I made my way into the massive kitchen where he had a chef preparing a big meal. I was confused on what the occasion was because it didn’t take several dishes just to feed him and me.
“Babe, what is all this for? Are we havin’ guests’ ova or somethin’?” I had question after question that needed to be answered.
“Uhm, yeah. I invited Jourdell ova for dinner.”
“You did what!” I yelled.
I was fuckin’ pissed beyond words. What type of bullshit was he on? He never allowed me time to process anything that went on around me. It was all so damn rushed.
“Mama, you’re gettin’ closer to your due date. He wasn’t a good father to you, but he might be a good grandfather to our lil’ girl. He won’t harm her, ’cause I’ll knock his head clean between a washer and dryer, then blow it off.”
“That’s not the point. I asked you not to force it, and you did it anyway. I was goin’ to make that step but on my own time. Fuck, Christian.”
When he asked me to think it over, I did. Jourdell was gettin’ a long conversation and possibly a second chance. I just didn’t know when. He rushed my plans, and it made me feel some type of way. I walked away, not caring to entertain his shenanigans any longer.
Jourdell
God blessed me with another chance at life. I was supposed to be dead and gone in that fire. I knew it, and so did everyone else. I suffered from third-degree burns and was still in the process of healing. Most days, I could go without experiencing any pain, and then some days, the pain would be excruciating and last all day.
I had already taken me being released from prison as a second chance with Spot, but that fire really had me pressing the issue. I loved my daughter, but she didn’t love me.
The way I fucked up her childhood was wrong on so many levels. She didn’t deserve the abuse I gave her. I treated her worse than a dog would shit, so her givin’ me the cold shoulder was expected.
Pastor Gills and Spot was somethin’ I would’ve never guessed. He had time to speak up about his dealing with my daughter, and he chose not to. I could’ve been upset, but I wasn’t.
He wanted my head that day I asked him for a brief moment of his time. My words had crossed him wrong, but his words put me in my place. If I wanted anything with Journei, I had to go through him.
For the past week, I had been tryin’ to get another sit-down arranged between me and the pastor. When he said not to call his phone anymore, I thought that was the end, but then he answered my call a few weeks ago, givin’ me hope.
I grabbed my phone and dialed Pastor Gills for the fifth time that morning. He rarely answered, so I was prayin’ that was one of those times. I went to hang up after several seconds of no connection when I heard his voice through the speaker.
“Hey, Pastor.”
“Wassup, Jourdell?”
“I know you said there’s no Spot without you, so I’m askin’… can you arrange me some time with my daughter? I really need this.” I was damn near begging.
“After her appointment, we should be free. I’ll have a dinner fixed for us to sit down and talk. If you mess this up, that’s it. I won’t give you another chance.”
Joy entered my body. “Thank you. I really appreciate this.”
“I’ll send you the address in a few. Don’t make a fool out of me, Jourdell,” he said and hung up.
He was handling me like a child, but I understood his overprotectiveness. Spot was his woman, and I had to respect that. Who he allowed in her space was who she would converse with.
I went to the room to find myself something nice to wear. The location hadn’t been sent yet, and I was already gettin’ prepared. I didn’t want to fuck nothin’ up.
Truthfully, I missed my daughter. She reminded me so much of her mother that back then, I couldn’t stand the sight of her. That’s where the abuse came in at.
Yonei was beautiful inside and out. Plus, she loved her family to death. The problem I had with my hands fucked us up. I never meant to kill her though. I was able to see and admit my wrongs now as a sober man.
Spot caught the back end of my pain. Killing her mother took me over the edge. For years, I caused Yonei misery, and then I bestowed that same misery on our baby girl. I wasn’t good for shit and prolly still wasn’t.
Opening the closet door, I scanned over what lil’ shit I did have. I settled on a navy-blue polo and a pair of slacks. I wasn’t accustomed to what the world had called fashion yet.
I checked the clock, and it read 11:45 a.m. I had time to pull myself together and be presentable. If I wanted to play the part, I damn sure needed to look it.
In prison, I learned how to cut my own hair, so I gave myself a low cut and shaped up my beard and trimmed it down some. She didn’t need to see the rough life I was living. I gave her enough of that growing up.
