“I sure as hell did. Wouldn’t take it back either. That not-so-little-anymore girl is my heart. My legacy. Anything I could do to give her a leg up, I absolutely did. That’s what these white folks do for their kids, that’s what I did for mine. You tell me what you would’ve done?”
“Wil isn’t my child,” I chuckled.
“But she’s going to be having your child, and that should mean something to you. For eighteen years and beyond, I have nurtured, loved, protected, and that won’t ever change. But someone is going to have to do the providing, the supporting, the taking care of, the writing the TV network a check to make a point. I need to know if you’re going to do that, son.”
I pushed out a deep breath, and cross my arms. “All due respect, sir… Wil is a grown woman. She can take care of herself.” I glanced over to find him giving me a hard stare, and I met his gaze as I continued. “Wil isn’t particularly interested in having a check written on her behalf. She can write her own checks. Create her own opportunities, to pay her own bills. Do I plan to support my family? Absolutely. But it would be foolish of me to think that holds any weight with her, romantically.”
“You said all of that, and still haven’t answered my question. What would you have done?”
“I wouldn’t have written a check,” I answered, firmly. “And that’s not knocking the fact that you did. I’m just saying… you and I have different roles in Wil’s life. You did what you felt was right, to help your daughter. I would have done something different.”
He nodded. “And what exactly would that something have been?”
“Supporting her efforts to pitch her show. Listening to her pitch, giving her feedback, helping her craft it. Gassing her up, making her believe there wasn’t a damn thing she couldn’t do. Keeping her distracted while she waited to hear back, holding her while she cried if the answer was no. Motivating her not to let that “no” be the end. Dragging her out of bed to try the next thing, to build her own thing if that’s what she had to do. Investing in her directly. Not going behind her back, infantilizing her and giving anybody room to say she hadn’t worked for it. And… I mean… I don’t know that I could write a check big enough,” I chuckled. “But if she did want that… then I would make that happen.”
For a long moment, the only sound was the chittering of a pair of squirrels playing in a nearby tree. But then Jack nodded, raising an arm to hook around my shoulder as he led me back up to the deck.
“Grab those tongs, young blood. Let’s get this meat off the grill, and then I’m going to take you out to the garage. Carla’s mad, but I got me a little micro-brewery out there. These bearded hipsters with their “man buns” and plaid shirts ain’t got nothing on Jackhammer’s Ale.”
I chuckled, and grabbed the tongs, listening as he told me about his beer. Even once we were done unloading the grill, and he was opening a refrigerator in the garage to hand me a home-brewed beer, the conversation didn’t swing back to where it was before.
But the fact that he didn’t seem to have a need to say anything more about it… said everything.
“Your daddy isn’t going to do anything to that boy,” my mother called across the counter as I watched him and Ramsey walk off the deck, and disappear from view. Yeah, I heard what she was saying, but hearing and believing were a little different from each other. I’d said I was fine with whatever they needed to talk about, but honestly I was a little worried.
Ramsey was a pretty laid back guy, but he was nobody’s pushover. He wasn’t even a little afraid to get… firm, if necessary. And my father was the kind of man it may be necessary to get firm with. But if those two butted heads…
“Bring your behind away from that window and come stir this lemonade,” my mother scolded. I couldn’t see them anymore without going outside anyway, so I did as she asked. On the other side of the counter, she was putting together the salad that would finish off our meal.
“Stress isn’t good for the baby,” she warned, and I tried not to roll my eyes. They were the ones who invited us over here for this ominous ass dinner, and now she wanted to tell me not to stress about it?
“Well, it’s hard to help when two men nicknamed “Hammer” may or may not be fighting to the death over your “honor” in the backyard,” I said, picking up the peeled lemon slices and dropping them into the dispenser of fresh lemonade.
My mother laughed. “I already told Jack to act like he has some sense. He just wants to make sure everything is on the up and up, since you two snuck this relationship past us like a couple of teenagers.”
“We weren’t sneaking. I mean… not from you guys, at least. And it’s not as if we were doing anything much different than what we’d done the whole time we were friends before.”
My mother looked up from slicing a cucumber, staring pointedly at the place where, in a few months, I would hopefully have a baby bump. “You were obviously doing something different, girl.” I blushed, reflexively placing my hands on my stomach, and she chuckled. “No sense in trying to be shamed about it now. You’re an adult. Having sex usually comes with the territory.”
“Yeah, but still.”
“Still what?” She slid the finished cucumber into the bowl with the other vegetables, to toss. “You think your mama hasn’t lived long enough to not be scandalized by you sleeping around with your “friend”? Or better yet – do you think I haven’t been rooting for this outcome in the first place?”
My eyes widened. “Mama! I thought you liked Darius!”
“Oh, I did, honey. He was a perfectly fine young man… until he wasn’t anymore. But he was always just that – fine. Ramsey, on the other hand – that’s a man. Reminds me of your father.”
I took a seat at the counter, wiping my lemon scented fingers off with a towel before I propped my chin in my hands. “So… there was a point when you didn’t think Darius was the one either?”
“I think that it was something that was for you to decide.”
