***
About two hours went by, and then I decided to text Crew.
Me:Crew, the baby, and I are stuck in the snow on 42nd Street. Please come help us. Our son is getting really, really cold.
Crew:What the fuck? Yo ass dumb as shit for being out in this blizzard. What’s the exact address?
I sent it to him, and I already knew he would come here with an attitude. That was just who Crew was. He would give you the shirt off his back, but he'd also remind you that you should've gone shopping first.
It took him about forty minutes to pull up, but when he did, he was in a Ford F-150, which is something people hardly ever saw him in. The truck sat on huge snow tires, and the engine sounded loud and powerful enough to drive up Mount Everest if he wanted to. I'm sure that's why he drove it tonight, or any other night there was a blizzard.
I watched him hop out, slamming it shut against the wind. He stomped through the thick snow toward me, his black hoodie already gathering flakes, and when he reached the car, Crew looked at me like I was insane.
"Cashmier," he barked, hands spread in disbelief, "You trying to kill yourself and your baby?"
"I had to get things done for us, Crew," I snapped back.
"I mean, it's just me because my mama is not really any help, and you didn't believe he was yours, so I had to do what I had to do."
"Well, I got the email from the clinic not too long ago. So all this dumb ass shit you're doing needs to be cut out. There's no fuckin' reason why I should be out in the storm right now, and neither should you or him. Where is he?"
"In the backseat. In his car seat."
"Well, hop out so that we can get in my truck. I'm taking y'all home, and you can get your car tomorrow when this shit lets up."
"Okay, that's fine," I said, gathering King's diaper bag and my purse from the passenger floorboard.
Crew opened the back door and lifted the car seat out with one hand, as if it weighed nothing. He didn't look at King, however, and focused on getting us inside his truck.
We weren't too far, but in this storm, it felt like miles. The streetlights glowed blurry through the thick sheets of snow, but his truck powered through it all in a way my Bentley truck wouldn't.
When he pulled up to the curb in front of my building, Crew hopped out, ran around the truck, and grabbed the car seat with a gentleness that didn't match his mouth. I almost smiled seeing him step up already for his firstborn son. I know he's having a baby with Pernelle, but even if it is a boy, it won’t be able to claim the title of firstborn son.
When we made it inside my apartment, I hurried over to the thermostat and cranked it up as soon as the door shut behind us. Crew shook snow from his hoodie, cursing under his breath.
"Damn, it's fuckin storming out there. I have to hurry back home before I get stuck in the snow. The higher it gets, even the F-150 won’t be able to make it through," he muttered, looking out the window.
"Crew, wait," I said, peeling off my gloves,
"I know you're not about to try to go back out in that. The news alerts said that by eleven, it will be zero visibility."
"Well, what am I supposed to do? I shouldn't have ever been out there in the first place."
"Well, what you could do for now is help get your son out of the car seat and help us get settled in. There is no need to just stand over there and gripe, Crewshon."
“I guess.” He rolled his eyes.
Crew slid the car seat over to the couch gently and then pulled the car seat cover from over King's head.
He looked at him for a few seconds without saying a word.
"What's his name?"
"It's King. I told you that."
"Well, I don't think I like the name King. It's kind of condescending if you ask me. If you want to be a king, you have to act like one, move like one, andthink like one. I don't want niggas calling him King just because that's what his mom named him."
"So, what am I supposed to do, Crew? Change his name?"
