen my son in God knows how long. I have a right to be with the boy just like you do. And I will bring Myles back when I’m done with him.”
“Wait one second here. I find it so strange that all of a sudden you are so desperate to spend time with him. You should have thought about how important he was back when you were sacrificing time with your son to go lie up and bump your nuts on that whore.”
“W-what did you say?”
“You heard exactly what I said. If you hadn’t done what you did, we wouldn’t be out here on these streets doing this; exchanging a child like he’s a drug or a piece of currency. Do you know how mad this makes me? I did everything and I mean ev-e-ry-thing I could to make you happy, but no, no, no. Nothing I did was good enough. You had to go get yourself a damned side piece. Her pussy must taste like Skittles.”
“Kiara, you best better shut your mouth.”
“So it’s true? Her coochie taste like Gucci?”
“I’m warning you.”
She was ready to attack him with more angry words, but she grew alarmed when she noticed a frozen smile gripping her son’s face. He resembled a mannequin; he looked like he was scared something bad would happen if he moved an inch.
Kiara realized she’d gone too far. But she usually did when it came to Rashad. She hated that his whorish ways had destroyed their perfect family life. She hated that not only had he knocked up that heifer Nicole Greene, but he’d also been hiding a two-year-old daughter that he had with another woman who worked for her: Alexis McNeil, her own administrative assistant. Her hubby hiding baby mamas and side chicks that worked in her office was too much. Rashad made her look like a fool. The more Kiara thought about it, the crazier she felt in the head.
She reached and grabbed Myles’s hand as if to snatch him back toward her car.
“What are you doing?” Rashad asked.
“Let me be clear. I don’t know if we’re ready for this informal custody sharing thing. I know it’s the decent thing to do, but hell, I’m not feeling ‘decent’ right now. I think we need to take baby steps. So if you can’t bring him back by noon, then he’s going home with me right now. I’ll let you have him in two weeks. For a full weekend. Promise.”
“See, this is bullshit. I was supposed to get him last weekend, remember? You broke that so-called promise. Why you always got to be in control?”
They were still standing in the street next to Rashad’s idling sedan.
“Why you always try to run shit like I’m your child? Or your employee. Huh? I’m a grown ass man.” He stepped closer to her. “Who the hell put you in charge of me?”
Kiara snatched Myles’s bony little arm and pulled so violently that he screamed, “Ouch! That hurts.”
“Your crazy ass better let go of my son.” Rashad grabbed Myles’s other arm.
“Shut up! I don’t like how you’re talking to me.”
“I don’t like the fact that you fucked another nigga; now you pregnant. I guess we should go on the Maury show to find out who the real father is.”
“What the hell? That’s it. Forget this. Come on, Myles.” She yanked him again.
“Mama, I want to stay with my daddy. I want my daddy.” Myles inched closer to Rashad.
“I don’t care what you want. He doesn’t deserve you. We’re leaving. Come on.”
Raindrops poured from above as if the sky was crying. Kiara tried to hold her umbrella in one hand and drag away Myles with the other.
But the boy wrestled with her, pulling back from her, and tried to free himself.
“My arm. It hurts. It hurts. I don’t like this. Let me gooo.”
Kiara wouldn’t release Myles, but Rashad did.
He’d been taught that real men don’t cry. But right then, he was filled with uncontrollable rage and a lingering frustration that made his throat swell with pain. It wasn’t fair that since Kiara banned him from their house he hadn’t played with his son, hadn’t looked him in his eyes, or helped him with his homework. He missed fixing Myles’s breakfast and shooting hoops with him in their backyard. Little things meant a lot. And Rashad resented the legal system which granted numerous women so much power when it came to a man, his money, and his children.
He stared at his wife, almost in disbelief that feelings of pure hatred were boiling up in him and making him flush with so much anger that he started sweating.
“Mommy, I want to be with my daddy. Let me go.”
“Stop all that yelling, Myles. I want you to come back home with me.”
Several cars slowly drove past them, which infuriated Rashad. “Look at this shit. You got people staring at you like you’re crazy.”
“The hell with them. I’m not crazy. I’m just doing what I have to do to protect my son.”
“He’s my son, too, Kiara. I don’t know why you seem to have forgotten that.” If his wife wasn’t pregnant there was no telling what Rashad would have done to her. He didn’t want to fight, but her unpredictable reactions drove him to respond in ways that he hated.
“All I know is, it’s damn near Christmas,” he continued in a choked voice. “I wanted to take Myles shopping this weekend. I-I-I have all kinds of plans for him, don’t you understand that?”
“I don’t give a damn about your stupid plans,” she retorted. “You better learn how to speak to me like you have some sense. You can’t just say anything in front of a child.”
Rashad felt like his wife was a hypocrite. She clearly saw his sins but was blind to her own. But he counted to ten and calmly told her, “Kiara, I apologize if it seems like I was disrespecting you. But can we let go of this argument? Please. And let me give Myles the chance he deserves to hang out with his father . . . his real father.”
“Oh hell no. I know you’re not trying to throw shade at Eddison who’s been nothing but remarkable to us. Plus, that boy’s not stupid. He knows who his daddy is.”
