Page 20 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 4

That was the part I’d actually been dreading.

Delphine’s kitchen was narrow enough that two people standing in it had to negotiate space like they were doing a dance neither of them fully knew the steps to. She was at the stove when I walked in, stirring a pot of red beans with a wooden spoon that had clearly been in that family longer than some of the family members, and she didn’t turn around right away, which I’d learned by now meant she wanted me to know she was in charge of the pace of whatever came next.

“Set the flowers on the table,” she said. “And the box. What’s in the box?”

“Pralines.”

“From where?”

“The bakery on Claiborne.”

“Which one?”

I told her, and she made a small approving noise, which I understood to be the closest thing to praise I was getting today.

“Sit down,” she said, gesturing at a kitchen chair with the spoon. “We got about twenty minutes before this needs my full attention, and I want to talk to you.”

I sat.

“You know why I ask you to come every Sunday,” she said, not a question.

“Because Truth wanted it.”

“Truth wanted it first. But I keep asking because I got things I need to know, and you seem like a man who’ll actually answer me if I ask direct.” She turned around, wiped her hands on her apron, and looked at me the way I imagined she’d looked at every man who’d ever come sniffing around one of her daughters—unimpressed, unafraid, already three moves ahead. “So, I’m gon’ ask you something.”

“Alright.”

“What happens the day my daughter tells you no?”

“No to what?”

“Don’t do that.” Her voice sharpened. “Don’t make me spell it out like you slow. No to anything. No, she don’t want the security today. No, she don’t want to move where you say move. No, she don’t agree with whatever plan you cooked up in that head of yours to keep her safe. What happens then?”

I thought about lying, giving her something clean and rehearsed, and I thought about how fast she’d see through it, because women like Delphine Renois had been seeing through men like me since before I was born.

“First thing that happens is I get pissed,” I said. “That’s honest. I don’t like being told no when I think I’m right about keeping her safe.”

“And then what?”

“And then I have to sit with it. Because being right about the danger don’t make me right about how to handle her.” I turned the bottle of wine over in my hands, needing something to do with them. “There’s a difference between protecting somebody and controlling them, and I ain’t always been clear on where that line is. I’m learning it.”

“Learning it how?”

“The hard way, mostly. She’s told me no plenty times since I met her. I don’t always listen the first time. But I’ve gotten better about coming back around and actually hearing it instead of finding a way to do what I wanted anyway with better manners.”

Delphine studied me for a long moment, arms crossed, spoon still in one hand like a scepter. “Can you love her without owning her?”

That one landed different. I felt it in my jaw before I felt it anywhere else.

“I don’t know yet,” I said, and it cost me something to say it plain like that instead of dressing it up. “I was raised by a man who don’t know the difference between the two things. Never has. Loving somebody, to him, means having full say over what they do with their life. I grew up thinking that was just what love looked like.” I set the bottle down. “I know now it ain’t the same thing. Knowing it and living it clean every day are two different fights, and I lose that fight sometimes. I put people on her without telling her. I’ve made calls about her safety that I should’ve made with her instead of for her.”

“You still doing that?”

“Less than I used to. Not never.”

“That’s an honest answer, at least.” She turned back to the pot, stirred it twice, slow. “What happens when your world crashes into hers again? And don’t tell me it won’t, because I already know better than that.”

“It already has. More than once.” I thought about the package on Truth’s porch, the finger and the ear, the guards, the move to the Garden District she’d only agreed to on her own terms. “When it happens, my job is to make sure the crash lands on me and not her. That’s the only part of this I’m sure about. Whatever’s coming for me, it needs to hit me first. If it gets past me to her, then I already failed at the only thing that matters.”