I clenched down on my jaw and squinted at him but said nothing. I felt him. I would have been on the same type of time if the roles were reversed, so I couldn’t fault him. Fuck it. What was done, was done. There was no going back on it, so why carry ill feelings over it?
“You feel me?” He asked.
I nodded, posted up against my ma’s Chevy Traverse, watching Diary playing in the yard with two other little girls.
“Same time in two days?” He asked, with his hand extended.
I looked down at it and shook it. “Same time in two days. Ay, keep me posted about Ms. Rochelle.”
About twenty minutes later, I was pulling back up at my ma’s crib, behind Deante’s whip. With a deep breath, I looked in the rearview mirror at Diary. This nigga was going to have questions. He was going to talk so much shit. I wasn't in the mood for the bullshit. I just wanted to drop my daughter off and leave it at that. But I knew it wouldn’t quite go that way, since this was new. Fuck.
After we got out of the car, we headed up to the house. Since it was nice out, my nieces and nephews were out in the yard playing. They didn’t waste any time walking up to us, asking questions.
“What up doe, Uncle Duke,” said my ten-year-old nephew, DJ. He eyed Diary up and down. “Who is she?”
I ran my hand over the top of his head. “What up doe? Her name is Diary.”
“Diary? What kind of name is that?” He asked, steady watching her.
“My name,” Diary sassily replied, rolling her eyes.
I laughed and gripped her hand a little tighter, steady heading up to the house.
“It’s a funny name. Ain’t a diary a book?”
“Yeah, nephew, but it’s her name.”
“Uncle Duke!” yelled my niece, Charity. She gave Diary the same puzzled look, asking who she was.
I went through that five times. Getting into the house was a challenge. My nieces and nephews were nosey as hell. As annoying as it was, it prepared me for the shit I’d have to deal with when I got into the house.
“What up doe?” Deante spoke, standing up from the couch, with his hand extended. With furrowed brows, he looked down at Diary. “The fuck? Sparkle 2.0? Who this?”
I slapped hands with him, took a deep breath and said, “Diary. My daughter.”
His eyes damn near bulged out of his big ass head. “Nigga.” He leaned forward, as if he didn’t hear me. “What?”
“You heard what I said nigga. Where mama at?”
I didn’t want to deal with the theatrics. The look on his face was one I expected. Shock and confusion. I knew the nigga had a lot of questions. Coming out, saying Diary was my daughter was a little hard. Shit was crazy. Saying it out loud to someone other than moms. As uncomfortable as it was, I felt a little relief too. It had been heavy as hell, carrying the weight of that secret on my shoulders.
“Nah, nah, nah. You ain’t gon just brush over that like it was nothin.” He paused and whispered, “Fuck you mean your daughter?” He looked around as if someone else was in the living room with us. “Your daughter? You had a baby on NeNe? Awww what the fuck?”
I looked down at Diary in an effort to get him to notice her. He was talking too reckless and I didn’t like it. “Chill nigga.”
“Nah, we gotta chop it up about this. Fuck goin on?”
“Didn’t I just tell you to chill. Where mama at, nigga?”
He shook his head with raised brows. “In the bathroom.” He looked down at Diary and extended his hand. “Wassup Diary? I’m your uncle Deante. You can call me D or Tae though. How old are you?”
She looked up at me for approval before placing her little hand in his. “Two.”
“Two?” He whispered, looking up at me, steady shaking his head.
“You want to go outside and play, Diary?” I asked, kneeling in front of her.
She nodded and I took her bag off her back before she ran out of the door. Standing, I faced Deante with a deep breath.
