“Daddy, that’s a bad word,” Averi says before I can check him.
“Daddies can say that word,” he fires back with too much damn sternness.
“Not to their four- and six-year-old little girls,” I huff.
“This icing me out has gone too far. I need you to add your number back on my list or come see me. We need to talk, A.”
“My name is Adora and you need to talk to your daughters, not me. This is only a twenty-minute visit. Make these remaining seventeen minutes and forty-eight seconds count for them. Averi, tell your daddy about the Black History Month showcase.”
“Oh yeah. I gonna be Rosa Parks,” she says proudly.
Thankfully, he has sense enough to engage her and forget about me at least for a moment. “That’s good,” he says.
“Do you know who she is?” Averi asks.
“I do,” Romi interrupts before Rush can answer.
“Tell Daddy then,” Averi challenges.
Since their conversation seems to be flowing, I sit down at the island and try to enjoy my dinner and lemon drop away from their time with their daddy. As I eat, my eyes scan the large entire kitchen. It’s twice the size of my tiny kitchen in our old,two-bedroom, one bath Blue Pointe apartment. Actually, my old apartment could fit in this house twice and still leave space.
When my mom first bought this house last March, I didn’t understand why a single woman needed a three-bedroom, two and a half bath home in Crescent Pointe. The mortgage was kind of steep, and on her salary as a housekeeper at the Blue Mountain Resort, it was a stretch. However, she didn’t care; she was adamant about this house. She said it was her dream for me and my girls. I didn’t understand that then, but sadly, I do now.
“Mommie! Mom-mie!” Romi and Averi yell in unison as they often do, temporarily pulling me from thoughts of my own mother.I miss her so damn much.
“Yes,” I answer while looking over my shoulder.
“It’s almost over and Daddy wants you,” Averi says.
Reluctantly, I slide out of the high back stool and walk back over to them. I truly dislike Rush but I never want that fact known to my girls. He’s their father and I don’t want to sway their opinion of him while they are so young. Any opinion they have will be formed as they get older and really get to know him over time.
“Eat your beans, Romi,” I say before snatching up the iPad.
I immediately press mute before walking toward my bedroom. I know Rush and his mouth is too disrespectful when it comes to me and they don’t need to hear him and my just-as-reckless mouth in response. When I’m in my room and my door is closed, I unmute him ,and like I knew he would be, he’s talking shit.
“…know you fucking hear me, A. I only got three min?—”
I interrupt his rant. “Then say what you want to say.”
He smirks. “You really got me fucked up with this new slick shit you got going on. Out of respect for Miss Beverly and everything, I’m gonna let you make it.”
“Leave my momma out of it. She wasn’t your biggest fan anyway. What…do...you…want, Rushmore?” I ask, annoyed as fuck.
“I need some money,” he says.
“Me too,” I counter.
“Man, quit the bullshitting. You got your momma house now. You ain’t got rent next month. You got it and I need it. There’s something I need to get in on that could be something,” he says, being vague because video visits are monitored.
“I still got school tuition, food, lights, gas, water, and Wi-Fi so our daughters can talk to you. I do not have it, and even if I did, I wouldn’t give you a penny. Call your brother or your cousin Mekhi.”
“Kat’s still fucking with Deuce about his kids and Mekhi has some shit with MJ,” he says and I fall out laughing.
“All these deadbeat dads in your family suddenly have commitments. Yeah right,” I huff. “Deuce don’t do shit for Kat and the boys and the whole town knows Monae’s husband adopted MJ. Mekhi ain’t shit, so please try again.”
The scowl on his face is priceless. The tables have surely turned in our dynamic and he has no control over me anymore. I’m no longer his verbal punching bag. He can’t control where I go, what I do, or what I say. His words no longer dictate my actions. I missed so much fucking with him and that shit is over.
He starts to say something else but the screen flashes with the thirty-second warning. “Fuck,” he grits. “Schedule another visit before Sunday,” he demands and I just laugh loud as hell then end the visit.
