Page 49 of This: Blake & Emon

“Exactly, blah blah blah is exactly what it was, a bunch of yapping. We were on bullshit then and now we not.” Taylor shrugged like that was the end of it.

“Speak for yourself. I was never on bullshit about him. When he came to drop the couch off, I heard him running game in her ear. Always knew he was gon’ have my girl head gone,” Paige added with a nod. Blake laughed because Paige was absolutely right. She hadn’t been in her right mind since. All her thoughts went to him. It didn’t matter what was going on. Her man was her focus and how he made her feel alive, desired, and important.

“And do. Lunch on me also,” she said, dropping the stack of money on the table. “Hell, all day on me. Get some.”

“Get some what?” they asked in unison.

“Some money. I can’t do anything with all of it, and he acts like I’m broke or something.”

“Will you please enter into your soft life and let us live vicariously through you? Getting on my nerves,” Paige fussed.

“Facts.” Taylor grabbed some bills. “Your man wants you taken care of. Let him do that.”

Blake watched her friends divide up the money, thinking about how different life was now. From questioning Emon’s character to planning their future with four kids, from fighting his generosity to sharing it with her girls. Life and love was a rollercoaster. She promised herself from that moment on she would buckle up and enjoy the ride with her man, friends, and family by her side. This is what growth looked like, learning to accept the good things and the good people that life put in your path.

Chapter 21

Two Weeks Later

Emon was surprised by Jacques’s work ethic. The boy showed up every day like he had something to prove, hustling with a quiet intensity that reminded Emon of himself at that age. But there was something else—an unspoken weight that Jacques carried, one Emon understood all too well.

One night had turned into two weeks. Their guest had been with them since he’d dropped Jacques and his siblings off at his mom’s house, and it was time to address the elephant in the room: Pilar.

“Ja, let me holla at you really quick.”

Jacques wiped his hands on the apron tied around his waist. “Yes, sir?”

Emon leaned against the counter, arms crossed, his expression serious but calm. “I know you keep ducking the question about ya moms, but we gotta go handle that. I can’t have my mama low key kidnapping y’all and shit.”

Jacques’s face hardened. “Sir, we don’t wanna go home. You see she don’t even care.”

Emon rubbed his jaw, trying to temper his frustration. He got it. He really did. Pilar wasn’t winning any awards for Mother of the Year, but Vicey wasn’t in a position to play permanentguardian either. She’d been more than generous, taking in four kids, making them feel safe, even turning her sewing room into a bedroom for the girls, but this wasn’t sustainable, and Emon needed Jacques to see that.

“I know, man,” Emon said carefully. “And I ain’t tryna get rid of y’all, but we gotta figure something out. Vicey’s holding it down, but she’s not young anymore. You feel me?”

Jacques’s hands balled into fists at his sides. “Nah,” he said, his voice low and sharp. “It feel like you tryna get rid of us.” He yanked off his apron and tossed it on the counter, then turned and stormed out of the pantry.

“Shit,” Emon muttered under his breath and followed him. Jacques moved fast, but Emon’s stride was quicker. He caught up just as Jacques reached the back door.

“Yo, hold up!” Emon called, his voice rising. Jacques stopped but didn’t turn around.

“What?” Jacques spat, shoulders tense.

Emon stepped in front of him, forcing the boy to meet his eyes. “You think I’d be breaking my back, making sure y’all good, if I didn’t care? That’s how you feel?”

Jacques hesitated, his jaw tight, but his silence spoke volumes.

“I get it,” Emon continued, his tone softening. “I know what it’s like to feel like nobody got you. But don’t put that on me, Ques. I’m here. I’m doing what I can, but you gotta meet me halfway, bruh. We can’t keep running from this. We gotta holla at ya mom.”

Jacques’s eyes darted away, but Emon could see the crack in his tough exterior.

“You don’t understand,” Jacques mumbled. “She don’t want us. She ain’t never wanted us. You make us go back and she just gon’ leave again.”

Emon’s chest tightened. He stepped back, giving them some space. “I hear you. I do, but running fixes nothing. It only prolongs the inevitable. If she ain’t gon’ step up, we need to know that so we can figure out what’s next. You gotta trust me on this.”

“She don’t care. You know that. She don’t even know where we are. We ain’t on no milk cartons, no Amber Alerts, nothing. She may not even be home.”

“Exactly,” Emon said firmly. “That’s the problem. She don’t even know where her kids are, and you think that’s okay? She needs to know what’s up and what’s gon’ happen next.”

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