“Mommy, you’re hurting me. Please let me gooo.”
Kiara then realized she had Myles in a death grip. She felt his fragile bones between her fingers. She heard the hurt in his voice. She released him.
“Oh God. I’m sorry baby. I-I . . . please forgive me.”
With tears in his eyes, he nodded and leaned on his father’s stomach.
“Kiara,” Rashad said in a gentle tone. “So you’re going to let him be with me till Sunday night?”
She hesitated and reached in her purse. “Fine. I’ll let him go with you since we went through all this trouble in the first place. We can negotiate a fair time for his drop off. But I want you to kn
ow that I bought him his own cell phone today. Whenever he’s away from me, he must keep it on him at all times. And we taught him how to use it. In case of an emergency.”
“You really don’t trust me, do you?”
“No, I do not. But that’s beside the point. I just want Myles to be okay. I just want him to be happy.” Kiara’s voice caught in her throat as she wiped tears from her eyes.
She kissed Myles’s little cheeks and allowed a brave smile to brighten her face. “Bye baby. I love you.”
“Love you, too, Mommy. Come on, Daddy. My stomach is growling. Can’t you hear it?”
“That’s a damned shame. We’ll go eat right now, son.”
Kiara swiftly turned around to leave. The street was slippery and wet. In her rush to get away, her feet got tangled together. The wedge heels were narrow and clumsy. Her right ankle twisted and gave in underneath her. Her umbrella plunked to the ground. She slipped on a pothole, and fell forward, but landed on her thigh. Her hand scraped the rugged, scraggly surface as she braced herself from injury.
“Ugh, ouch. Dammit.”
She lay on her side feeling totally embarrassed and wincing. Rashad wanted to ask if she was all right, but he simply stared at her.
Rain water sprayed her hair and cheeks. Her hair became a matted mess.
“I can’t believe this. Rashad! Can you help me up or are you just gonna stand there?”
He gaped at Kiara and wondered if she just got what she deserved.
She’d made life so difficult for him recently. Rashad knew she was now seeing that man from her job, Eddison Osborne, and Nicole told him that they’d had an affair.
Rashad could clearly see Kiara’s tiny baby bump. He wondered if the baby was his, even though she’d told him that it was.
“Rashad, did you hear me? I need your help.”
“Why should I?”
“Huh? I can’t believe you said that!”
He had the eyes of a reptile; cold, curious, and calculating.
“I don’t know whose baby you got inside of you.”
“Rashad, oh my God. How can you go there?”
“Because you went there—with that other nigga!”
“Now is not the time. Help me up, please.”
He stared down at her belly. And so did Myles.
Kiara felt completely humiliated. She never wanted their son to see her like this.
“Rashad, show your son how to treat a woman. Show your son how to treat a woman!”
Rashad looked skeptical and unmoving.
“Myles baby, please.”
Myles raced to his mother and immediately grabbed her outstretched hand. His tongue stuck out of his mouth as he struggled to help Kiara. Rashad suddenly rushed to the other side of her and held out his hand too.
Wincing in pain, she got on her knees, and leaned on Rashad as he hoisted her to her feet.
“Thank you, baby.” She ignored Rashad. “You are my precious son. You must always remember to be a gentleman, and help your mother. And always be good to a lady. Promise me.”
“I promise, Mommy.”
“Ha!” Rashad muttered.
“All right, okay. I can do this,” she said to herself. “I can make it to the car.”
“Bye-bye, Mommy. Don’t forget to pick me up on Sunday.”
“I can never forget anything that has to do with you.”
She watched Myles excitedly race around to the other side of Rashad’s sedan. He went and opened the passenger door for his son. Kiara waited until Myles was safely inside the car. She rubbed her hip and hobbled over to Rashad.
“You didn’t act concerned about our unborn baby for one second.”
“I don’t know whose baby that is.” He paused. “How many times did you fuck that dude?”
“How many times did you fuck both your baby mamas?”
“Oh, so you hooked up with him just to get revenge? Was his dick bigger than mine? I don’t care how big it was, no man could ever love you like me!”
“Oh my God! Just be quiet with all that. I can’t believe I used to love your pathetic ass. And you best believe that part of my life is gone. I’m moving on. And you’re acting like a dick and trying to shame me in front of Myles is unforgivable. You’ll never get this pussy again.”
She turned away again, this time moving more slowly than the first time. Then she quietly limped away. Hair soaking wet, but head held high.
After Kiara slid into the vehicle, she slammed her door, revved the engine, and waved her middle finger at Rashad as she drove past him.
Eason v. Eason had officially started.
photo by Anna de León
AYA DE LEON teaches creative writing in UC Berkeley’s African American Studies Department. Her work has been acclaimed in The Village Voice, The Washington Post, and American Theatre Magazine. Her writing has been featured in Guernica, Essence®, Ebony, The Huffington Post, xojane and Bitch Magazine. She is an alumna of Cave Canem and VONA. Visit her online at ayadeleon.com, on Twitter@AyadeLeon or on Facebook.
