Page 1 of It's Love I'm After

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CHANIYA KATIA O’NEAL

The O’Neal Chat

Nana: Ain’t that boy too old for a rat party? Y’all need to stop being so cheap.

Kenyatta: And is. I keep telling Niya she gonna turn my little nigga into a pussy.

Nana: You better mind your mouth, Kenyatta Jenkins.

Turquoise: Leave my baby alone. He can go to Chuck E Cheese as long as his heart desires.

Gina: Tuh. I bet I don’t keep coming to see that fake ass rat with dingy clothes. Niya needs to stop with the bullshit. Oops, sorry, Nana.

Nana: I see you heathens are gonna make me break out the Dial.

Kenyatta: I’ll be cool, Nana. Too much Dial growing up is why my left eye is lazy, and my mouth stays diving into a random chick’s pu—never mind.

Turquoise: *laughing emoji*

Gina: *slaps forehead* I hate you, Yatta.

The family group chat has been buzzing since I sent the message about having Caleb’s fifth birthday party there. Unbeknownst to them, I had already told my baby this would be his last party at Chuck E. Cheese. I wish I could say I didn’t see being a single mother in the future, but I had two things working against me. I come from a generation of women who are single mothers. The second thing is that too much alcohol had me dropping it low and spreading it wide. Here I am, a thirty-two-year-old mother of a son whose father is as much of a mystery as whoever my father is.

It’s crazy that I got pregnant after attending a house party for fraternity and sorority people when I only had a high school diploma. Yet, my dumb ass let my excitement over being invited to the frat party take me out of my head. Now, I’m trying to overcompensate with Caleb because I slept with three men at the same time and have no clue which of them is the father. To make matters worse, all three of them have become ghosts because I haven’t seen them since that night. However, Caleb will never feel his father's absence because I will always make things shake for him.

My guilt over being too drunk to stop the reckless sexual encounter is also a constant reminder of my baby being without a male role model. My cousin, Kenyatta, isn’t the person to give Caleb good advice because of how he lives his life. Kenyatta has babies all around the city and baby mamas popping up like dandelions in Nana’s yard, so I limit Caleb’s time with him. I don’t need Caleb picking up any of what Kenyatta is putting down.

*bzz, bzz*

Nana: Ms. Chaniya, we’ve been chit-chatting, and you ain’t said anything yet. Where are you, girl?

Kenyatta: Probably hiding, Nana.

Turquoise: Or ignoring us like I would be doing because y’all are so out of pocket today.

Nana: Ain’t nobody ask you to open those loose lips, Quoise.

Turquoise: You got it, Nana. See y’all at the party.

Chile, I’m ignoring y’all because there isn’t a single reason for me to chime into this foolish conversation. Nobody is paying for a thing, yet everybody’s mouth is running. Rolling my eyes, I exit the family group chat and lock my phone.

*zzt, zzt, zzt*

“If this is one of my cousins calling me with mess, I’m hanging up. I ain’t got time for the extra today. None of their asses is about to ruin my baby’s day,” I rant when my phone rings before I can set it down. A smile upturns my lips when I see the name flashing on the screen, causing me to quickly answer. “Hey.”

“Ain’t nobody calling for you. Where is my baby? I want to sing to him before the party,” Isis asks.

Isis Toles is one of my best friends and has been for as long as I can remember. She was with me the day I found out I was pregnant and has been holding me down since. It never fails that regardless of what I plan for Caleb’s birthday, Isis calls to sing to him beforehand. She says she likes for him to know how much she adores him without all the pomp and circumstance of the party attendees.

“Hold on.” Pulling the phone away from my ear, I place it on speaker before calling my baby. “Caleb! Caleb!”

A bright smile slides into place when I hear little feet rushing toward me, causing me to turn to see the little person capable of brightening every day for me.

“Yes, Mommy,” Caleb says, stopping in front of me.

Staring into the brown orbs of my toffee-skinned son causes warmth, butterflies, and adoration to flow through my body. Caleb stands before me in an all-black short set with black tennis shoes. The little waves in his freshly cut hair and the earring resting in his right ear remind me of Kenyatta’s light influence on my son. Kenyatta takes Caleb to the barber shop so I don’t have to do it. Kenyatta claims that mothers complicate things in a barber shop, so Caleb would be better going with him instead of me. After a draining back-and-forth conversation, I gave in and let Kenyatta have the task for now. Kenyatta is also the reason Caleb has an earring in his ear, and I nearly burst a vessel in my eye upon seeing it after one of their barber shop trips. I have gotten used to the adornment on my baby, only because Caleb loves it.

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