“Took you long enough.” My dad was the first person to acknowledge us when we walked in the living room. Daddy was sitting in his favorite chair right next to the fireplace. Like always, he had a cigar in his mouth, slippers on, and his favorite blue fluffy rob.
I used to give him so much shit about wearing that robe. Then I realized why he wore it so much. Back in the day, Mama used to want to be a fashion designer, but she gave up her dreams to be a wife and raise us. She’d only make clothes for us when we were little, or Daddy and that robe was one of thethings she made for him. It was a small way my daddy showed Mama his gratitude for her sacrifices.
“I did have to take two trips. Old man,” I joked, walking over to my dad, giving him a hug. My relationship with my dad had two sides to it.
Big Frank was the nigga I worked with. I respected the nigga and looked to him for advice for certain shit. He was the last of a dying breed of real niggas. My daddy, though, that nigga was my hero. There was no amount of nothing in this world that could make me turn my back on my daddy. He was who I looked to whenever I was stuck in a dilemma. I trusted my daddy with everything in me. He was my left hand, and I was his right. Mixie stood off to the side, not speaking.
“Faheem…” I heard my mom calling out to me in her normal soft voice. Turning around to look at my mom, she had a stern expression on her face.
“Hey, Mama,” I nervously said as I walked over trying to give her a hug, but she swatted me away.
“Who the hell is that in my guest bedroom? While you’re at it, can you explain to me why she’s tied up?”
“See, I knew y’all was up to something,” Frankee chimed in.
Looking back at Daddy, the nigga was smoking his cigar looking like he wanted to laugh. My daddy might have came off as intimidating, but the nigga liked to play jokes and shit all the time. However, most people never got to see that side of him.
“Faheem, I’m over here. Don’t look back at your dad.” I easily towered over my mom. She was a short woman, maybe 5’4 on a good day, and as easy as it would be to overpower my mom, I feared her more than she did me. My mom never let her size hold her back. If she had to, she would use anything and everything she could get her hands on as a weapon. I was more scared of my mom than my dad. With my dad, you knew when he was about to get mad. But my mama, she’d be calm, havingyou think everything was sweet, then outta nowhere, she’d knock you upside the head with something.
“Ma, listen I–”
“Your son has a big heart like you, my love. I’m afraid it’s got him in sort of a pickle.” Daddy halfway chuckled as he spoke.
“I’m listening,” Mama said, peering skeptically over at my dad.
“He let someone see something they weren’t supposed to see, and now he has to fix it… In an unorthodox kind of way.”
“And how is that?” Mama replied to Daddy but with her eyes glued to me.
“Our boy is about to be a married man.”
“Excuse me!” That was Mama.
“To WHO? Nigga, you got me fucked up.” Then, there was Mixie.
“This finna be good.” And lastly, Frankee.
“Mixie, watch your mouth in my house. I understand you’re shocked. If I’m not cussing in my own home, no one is.” Mama checked Mixie. My mama didn’t play that cussing shit. She stayed getting on Big Frank's ass about his mouth.
“My bad, Mrs.Banks,” Mixie mumbled, probably not meaning it.
“You wanna go get your soon-to-be wife, son?” My daddy's voice was filled with amusement.
I’d brought Juniper here before I went to get Mixie. Initially, I was only going to tell my mom and Frankee and tell Mixie when we were alone, but Daddy’s messy ass insisted I go get Mixie. I wasn’t gonna get her, but Daddy knew how to pull my ho card when he called me a pussy. A nigga could never say shit about me was pussy. That was how Mixie got here. My daddy was on some bullshit, and I was finna be right with him.
Shaking my head at my messy ass daddy, I turned on my heels heading to the guest room on the second floor. Notsurprisingly, Mixie was right behind me. As soon as we were out of ear shot, Mixie was on my ass.
Snatching me back by my arm, I slowly turned around, giving her my attention.
“Tell me this is a fucking joke, Faheem? How long have we been together? Yo’ black ass ain’t never mentioned shit about marrying me, but you you bring me here to tell me you marrying another bitch?” Mixie used her fingers to mush me in the head, smacking her hand from my face.
“Forreal, a nigga ain’t have to tell you shit. I coulda let yo ass find out with the rest of the world. The fuck wrong witchu?” I barked at Mixie. I wasn’t even tryna handle her like that. She had every reason to be pissed with a nigga, but she knew I hated that hands shit.
“Nigga, WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU DEALING WITH? Bitch, act like you know who the fuck I am. I’m the bitch that took a fucking charge for you!” Mixie screamed at the top of her lungs like she’d lost her mind. My parents’ crib was big, but not that fucking big, and she knew that shit.
“Shut the fuck up,” I whisper-yelled at her, looking down the hallway behind her to make sure my parents weren’t coming. “Trust me when I say this shit ain’t real. It’s fucking buisness, I don’t want that bitch.”
“Trust you?” Mixie said with wide eyes, and I knew she was on bullshit. “BITCH, FUCK YO-”
