Page 89 of Honey's Special Roux

“Hey, Quis.”

“Hmm.”

“I have something to tell you,” I continued.

Quis looked at me with curious eyes.

“I’m your dad.”

Quis looked between the two of us before he looked at his mother for confirmation. Honey nodded.

“It’s true. Mr. Marquise is actually your dad,” she confirmed.

“Most daddies always live in the house. Where were you?” Quis asked.

I nodded. “I was in a lot of trouble, which caused me to be away from you for all those years. I promise I won’t miss another thing.”

“Are we going to be a family?” Quis asked.

I smiled. “I hope so.”

“Do I call you daddy?” he questioned.

Honey spoke up. “You can call him whatever you are most comfortable with. He will be around as much as his schedule allows, and one day, we may all live in the same house.”

“Okay.” Quis returned his attention to the array of food in front of him.

Kids had it easy. He accepted me as his father and went back to stuffing his face. The relief I felt was unlike anything I’d ever felt before.

The high of getting shit in order with Honey and Quis had me elated. I felt like I was immortal. I could do whatever I wanted. I had a few more ends to close before I could really walk in my purpose, but I was ready to be the man both of them deserved.

* * *

It took Merlot a few days to get back to me. I didn’t mind the wait. When he finally sent the text to pull up, I wasted no time hopping in the whip to meet him.

“What’s up, nephew?” Merlot asked as I entered his office. He had a cigar burning in an ashtray with a glass of brown liquor in his hand. Knowing him, it was probably aged scotch or something along those lines.

“What’s good, Unc?” I dapped him up before I claimed the seat across from him.

“I saw the handiwork you did a few days ago. You won’t have to worry about the police because I got a young nigga taking the rap for both bodies.”

I nodded. “I appreciate you.”

“You know shit between us is squared. You got the nigga who killed my sister, and I’m forever grateful for that.”

I shrugged. “Listen, it was a personal vendetta for me. Chandler was a bitch ass nigga who needed to be dealt with. No questions asked. I’d do the shit again if I had to.”

“Luckily, you don’t have to. I heard about your son, and I see you’re fighting back against generational trauma. Stay on the straight and narrow for him.”

“Definitely. Honey has already done an amazing job raising him. I’m just here to add a patient and caring father figure.”

“Don’t raise him to be a mark though.”

“Never that. My boy will have the street smarts without the pain and suffering. He’ll be able to live his best black boy joy, while also knowing how to defend himself in the streets and suburbs. Shit is scary to think about, but I’d go to hell or jail before I let anything happen to my son.”

“That’s what I love to hear.”

We chopped it up for a while longer.

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