I snorted. “And we see how that turned out. Just the first thing in a long trail of everything going wrong, for everybody to see. Can you imagine what the press is going to do with this pregnancy news? It hasn’t even been six months since the wedding that wasn’t, and I’ve been fired, had a sex picture scandal, and now a pregnancy.”
My mother shook her head. “I could knock you upside the head, girl. Do you really look at your life and only see the things that aren’t as you planned, instead of the things that are as you wanted? You wanted your own show – you have it. You wanted a man that really loved you – you have it. You wanted a baby – you’re going to have it. You are blessed, my dear. Focus on that.”
I stayed quiet for a moment to absorb her words, watching as she used a pair of tongs to mix the salad.
“You really think he loves me, mama?” I asked, and when she looked up, eyes narrowed, mouth set in a frown – the classic “have you lost your mind” expression – I raised my hands, speaking quickly to clarify. “I mean, I know that he cares about me, a lot. That’s clear, I’m not blind, it’s just… the way this thing happened between us, isn’t conventional. I just don’t want it to be a thing where pressure from the media, or pressure from the news of my pregnancy, pushes us too far, too fast. I don’t ever want to feel like an obligation to him.”
My mother smirked. “Well, it’s too late for that, sweetheart. But from what I’ve seen with Ramsey, I don’t think it’s something you should stress yourself with. Nor do I think that feelings have a time limit. I mean, there was no meter I had to press to start when I met your father,” she chuckled, putting the salad bowl down to come and sit beside me at the counter. “And I want you to remember, it’s not as if the two of you are starting from scratch – you’ve been friends for years, which is a beautiful foundation to start a relationship on. The idea that you’ve “rushed” things between you two is unfounded, in my opinion. If anything, the fact that you were with Darius delayed the inevitable.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah, I do. Once you got past your little tantrum about having to work with him, I’ve always seen… this light in you, whenever he was around. And it’s only grown brighter now that the two of you are in love. Pregnancy isn’t the only thing making you glow.”
“But we’re not…” I stopped, and let out a sigh.
My mother laughed, putting a hand on my knee. “You can’t even tell that lie, can you? That you don’t love him.”
“I don’t know.”
“I think you do,” she countered. “And it’s okay, nobody is pressuring you – I don’t think?”
I shook my head. “No. Neither of us have said those words.”
“When it’s time, you will. Saying the words is about the least potent expression of it anyway. Of course we want to hear it too, but always remember – let his actions speak louder than his words. A man can say anything, but his actions tell the real story.”
Yeah.
So far, Ramsey’s actions had painted a narrative so enthralling it made my teeth hurt just thinking about it.
“And,” she added, squeezing my knee. “Don’t ever think that ignoring or denying your feelings makes them go away. If you love him… sweetheart, you just do. There’s nothing wrong with it. And nothing wrong with you for feeling that way. You could’ve left Darius last week, and that would still be true. Okay?”
I nodded. “Okay. Thank you mama,” I said, then wrapped my arms around her waist. I let out a deep, gratified moan as she returned the gesture, giving me a hug that filled a little void that only a hug from her could fill.
“You’re welcome baby,” she said, glancing back toward the window that looked out to the backyard. We could see Ramsey and my father heading back up to the patio, and my mother stood. “Okay, enough of that. They’re probably about to get the meat off the grill, and then your daddy is going to make Ramsey drink one of those nasty beers he’s been working on. Come on upstairs. Let me show you my spoils from the trip to the Ase Garb store that he doesn’t know about yet.”
Fourteen
“There we go! Finally, damn.”
I fought the urge to say something slick to the photographer in response to his – unwarranted – enthusiasm over me finally giving him “something he could use.” Instead, I focused on Wil, who’d just snuck into the back of the room, and was trying to remain unseen behind the crew members.
But I’d felt, rather than seen her coming.
That’s where we were, I guess, it terms of how close we’d become. I knew exactly why she was there, too, and it definitely wasn’t just moral support. She’d woken up craving Sucre Noir for lunch today, and I couldn’t make it, because of my interview and photoshoot with Sugar&Spice magazine at one of their satellite offices. But she’d never gone by herself, even when we were friends – she considered it “our” thing. So if I had to guess, she’d grabbed something light earlier, to hold herself over until I was done. But now, she was ready to eat.
It was time for me to go.
Rashad, the photographer, must’ve spotted her too, because he grinned. “Damn, you should’ve brought your lady with you if that’s what it took to get a genuine smile on your face brother,” he said, still snapping away.
I tucked the football in my hands under my arm, then ran a hand over my waves as I grinned through the little hint of embarrassment from those words. I didn’t think my smile looked fake, but shit – I was tired. We’d lost at home last week, and the coaches had been all over our asses about it as we prepared to go into the next game. Not to mention, I’d be getting on yet another plane in a few days, to get to that game.
So yeah, my mood wasn’t great.
But Wil’s presence always had the power to change that.
A few shots later, we were done. I shook hands with the photographer and small crew, and then went to where Wil was perched in a chair she’d hustled from somewhere.
“Mr. Bishop,” she purred, as she stood. “You are looking very good.”
