Page 47 of Mahogany 2
“How much time you got to spare today?” She asked, before groaning to sit on the couch. “I wanted to talk to you about something before you left.”
“I got a lil time,” flicking my wrist, I checked my watch. “I was going to head out around six thirty.”
She nodded. “Okay. Just so you know… my son and Justin will be here in a bit. I want to talk to?—“
“Who is Justin?” I asked.
She waved me off with a laugh. “Oh Lord. Y’all haven’t been introduced? I’ll do all that later. You don’ seen em. At the hospital. At the viewing. You’ll know ‘em when you see em. They coming by in a minute. I want to talk to all three of y’all at thesame time. And you know what?” She paused and whispered, “I was thinkin we could tell her today.”
“Tell her what?” I asked, with furrowed brows.
“About you. I can’t stomach telling her about her momma just yet.” She shook her head and looked away, the pain she was in evident in the wrinkles on her face. “I still can’t believe I buried my daughter. She was supposed to bury me.” She got choked up, cleared her throat and took a deep breath. “God knows best though, huh?”
I shrugged. “Don’t get me to lying, Ms. Rochelle.”
With dipped brows, she sized me up. “What that supposed to mean, son?”
I shrugged again. “I don’t know if I agree with that statement.”
I didn’t. There was a lot of questionable shit going on in my life. Hell, a lot of questionable shit had gone on in my life. I didn’t know if God knew best. If He was responsible for the events that transpired in my life, I’d say He didn’t. What was the purpose to Him giving me a fucked-up father to grow up without? What was the purpose behind me and Ne becoming teenaged parents? Facing all of the trials and tribulations we faced? And this… what was the purpose of this? I didn’t think God knew best. Not all of the time. Bold statement to make after I just asked Him for guidance and strength huh? That was the way things were. I went to Him for help after He’d hit me with a curve ball. Sometimes, it was as if God as an egotistical asshole, for real. No disrespect—that was just the way I saw it.
“Mm, mm,” Ms. Rochelle groaned. “Gone on and see your child before I get to preaching up in here, Ducati.”
I laughed at her calling me by my full name. “Alright, Ms. Rochelle.”
Taking the short trip down the hallway, I made it to the back of the house where Diary’s little bedroom sat. It was a littlecluttered, since Ms. Rochelle had all of Diary’s things from her house moved over to this one. She needed a bigger space. It was clear that the bedroom back home must’ve been bigger. I could barely move around the room without having to step over toys, and boxes.
“Hey Diary,” I spoke, finding her in bed, resting against the wall, digging into a bag of Cheetos, watching her iPad.
Looking up at me, she smiled. “Hi, Duke.”
Duke.
If Ms. Rochelle decided to tell her today, I wondered if that would change. If she’d end up calling me daddy. Was I even ready for that? For another child to call me daddy? Was I even ready for Ms. Rochelle to tell her?
Dragging my hand down the back of my neck, I let out a sigh. Shit. I wasn’t. I wasn’t quite ready for this dynamic to change. I was cool with her calling me Duke. Was cool with us building on our relationship. But she was almost three and I couldn’t wait forever. Eventually, she needed to know. I just wasn’t sure if I wanted the day to be today.
“What you watching?” I asked with a grunt as I sat down on the short toddler bed.
Looking around the room, I sighed and shook my head. Ms. Rochelle was doing the best that she could, but something needed to change. Diary couldn’t live like this, with shit everywhere. It was bad. But Ms. Rochelle only stayed in a ranch style house with two small bedrooms. It was so small that she didn’t even have a dining room. I wasn’t the richest nigga—not by far but the crib I stayed in was more than tripled the size of hers. Looking around made me wish I could take Diary in. If the circumstances were different, I would have.
Stroking my beard, I wondered how Ms. Rochelle would feel about moving. Like I said, I wasn’t the richest, but I could help out with moving them into something bigger if she was open toit. I wondered how it was looking back at Erika’s crib and if she would be open to moving there. The wheels in my head were turning like crazy because my baby girl was crammed up in a bedroom the size of two small closets and I wanted better for her.
“Blippi,” Diary said with a smile, and a mouth full of Cheetos.
Spark used to be crazy about that Blippi nigga.
I smiled and scooted back on the bed, sitting beside her, against the wall, watching the iPad too. “You like Blippi?”
“Uh huh,” she mumbled before chowing down on another chip.
I tossed my head back against the wall with a laugh when she put her wet cheesy hand on my leg, dirtying my pants. Before I left the crib, I changed out of my work clothes, so I had on a fresh pair of grey Nike sweats, covered in Cheeto cheese. Instead of tripping about it, I let her hand sit there.
She was warming up to me. Last week she wasn’t as comfortable. A couple of times, she ran out of the room to her grandma. I wasn’t as comfortable neither. Any time I’d enter her room, I sat at the edge of her bed, quiet, asking questions every now and then if she let me. We were warming up to each other so hell naw I didn’t trip about the cheese. I was just happy my daughter was touching me instead of running away from me.
My daughter.
Shit was crazy.
