“You talked to her?” I asked, even though I knew the answer.
“Finally! You know how long I been calling that girl? Texting? Driving past that big-ass house like a stalker? She wouldn’t let me in. Then you show up with your scary ass, and suddenly my phone dinging at three in the morning.”
She looked ready to punch me again. Guilt and something else twisted in my chest. “How she sound?” I asked.
Her expression fell. “Like somebody trying not to drown. I don’t want to break my girl’s confidence, but I’m telling you because I don’t think this is what you want to do to her. She’s scared out of her mind. About you. About court. About losing her child. About seeing you again. About everything. So, I’m here to tell you this one damn time, because I don’t like repeating myself.”
She stepped a little closer, tilting her head back to look me dead in the eye.
“Handle my friend with care,” she said quietly. “I know you mad. I’d be too. But if you go in there trying to punish her, you gon’ be fighting me too. And you don’t want that smoke, baby.”
I believed her.
I sighed. “I’m not trying to punish her. I’m trying to be a good father to my kid. I’m trying to make sure she don’t grow up in a house that feel like a prison every December.”
“And I’m not saying you wrong. I’m saying there’s a difference between consequences and revenge. Watch the line, Jabali. That girl already hurting and too proud to say it,” she shot back.
Her words landed harder than her punch.
I nodded once. “Noted. You done swinging on me?”
She smiled. “For now.”
“You met my shorty?” I asked, not giving a fuck about the pride I could already hear in my voice.
“Yesterday. She’s a doll, Jabali. Beautiful little human. Reflective of both her parents,” she responded, squeezing my arm. “What you doing in here?”
“Picking up something before I go up there,” I said, nodding toward the flowers.
Her gaze softened just a little. “Good. Ky needs to remember you not the devil.” She reached up and patted my cheek once, like I was still the boy her mama had babysat sometimes. “I gotta go. Children need feeding. First lesson, Daddy: they always need feeding. Text me if you need help translating Ky-speak.”
She pushed her cart past me, then glanced back over her shoulder. “And Jay?”
“Yeah?”
“When she frustrates you, just remember, she couldn’t hate you so much if she didn’t love you so much.”
Then she was gone. I stood there like a fool, blown away by that observation, wanting a few things, like to know how she knew that and why she’d told me. But mostly wanting to know if it were true. Finally, I exhaled deeply, faced the flowers, and focused. I grabbed a bright mixed bouquet for Aziza and a simpler bouquet for Kyleigh. It felt like walking into an ambush with nothing but flowers and hope, but I’d experienced worse situations.
I turned toward the registers.
“Boy, I know that’s not you.”
I recognizedthatvoice, too. My shoulders went tight for a second before I plastered my face neutral and turned.
Deon. He was standing by the end of the candy aisle, one hand stuffed in his jacket pocket, the other holding a bag of chips. Same dude from high school, just thicker around the middle, beard grown in patchy, still with that slick smile that had gotten under my skin more than once.
“Deon. You still stealing oxygen, I see,” I greeted.
He laughed, came over, dapped me up. “Man, look at you. Mr. World Traveler back in the country. You too good to call a nigga, huh?”
“Been busy. You know how it is,” I said vaguely.
“Yeah, yeah. I heard you was a Navy SEAL or some shit.”
“People talk too much.”
He shrugged, unconcerned. Then his eyes dropped to the flowers in my hands.
