“Gonna do some homework. People don’t wake up on a random Tuesday mad about construction,” I answered. “Somebody fed them this idea. Somebody is probably out here telling people that we are going to ‘push them out of the neighborhood.’”
Icon frowned. “Kai?”
“Most likely,” I answered. “Or somebody using him. Maybe some other real estate group. Maybe just people tired of gettinglied to. Don’t matter yet. What matters is this ain’t random. Did you see that hashtag? They’re trying to make this a thing.”
“Fuck they feelings,” Saint scoffed. “We bought this lot. We can do what the fuck we want to do with it.”
“And that’s the type of attitude that will make us look like the villains,” I told him. “Rich niggas from up the street coming to ‘take’ their block. You know they ain’t gon’ say the part about how we keeping units affordable or building a center.”
Reek eyes cut from our side of the street to the protestors. “They’re recording.”
Sure enough, one of the guys across the way had his phone on us. These days, whoever recorded the footage controlled the story that got out with the post that accompanied it. The story people saw decided who the community believed, and how the neighborhood decided to vote. Those votes would decide if my building went up or if it died on the floor of some council meeting.
“Let ’em film,” I told him. “We ain’t doing shit but standing on our own property.”
Legend scoffed. “I don’t like this shit.”
“You’re not supposed to,” I said. “Change don’t come with everybody clapping for you. It comes with shit like this.”
“What you wanna do?” Icon asked me.
“We find out who's running that meeting. We show up. We listen. We let folks say what they need to say. Then we show them what we're providing this community with. We tell them about the jobs we’re creating, how many apartments will be affordable for the middle class, and what we’re putting in that community center for their kids.”
Saint sucked his teeth. “You really tryna sell this idea to these people? Fuck them. We don’t need their permission.”
“I’m trying to make sure the people in this neighborhood don’t fall for a nigga like Kai’s agenda,” I told him. “If he gets awhiff of this protest, he’ll start grandstanding about ‘saving the community,’ and we’ll be the bad guys. I’m not giving him that.”
Big A chuckled. “Nigga, you’re a politician.”
I shook my head. “Nah. Politicians lie. I’m telling the truth. I want us off them corners for real. I want your wives to never have to continue to worry if they will bury you too soon. I want my kids one day to know ‘portfolio’ before they know ‘plug.’”
I was a long way from that. I didn’t even have a woman, let alone a crib full of kids. But I’d been in Icon’s house when Livia fell asleep on his chest mid-conversation, and he didn’t move for an hour so he wouldn’t wake her. I’d watched Saint walk in a room ready to kill something and calm down the second Zahra looked at him. I was envious of how Legend and Aria meshed so well together, like a dance they’d rehearsed. I didn’t have that yet, but I wanted it and looked forward to it. So, I was doing this for their legacy and mine.
I looked back at the group across the street. Our eyes met briefly. One of them shook their head with judgment.
I turned away from them and looked back out over the empty lot again.
This was our way out, and I’d be damned if anybody scared me away from my masterpiece.
ARIA CARTIER
As I sat in the restaurant with my husband and kids, I was tired down to my bones. Three months pregnant, I had been on my feet at Voss all day, but I was still glad we’d come. I had been promising the kids an outing for days.
Sire bounced on the seat next to me, tapping his fork on the table. Truth knelt in his chair across from me. Reign sat beside Legend, staring at the kids’ menu like she could read it.
The twins were with the nanny, thank God.
My stomach rolled again. Nausea had been riding me all day. My back ached. My feet hurt. My jeans were a little too tight. They were right when they said pregnancy gets worse the older a woman gets.
“Mommy,” Sire called. “Is the baby still in your stomach?”
I giggled. “Yes, it’s still in there. Unfortunately, we still have a long way to go.”
He pressed his hand against my shirt. I put my hand over his and rubbed my bump. As usual, I felt irritation and gratitude. I hated always being pregnant and loved my kids so much it scared me.
The smell of sausage and pepperoni got stronger as a server walked by. My stomach flipped again. I sipped my ginger ale and tried to breathe through it.
“Truth, sit your little ass down,” Legend fussed, playfully. He caught him by the back of his hoodie before he could stand on the chair. “You not about to be up here acting like you at the park.”
