“You don’t need to be concerned about how I talk to my sister. This conversation ain’t got shit to do with you.”
“Anything concerning my wife has everything to do with me. You taking your anger and frustrations out on the wrong people, my nigga.”
“Whatever.” I walked away, headed inside the house, then grabbed my keys to my bike. I felt fucked up for talking to my sister like that. She didn’t deserve that. Just because I was pissed off about all this shit didn’t mean I could use her as a punching bag. I knew my sister. She was someone who looked outside of the bigger picture, loved hard, and wanted to believe that Nich wouldn’t betray me like that. She wanted the baby to be her niece more than I wanted to be a father, so I couldn’t be upset with her for staying in contact with Nichelle until she knew the truth.
I wondered if that was another reason why I couldn’t connect to the baby Nich was about to bring into this fucked-up world. That little voice in the back of my mind that always told me Nichelle cheated on me the night I went rogue had been a constant in my mind, as well as my passing this disease to my daughter.
Instead of hopping on my bike and leaving, I went out on the front porch and just sat there. Everything inside of me wanted to go find that bum-ass nigga and take his fucking head off, but in all honesty, I couldn’t be mad at the fuck boy. Nichelle had to have kept him in the dark about the extent of our relationship. There was no way he felt it was cool to touch her and give her pet names and shit while I stood right there in his face.
This shit was on Nichelle.
She allowed him to think it was okay for him to be touchy-feely with her, and I was never a dumb nigga when it came to using discernment. They fucked, and the baby could possibly be his.
I sat out on the porch for hours, just thinking and drinking. I knew Nichelle had the baby by now because my phone was going off with alerts from her family. I didn’t bother to open any of them, because I was sure they were wondering where I was.
When I felt like I was at my limit, I capped the bottle just as the front door opened.
Kenzi stepped out and sat down beside me. I looked over at her with her solemn face and slid my hand in hers, interlocking our fingers. She laid her head on my shoulder, and I sighed to release the tension in my chest.
“I’m sorry,” I told her. “I didn’t mean any of that shit I said to you. I was just speaking from a place of hurt and couldn’t control it. You ain’t deserve that shit. I don’t think you pity me, Kenz.
“I just think you love people too hard, and that becomes a big problem. If I ask you to do something, it’s for a reason.”
“I know, Ghana. I know. But she seemed good to you—for you. The only reason I was truly invested is that she’s carrying your baby.” I side-eyed her. She laughed. “You don’t know if it’s not your baby, brother.”
“She cheated on me.”
“You don’t know that either.”
“That time I had an episode, she left the house and was gone all night until the next night. I was feeling fucked up because I was really trying to control myself, but I couldn’t. I didn’t say shit before, but she grabbed me, and I hit her by mistake. I was feeling fucked up, so I left her alone, but I knew she would come back. I set the house up and bought her a few gifts, but when we had sex, she felt different.”
“Guys can tell?”
“Fuck yeah, we can. I ain’t trying to go into detail with you about that, so ask your man about the difference. Anyway, that’s when I started questioning a lot of shit. I ain’t trying to deny my kid just because I’m scared to be a father. I’ve been trying to mentally prepare myself for this day, but no matter how I feel, I ain’t no fuck nigga. I take care of my responsibilities. Shit, I took care of you. The only difference is that you weren’t a baby, and I ain’t your father.”
“I understand that, Ghana. I just don’t want you to count the baby out yet. Let’s just go to the hospital and see for ourselves,and if you feel like you can’t see her, then I’ll do it. I know what to look for.”
I debated whether I should. I knew what she was talking about. There was a set of three beauty marks on the right side of our jawline and one under our eye. My grandma, Zuri, had it; Ashanti got it; Kenzi and I got it too—same spots, same sequence. Ma Zuri said it was inherited from our great-great grandfather. She said it was the mark of the Yoruba tribe of West Africa. Aside from the beauty mark, our distinct features couldn’t be mistaken.
I didn’t want to feel the disappointment, the betrayal, the pain of finding out she didn’t belong to me.
“I can’t do it, Sis. I’ll crash.”
“Okay, you don’t have to, . . . and I’m sorry too. From now on, let’s not say things to each other that will hurt us. We all we have, Ghana, and I love you more than anything.”
“I hope not more than me,” Ruger said from behind us.
I shook my head. “Yo’ ass stay eavesdropping.”
“Gotta make sure you don’t fuck up my painting.”
I frowned as I looked up at him. “Fuck you talmbout, Ru?”
“Your sister is my Mona Lisa, . . . my muse.”
“Bye, man,” I said, shaking my head at his ass and standing.
“Y’all ready to go see baby girl or what?” he asked.