Page 50

Truthfully, I wasn’t shocked about my mom’s answer. She’s never been the kind of person to judge people. It was going to be my pops. He was the type of nigga to judge and look down on others.

“What’s going on with Mya?” I asked, changing the subject.

I’ve been over here for a few hours now, and she hasn’t come down. My mom was the one tending to the kids. She made dinner for them and made sure that they completed their homework too. That wasn’t like Mya to not be on top of those things.

Before my mom answered the question, she looked around the kitchen. She did it in a way, as if she was making sure that it was just the two of us in here before she said anything.

“I think she’s pregnant. She’s been sick as a dog all week. Your brother doesn’t make it any better. He leaves out every morning first thing in the morning, and he doesn’t get back home until late night. He’s out here doing the same foolish mess that your father was doing. I know how she feels. I know how it feels to be drowning in your obligations as a wife, and mother. That’s the reason I haven’t left yet. There’s this part of me that almost feels obligated to help her out with the kids,” she expressed.

I didn’t say anything else after that. I didn’t want to. Every time there were conversations brought up about my brother and the way he handled his wife, that shit would piss me off.

I stuck around in the kitchen with my mom for a little while longer. She told me that she was going to go upstairs to see what the kids were doing. While she did that, I walked over to the sliding patio door, making my way outside. I chose to go over to the gazebo. Sitting under here gave you the best view of the backyard. The shit Mya and Kingston had going on in their background was really nice. Big ass pool, tall palm trees that swayed from the little breeze that Miami gave us tonight.

Siting out here made you feel as if you were on a private resort. If I had something like this with my lady and kids, I would cherish the fuck out of it. I liked to cook, so I would be out here on the grill, whipping up dinner, while my wife did laps in the pool with our kids. I’ll never understand how my brother couldn’t cherish this stuff.

As I sat out here, my phone began to ring. My phone was in my pocket, so I pulled it out, checking to see who was calling. It was my baby hitting me. Here in Miami, it was a little after seven in the evening. London was five hours ahead of us, so it was midnight over there.

I talked to Deja a few times today. Since she’s been living with me, we never really went a day without seeing each other. Even when her sister was in the hospital, I would still pull up on her, so this was new for us. I slept without her last night, and all of a sudden, that feeling was foreign to me.

I was the one to drop her off to the airport yesterday, and Deja shed a couple of tears. You would think she was leaving a nigga for four years, instead of four days. Little shit like that just proved that our love was pure, and it ran deep. Even though I didn’t like to see her cry, her tears reminded me that I’d become her comfort. I was her safe space. That’s why being away from me for four days wasn’t something so simple for her to do.

I accepted the call, allowing it to connect. The second I saw her beautiful face, a smile appeared on mine. Thirsty as fuck over her, I started snapping pictures of her from the facetime call. Her makeup was beautiful. I didn’t know what half that shit was called, but damn, it looked flawless. Shiny shit was around her eyes. Her skin was so smooth looking too. Whatever makeup she used blended perfectly. That chocolate brown hair that I loved on her was straight tonight, instead of curls. Bone straight with a center part.

Behind her, I could tell that it was a lot going on. A lot of movement taking place. Deja had an in-ear monitor hooked up to her, and I saw a nervousness about her. That shit was all in her eyes.

“What’s up baby? You look so beautiful,” I said what I knew she needed to hear in this moment. When I said that to her, she gave me a small smile.

“I’m kinda nervous,” she said, followed by a nervous giggle.

I never really saw Deja nervous before. At least, not when she was in her element, doing something that she was good at.

“Why you nervous? Baby, you the shit when it comes to that. Nobody out here doing it like you. She could have reached out to anyone else in the world, but she specifically called for Poison. Being nervous is for rookies. You ain’t no fuckin rookie,” I shot, giving her a little pep talk. She nodded her head, as she looked around.

“I know. It’s just different here. Almost a hundred thousand people in this arena. I never performed for this many people. Most of them probably don’t even know who I am. When I perform back in the States, everyone knows me. I feel like I’m about to pass out,” she told me. Her eyes did get a little watery. Her ass was nervous for real.

“Ay, cut that out. You going to be good. You got the whole Miami rooting for you. The hoes that don’t like you, waiting by the phone to see your performance. You gotta put that shit on the flo, baby. Give them a reason to keep on hating you. I know what you can do on that pole. You know what you can do too. Give them the Poison special, baby. Take that Miami shit to London,” I told her.

The tear that she was fighting to keep at bay, it eventually fell. Just as quickly as it fell though is as quickly as she wiped it away.

“Deja, we need you. Like right now, we need you!” someone called out in the background.

“I’ll call you when I finish, papa. I love you. My aunt is going to record me. I’ll send it to you,” she assured me.

“I love you more. Go do your big one,” I left her with and she quickly ended the call.

I tossed the phone in my lap and sat out here, going back to taking in the beautiful views. Ten minutes into me sitting out here, the patio door slid back. I looked over and it was my brother walking out. He held two bottles of beer in his hands. He swaggered his way over to me, handing one of the beers to me.

I thanked him for it, and he sat down on one of the patio chairs that was next to me. He was still in his work clothes, but he wasn’t wearing the suit jacket. His button-down shirt was untucked, and he didn’t have his dress shoes on. Instead, he wore slides. He had stress written all over his face. I could tell that something was kicking his ass by the way he drank the beer.

“What you got going on?” I inquired.

“Man, what I don’t got going on? Mya pregnant again,” he responded, confirming the suspicion that our mom told me earlier in the kitchen.

“You a grown man. You know the price that comes with fuckin. What ya’ll going to do?” I asked him.

“Shit, what we’ve been doing with the last three. We going to see it through,” he said, and I nodded.

“Why you sound down about it though? I thought you wanted more kids,” I announced.