Page 2 of A Boy is a Gun: Part I
I don’t understand the logic, but I’m giving her space. I put her through a lot, and I will ask for forgiveness for the rest of my life. I’m willing to do just that. I can’t worry about that now. Our daughter is just minutes from being born, and that’s all my focus.
I thought I would miss the game, but I didn’t. Once I got out, it seemed to be in the nick of time. The pandemic made people angrier and hungrier for violence and power. These new cats don’t respect what the old heads did to pave the way for them.
Now, they want the dope and money. They couldn’t care about respect.
They won’t last long, but I know it’s not my problem now. All the politicians have made cute efforts to clean up the crime, but we all know that’s talk to get donations and votes. Atlanta is gearing up for a bloody summer, and none of that will make a difference.
It’s gotten to the point where even Que has stepped back along with everyone else in the Administration. They had to refocus their attention elsewhere and out of state where there were no enemy ties. Whatever is going on now on the streets has nothing to do with us.
Me, I’ve made a lot of smart investments in the city and worldwide. I invested in Lenox Square mall and rebuilt it. I also became an angel investor in many start-ups. My frequent flyer miles are going crazy with all my trips to Silicon Valley.
There’s plenty of money to go around in my family, and everyone is well taken care of. Taylor and Mia will be specially provided for. Mia is already listed as a beneficiary in damn near everything, and so is Taylor. I do right by mine.
And if the feds want to get happy, I also moved a sizable amount overseas where no one can touch it except Mia. They couldn’t come after Taylor if they wished to, and knowing those assholes, nothing is off-limits.
“You’re doing so good, baby,” I kiss Taylor’s head as she falls back on my chest. She’s focused, and she’s ready for this. I’m more in love with her now than ever, and I can’t wait to be home with just the three of us.
Taylor went Pinterest-crazy with the baby décor, and Mia’s nursery is a blend of Architectural Digest and Harlem-inspired artwork. The blankets and sheets are the best money can buy, while pictures of Dinah Washington, Lena Horne, and Ella Fitzgerald hang over the bassinet.
Lamont would be proud.
She worked up until the contractions started and then went home. When we finally realized it was time to go to the hospital, we had a whole escort there. Tay thought I overdid it with the SUVs following us, but I wanted no reason why she couldn’t deliver safely. We also had a backup doctor on standby, just in case.
The doctor instructs Taylor to give one more big push, and she does. She bears down, grits her teeth, and grunts. Within seconds, Mia is here.
“There’s my niecey!” Hayley squeals as she focuses more on the baby. She refocuses the camera back on Taylor, who is leaning against me.
“Why isn’t she crying?” Taylor asks with an exhausted, whispery voice. “She’s supposed to cry.”
“Give her a minute,” the doctor instructs as they clean her off and suction her nose. A loud, unmistakable angry cry comes from Mia. “She has healthy lungs.”
“You did it!” I kiss Taylor’s forehead and watch the doctors clean Mia off. Her cries are music to my ears. “We’re parents, Tay!”
“We did it,” she breathes out, “we did it.” She looks up at me and smiles. “A new beginning.”
Taylor meant us being parents but little did we both know it was something completely different.
~~~~~
Social media completely blew up.
With the announcement of Mia’s birth, Taylor and I became instant celebrities overnight. The alt-right assholes used Mia’s birth to declare there was no way my parents could be racist. The Black community online used the birth as a reason that they knew I was down.
The reaction Taylor received was interesting. Half the people congratulated her, while the other half made snide remarks about her somehow putting her father’s legacy to shame. She ignored all of it.
We spent the day alone, just the two of us. No family and friends photo-ops. We both knew that once we went home, there would be a non-stop, endless barrage of people in and out for the first few weeks.
My mother offered to step in and be Grandmother of the Year. I can’t say she’s using this to build her social profile, as she’s always doted on my brother’s kids. But we all know it’s a particular case when there’s a biracial baby.
It screams Celebrity White Mom Adopts Black Baby aesthetic.
The same goes for my father. He leans so right, and he’s practically in a circle. He’s always one post away from wearing a hooded white sheet. It’s a fine line he and the rest of the conservative wack jobs walk on very well.
I know he’s waiting for the right moment to post Mia and shut everyone up. With election season and everyone gunning for a midterm seat, my father needs every chance he can get to help him win.
I’ll let him post Mia, not because I want him to win but for my interest. His colleagues are some of my best clients.
I’m out of the street game, but I’m not entirely out of the dope game. Too many rich white people want the best coke, heroin, and pharmaceuticals money can buy. People in Congress are the worst offenders. And believe me when I say it’s always the ones no one expects.
