“Quit defending her,” he spits. “Ain’t she done enough at this point? How the fuck can you still have any loyalty to a woman like that?”
I hate the fact that he’s right.
I flip his phone face down, then put my elbows on the desk and lean forward as my head drops. I can’t even look at it.
“I didn’t tell your mother,” he says, his voice softer now. Sympathetic, almost. Sympathy for his pathetic, punk bitch of a son.
I can only imagine how disappointed he is.
“Nobody knows but you, and it’s gonna stay that way. But son…” he trails off, and I nod, because I already know.
He scoots his chair up, getting closer. “Look at me,” he says, and the little boy inside of me submits to his authority without hesitation.
“I taught you how to fight,” he begins. “I taught you how to defend yourself and not let a nigga land a punch on you.”
I nod again.
“But I never taught you how to protect yourself from women. I didn’t know I needed to, I suppose.” He blows out a sigh. “And, frankly, you’re dealing with somebody that don’t fight fair. You know what I mean? That woman is a fuckin’….emotional sniper. Nobody could’ve seen this shit coming.”
That’s not entirely true, but I can’t bring myself to correct him.
“I think I know what you’re doing,” he continues. “You think if you love her enough, if you’re patient enough, she’ll becomethe version of her that you hoped you were marrying. But son, she ain’t, and that’s not good for you. That shit ain’t healthy. You think you’re in a marriage right now, but you’re not. You’re a hostage.”
“Alright, now you’re taking it a little—“
“Too far? Look, it’s okay. We all been pussy-whipped before. You’re human.”
I sit back, shaking my head even though I know it’s true.
“Alright, you can’t admit it. Fine. But between us, man to man, father to son,” he says, leaning closer. “Ain’t no pussy in the world worth your dignity.”
I blow out a sigh and close my eyes, feeling his words wash over me like a tsunami.
“I got a friend. You might remember Jason. He’s an attorney.”
“Whoa, whoa, wait a minute.” I open my eyes and force out a chuckle. “You movin’ too fast for me, Pop. Just…let me get my head around this.”
“What’s there to think about? It ain’t even been a year. Shit, you might could get this shit annulled if you want to. I can ask him.”
“I thought Jason did criminal law.”
“He does. Which, I mean…” he gestures at his phone. “This some criminal shit here, ain’t it?”
Part of me wants to ask him if he watched it. If he clicked off as soon as he realized or if he watched the whole thing. If he enjoyed watching my wife. If he pretended it was him in that video instead of me.
Because that’s how niggas are. Our homeboys. Even our fathers. Especially our cousins and uncles. The irony in all of this is that Raya knows that better than anybody. She’s up on the true nature of men, and we can’t blame nobody but ourselves.
When your old ass uncles grin at your girl and sayI see you, nephew, what they’re really doing is giving you props forbagging a woman that’s fuckable, a woman they would fuck if they could. And then they picture it, putting themselves in your place. Just for a minute or two. Just enough to get a thrill. And it’s disgusting.
And we all do it.
So yeah, my father probably did enjoy it. Even just the thumbnail.
But I don’t wanna think about that.
“Listen…I apologize for this.”
He shoots me another sympathetic look. “It’s not your fault.”
