If she didn’t look like she wanted to spit nails, I probably would’ve laughed. “What?”
Her eyes narrowed into slits. “Don’t what me, little boy. None of you Israel men can manage to get it right. None of you can bring home a wife before you bring home a baby, and I’m sick of it.”
“With all due respect, Nana. I?—”
“I’m talking right now, Juney. Your mouth is closed.”
Wow, I thought to myself, but I didn’t say a word out loud.
“You brought this little girl to Londynville with you, knowing she’s pregnant, and didn’t say a word? When were you planning on telling us?”
“Not this weekend,” I admitted. “Look, Nana. There was enough pressure on Wyndi just meeting the family on a major holiday like Thanksgiving. She had to meet relatives that only come around once or twice a year. There was no way that I was also about to put her under a spotlight by announcing that she’s pregnant. That was never gonna happen. I’m sorry you had to hear it from somebody else?—”
“Yes, I had to hear it from your aunt Myrna. She used to work with a not-for-profit that helped unwed mothers back in the 1980s. We were suspicious when she kept yawning at the game.” She eyed Wyndi with disdain. “But when she fell asleep on the island in the middle of all that ruckus, Myrna knew.” She shook her head. “Sneaking your baby mama?—”
The way she said it, like a white person trying to do an imitation of their version of a lower-class black person, rubbed me the wrong fucking way. “Don’t do that, Nana. Don’t do that. You’re about to damage your relationship with me, and for what? Wyndi isn’t mybaby mama, she’s my heart. She’s my woman. She’s my future and the mother of my future child. If that’s something that embarrasses you because the baby wasn’t conceived under the covenant of marriage, cool. You don’t have to be a part of my life or the baby’s. When I come to Londynville, I’ll stay on my side of town, and you can stay on yours.”
“Kaynaan, no,” Wyndi cried out.
“Yes,” I rebutted.
Nana’s mouth formed a perfect O. “Kaynaan Daniel Israel, are you really telling me that you would choose?—”
“See, I’mma have to stop you right there, again. I’m not choosing anything except not to let you insult my lady. I didn’t come to your house talking crazy. You came here. I don’t care about your outdated feelings about when a baby can and should be welcomed into a family. I don’t care about optics or your reputation as the rich black woman who lives on the hill. I don’t care about how your friends and associates are gonna gossip or talk sh . . . crap. This is my life. I’m thirty-four years old. I’ve been sexually active for the better part of two decades. I’m a professional athlete. This is the first baby I’m bringing home. Y’all really oughtta be congratulating me.”
My grandmother dusted off her lap, grabbed her handbag, and stood. “This conversation has gone as far as it can go.” She turned to Wyndi. “I hope you’re pleased with yourself, coming between a grandmother and her eldest grandson.”
“What?” Wyndi asked.
“Nana—”
“Goodbye.” She threw up her hand, then flounced out of my living room and out of my house.
“What the fuck just happened?” I asked Wyndi.
