Page 60 of Saint Baptiste 2

But this year, I ripped the bandage off. Felt like it was time. I had a massive following out here. They were constantly asking me if and when I would make Detroit a stop. Since it was my hometown, they couldn’t understand why after three years, and two years of touring I hadn’t stopped in Michigan. I told them enough. Didn’t need to tell them everything. Even with the self-discovery and acceptance, vulnerability was a struggle for me. Even still, five years later. The thing about people, growth, self-love, and all of the things about healing, is that there is no quick fix. Growth happens in layers.

Two hours later, the retreat came to an end. After eight hours, of working the room, I was drained and couldn’t wait to get off my feet. As soon as I walked behind the curtain, it was into his arms. As always. My husband was always the first person I saw at the end of every single show. Yes, my husband. I didn’t wear the white dress. White dresses were for decent, pure, wholesome women. I might’ve changed, but I would always be too much of a freak to ever think a white dress would be suitable for me. I wore champagne. I had three kids that drove me crazy every chance they got, but I loved them with every ounce of love I had in my body. Was sure I would love the one growing in my stomach the same. We didn’t have the white picket fence. I thought they were ugly, remember? Our estate was surrounded by a black iron gate.

At the start of every set, I looked forward to the end, for this moment specifically. Should’ve looked forward to the crowd. Should’ve looked forward to the pictures. But I didn’t. I wasn’t afraid to admit it neither.

He pressed his lips against my forehead, and I wrapped my arms as tight around his waist as my growing belly would allow. With my eyes closed, I pressed the side of my face against his chest and listened to the sound of his heart. Steadied my breathing and just... listened. Waited for what I knew would come next. It always did. Never took long. Didn’t matter if either of our hearts had been racing before we collided, the minute we did, they eventually thumped in sync, never took more than twenty seconds.

Today it took twelve. And then... we floated.

The floor, the walls, the people, and everything around us ceased to exists. Zero gravity is what I looked forward to at the end of every show. Zero gravity with him. Sienna said the fall would be beautiful. She said I would do it fearlessly.

The way she described it.

The way she described this...

My God. Experiencing it, and hearing about it were two completely different things. I wondered if my fall had been so beautiful because of how long it took to get here. It didn’t take that long. Long enough. Just took a little while for me to see that he wasn’t the same man. Not even remotely close. I couldn’t see, because... I couldn’t see. The minute I was able to open my eyes and take in that beauty he wanted me to see, I realized Saint wasn’t too late. He was just too early.

SAINT

“Wipe your face, slow down and tell me what happened.”

Semaj, my four-year-old son wiped his frowning face with his hands, took a deep breath and said, “Nami keeps taking my stuff and?—”

“And when we talked about Nami last week... what did I tell you?” I asked, referring to his one year old sister.

His face dropped and his eyes lowered to the floor. “Eyes on me, Semaj.”

Again, he sighed. But then, he lifted his head and put his eyes on me. “That Nami is only a baby. She don’t know any better yet.”

“Right. For now, share with her. When she’s old enough, she’ll learn how to share better, alright?” I said with a nod.

“Okay, Papa.”

Papa. That’s what he called me. That’s what they called me. All three of my children. And when the fourth one was born, I was sure they would call me Papa too.

Semaj ran off to play on the slide with his brother and cousins. I rested against the gate with my arms crossed over my chest, with a smirk. I could only imagine how much of a headache Nami was going to be for him once they grew older. They reminded me of Tasha and I. The way she used to take all of my shit and annoy me. She used to get on my nerves the same way Nami got on Semaj’s. Crazy how one second, I would be fussing at her about fucking with my shit, and later that night getting yelled at by Samuel for sleeping with her because she was afraid of the rain. Wondered if he would make pinky promises with Nami the way I did with Tasha.

Every now and then, I still had to make a pinky promise with her and were grown as hell with families of our own. Tasha was... she was good. Wiser. More of a grown ass woman now at, thirty-two than she thought she was at twenty-six. Age had nothing to do with it though. Maturity came from listening. It took a minute but eventually, she got it right.

I shifted my eyes away from Semaj to put them on Tasha and her two. She was standing behind moms, braiding her hair, while she sat and played with Saint Jr. She was good. Smiling more. The kids made her happy, so we made sure to keep one in her lap. Because she needed to be around people, she stayed with Jahad. They had relocated from Michigan and moved to Houston. However, everybody was here in Florida with us, for the baby shower. Naoki was thirty-two weeks pregnant.. due to deliver our little boy or girl July 30th. We’d decided to keep this one a secret since the last three weren’t.

“Still can’t believe this nigga got all these fuckin’ kids,” Emu said with a smirk. “Shit crazy.”

“Hell yeah it is. He on his daddy daycare shit tonight,” Blaise added, with a laugh

Niggas had been at me about the same shit for four years straight. I let ‘em have it. I loved it here. Hell yeah I was running daddy daycare. Had three with one on the way. I knew it was all love though. They were just in as much amazement as I was. Not about the life. About the kids. About the fact that the nigga they used to call Baby Saint had a Baby Saint and this bitch was flooded with Baby Baptiste’s as Emerald would say.

Business with her was the same.

Except we had expanded and collaborated a little bit too. The Honeycomb problem she wanted to kill me over? I handled it. Years ago, shortly after, The Black Effect event. After I dropped Dion off, I promised to leave a review. However, I didn’t do it through their website. I called the number on the invitation Emerald gave me and left a review there. The agency Jackie hired her through was linked directly to them. I picked that up when I checked Dion’s picture on the profile Jackie sent over. Not only were the names, ‘The Colony’ and ‘The Honeycomb’, similar as fuck, they used the same bee logo, and typography.

Easy. Didn’t have to put in much work. I paid attention to detail...remember?

Once I exposed the flaw in their system, I requested a meeting to discuss how we could make both companies better. That made Emerald happy. She forgave me for all of the bullshit I put her through.

“Hell yeah I am. I love this shit too nigga. Ain’t nothing like giving the wife a break. You wouldn’t know shit about giving ‘the wife’ a break though now would you nigga?” I joked.

Shifted my eyes to B to watch that vein in the middle of his forehead damn near pop. Niggas loved to fuck with me about having three kids back to back, and I liked to fuck with him about what he had going on. Same shit. Different type of situation. A little wilder but... it was the same shit. Blaise was Blaise and always would be Blaise. However, tonight, my comment might’ve hit a little different. Felt like it had. The vein in his forehead didn’t even bulge.

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