“Have you told your mom and grandmother about the baby?”
“Yes, my mom isn’t too happy, but my grandmother is looking forward to meeting her great grandchild.”
I smile. Throughout all the confusion and uncertainty around Darius, I like knowing my child has a family spanning three generations. Both sets of grandparents on my side have passed on and it’s not like my mother is going to make up for it by being a doting grandparent. It’ll only be me and my dad from my side of the family.
“Do you keep in contact with your dad?” I ask.
“I told you, he’s in prison.”
“Yeah, I remember, but I asked if you keep in contact. They have phones and you can write letters.”
“Do I look like I write letters?” He snorts.
“I don’t know, I thought I was getting to know you, but I was obviously wrong.”
He has nothing to say in return and I concentrate on the food in front of me while he seems happy to continue looking around.
“My father knocked my mom up when she had barely turned sixteen. He promised her he’d look after her, gave her a story about a future girls in our neighbourhoods only dream of. Of course she believed him, she had to, she had no parents who cared or people who looked out for her. That rosy bright future shattered before I was even born. He cheated on her, beat on her, stole the little she managed to get. He once made her sleep out in the yard in the winter because I wouldn’t stop crying. Iwas eight months old. One night he tried robbing a gas station and shot two people. One of them was an off-duty police officer. He got life without parole. He robbed them because he wanted a fix, not to feed me or my mom, but to feed his addiction. So no, I don’t write to him or visit him. He’s never tried calling and if he did, I wouldn’t give him the breath needed to speak to him.”
I couldn’t imagine my dad treating me in such a horrid way.
“Why did you share that with me?”
“Because I guess I want you to know that I’m not my father, everything I do is to make my family’s lives better.”
The doorbell rings and I’m grateful for the interruption and the fact we’ll no longer be alone. I don’t hang around to see if he follows and go to answer the door.
Gloria Becket smiles brightly, clutching a heaving folder and fabric booklets.
“Hi, I’m Gloria.”
“Hey, I’m Amelia. Please, come in.”
I step to the side and her heels click on the marble floor. They stop and I find it’s because she’s staring at Darius.
“This is my… friend. Darius. He won’t bother us.”
He steps forward and holds his hand out. “I’m the father of the baby,” he informs her as she shakes his hand.
“It’s nice to meet you. Is there somewhere I can unload this lot,” she asks, jerking her chin at the haul in her arms.
I point to the dining room and sit while she sets everything out. Darius lingers in the doorway, again, his eyes everywhere.
“I’ve already picked out the furniture. I took pictures so you’d know what to match.”
“Do you have a colour scheme in mind?”
“I’ve chosen cream furniture, but I’d like soft colors on the walls and loads of different textures. I read that’s important for baby development.”
She smiles warmly and nods.
“First, I’d like to see the room you’ve chosen so I know what space we’re working with.”
“Sure.”
The next two hours are filled with talk of colors and ideas for murals, which I vetoed. I do not wish to walk in during the middle of the night and see animals on the walls all staring at me.
“I’ll draw up a few ideas and be in touch.”
