“Told who what?” Antwan asked slowly.
“That story.” Zaire tightened his eyes hating what he was about to say. “Bout the house. The night them dudes ran in. What I?—.”
“Shut the fuck up, Zaire!” Antwan’s entire tone changed. “Why the fuck would you do that?”
“It came out.”
“We don’t talk about that,” his father snapped. “We never talk about that shit. Ever.”
“I know, damn.”
“You were five years old,” Antwan reminded him like Zaire didn’t know, “Five… And you carryin’ that like you was grown. I took that weight for you because I was supposed to. That was my job.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Zaire shot back.
“You ain’t supposed to open that wound for nobody,” Antwan lectured. “Not a soul.”
Zaire didn’t respond.
“You hear me?” his father pushed.
Zaire swallowed hard. “I hear you, cuh.”
Antwan exhaled like the conversation aged him. “Women ain’t built for that kind of truth.”
“She asked,” Zaire murmured.
“And you coulda said, ‘I don’t talk about it.’ That’s free. That don’t cost nothin’.”
“She needed to know why I am how I am.”
“No,” Antwan snapped. “Youneeded to feel understood. That’s different.”
Zaire didn’t argue. His father wasn’t wrong.
“You like her?” Antwan kept his voice down but the seriousness was there.
Zaire dragged a hand across his face, thinking about Meadow’s voice, Meadow’s fire, Meadow’s anger, Meadow’s mouth hovering inches from his. “Yeah.”
Antwan clicked his tongue. “Lord.”
“What?”
“Women like that…” he hummed. “They either lift you out the dirt or bury you deeper.”
Zaire smirked. “Which one Mama did to you?”
“All the above,” his father admitted. “And I still love her stupid ass.”
Zaire let the silence settle again before he breathed out, “I don’t know what I’m doin’, Pops.”
Antwan sighed. “Don’t nobody know what they doin’. Love ain’t somethin’ you plan. It show up at your damn door and you either let it in or you run.”
Zaire closed his eyes. “She don’t even like me like that.”
“Son,” Antwan groaned, “I been locked up for two decades and evenIcan hear she like you.”
That made Zaire laugh.