I shrugged. “I guess. It’s plain though. White shirt, black tie.”
“It’s classic,” she corrected, grabbing the ends of my undone bowtie. “Every occasion doesn’t call for your flair for fashion. Everybody knows you can dress.”
“Outdress most of these niggas,” I teased, dropping the football on a nearby table to pull her into my arms. She bit her lip, only releasing it in time for my mouth to meet hers for a kiss – other people in the room be damned.
While I had no qualms about publicly displaying my affection, I quelled the urge to touch her stomach like I wanted. After what happened with those pictures, we agreed – we weren’t saying anything about pregnancy until we absolutely had to, and Chloe was on board with it as well. She was just about thirteen weeks along now, and wasn’t showing yet, especially not to public eyes. Even once she did start to show – it was getting cooler now, and she was already starting to dress in light, loose sweaters that would change to thick ones soon enough, which would camouflage for a little while longer.
We were keeping this for ourselves, as long as we could.
“You ready to eat?” I asked, and she gave me a deep nod.
“Yes. Please.”
Chuckling, I took a step back. “Okay. Let me change real quick, and then we can go. I’ll be right back.”
I made it as quick as I could, not even stopping to read the message that popped up on my screen from Chloe. If it were vitally important, she would have called instead of sending a text. Getting the mother of my child fed seemed more urgent in the moment.
The photoshoot area had cleared out by the time I returned – the only people there were Wil, and my security guard Dre, who I’d left with her. Before we went public with this pregnancy, I would talk her into security for herself.
For now though, I just took the time to admire her for a moment. The last few weeks of this first trimester had been rough, but it was obvious she was feeling good today. She’d done an interview earlier in the morning with a girl’s high school track squad in Bridgeport, and we were getting ready to eat at one of her favorite places.
I didn’t have to ask – she was having a good day.
At the moment, her face was buried in her cell phone, so much that she didn’t even look up from whatever video she had playing when I approached.
“What’s up, you ready to go?” I asked, looping an arm around her shoulders.
She looked up, shaking her head. “Did you see this text from Chloe?”
“Nah,” I said, feeling a little alarmed now, knowing that she’d sent something to Wil too. “Everything okay?”
Her face was impassive as she tapped the screen, starting the video from the beginning. “See for yourself.”
“Bitch.”
“Biiiiitch.”
“Biiiiiiiiiiiiiitch!!!”
All of those were said with different inflections, and I knew from my experience with the black women in my life that the back and forth on the screen had just delivered a whole introduction to the conversation.
“I don’t know if they’re hearing it here first Arnez, but baby, we got the scoop on today.”
“Biiiiitch!”
“Actual, factual, credible, not fake news sources have confirmed – formerly iconic, struggling television network WAWG, which ran into the ground by petty management and greedy execs has been purchased, through the joint efforts of the Whitfield and Drake families – our very own Black royalty.”
“Bitch.”
“According to reports, they are already making major changes – job postings went up for an entirely new executive board, and checks have been put in the mail to pay out the remaining contracts for any shows that will no longer be produced by the network, such as From the Sidelines, which suffered a catastrophic drop in ratings after the exit of the former hosts.”
“Bitch. Bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch bitch.”
“When asked, recently divorced Nashira Haley commented that she and her good friend, Nubia Perry were exci
tedly working together on the new vision for the network, which they hope will restore it to it’s former glory, and restore their reputation for putting black excellence at the forefront. She mentioned a model search show from Nubia, a “fashion on a budget” show from popular vlogger Bianca Bailey, home improvement and DIY from Raisa Martin, a cooking show from Charlie and Nixon Graham, and they’re hoping to snag recently-departed Wil Cunningham to bring her sports expertise back to the small screen.”
“Hallelujahhhhhhh!” the Arnez character shouted, standing up, and throwing his hands in the air as he tossed his head back. “Gloraaaay, hallelujah, I say won’t he do it!!!”
“Will you sit your silly ass down boy! Anyway – that’s not all the tea.”
“Ohhhhh, shanannanana glory!”
“A little birdie told us that the purchase was made at a steep discount, due to impending legal action against two of the network execs by Wil Cunningham and Ramsey Bishop. Apparently, they took a price cut in favor of getting paid sooner, so they could cut those checks right to their lawyers.”
“And I don’t feel even a little bit bad – you can find the released email chain in the story we broke just two weeks ago, after it was revealed that they would escape criminal conviction over a technicality. Because there was “technically” no actual nudity in the photos they conspired with a local vagabond to obtain, after a fan tweeted about seeing Wil and Ramsey while on vacation in Bali, a judge ruled that criminal action would be overkill, but a civil case could move forward.”
“We don’t have the exact number, but reportedly, Wil and Ramsey are seeking an amount in the “high multi-millions” in damages. It’s a damn shame that someone else has to buy the network, to get it away from the family of the people who built it before they damage it beyond repair – but hell, at least our girl will get paid.”
“No wonder she’s been looking especially good around town lately.”
“Good dick and a paycheck will do it for you honey.”
Determining Possession (Connecticut Kings Book 3) Page 28
