“Put these up on display for me, please,” I told Lyric while handing her the stack of jeans I was working on.
She okayed me, and I slipped out to the back where Ahk was. “The fuck is you telling me right now?! That was the fucking agreement!” he jeered. Whoever was on the other end of the phone was catching his fucking wrath.
I stood behind him, not knowing if it was in my best interest to intervene. “You fucking told me if I paid for your rehab, you would sign the house over to me! Now you talking about selling?! I don’t fuck with people playing in my motherfuckin’ face!
“Don’t fucking worry about it! I’ll get the fucking house whether you give it to me or not! You just went against me, and ain’t no fuckin’ coming back from that!” He banged the line before dropping his phone back into his pocket.
I stood behind him, watching as he heaved out deep breaths with his fists clenched. Ahk remained chill for the most part, but whenever he got pissed, it was best to steer clear of him. I took a step forward and set a gentle hand on his back. “Baby, what’s wrong?”
He finally unclenched his fists before running his hand down his face. I made my way around him and cupped his face. “Talk to me. Who was that on the phone?”
“My pops.”
“He’s out of rehab?”
“Yeah, and he’s trying to sell my mama’s house.”
I came from a troubled household, while Ahk had something completely different. He grew up with love and was nurtured byboth parents until his mother lost her battle to breast cancer. His father grieved the loss of his wife so much that he slipped into depression and suffered from alcoholism. I’d watched firsthand as Ahkeem tried to get his father the help he needed. Kareem, however, felt like he had nothing else to live for. His wife was gone, and Ahkeem and his siblings had grown up and built their own lives. The only comfort he got was from the bottle, and it was slowly killing him.
“What? How? He specifically asked you to pay for his rehab treatment in exchange for the house.”
“He played in my fucking face, Jazzy.” He slammed his fist into his hand.
Ahk genuinely wanted to help his father. I remembered the day we almost rode past him while driving through Brooklyn. He hit the brakes so fast and did an illegal U-turn to get to his dad. Alcohol had completely taken over Kareem’s life, and Ahkeem tried his best to make him realize that eventually he would die if he didn’t get the help he needed.
That night, Ahk sat on the curb for hours listening to his father vent and cry about the loss of his wife. He begged Ahkeem to get him into rehab because he no longer wanted to be a disappointment to his deceased wife. They agreed that Ahkeem would pay for his rehab in exchange for his childhood home.
Ahkeem had been trying to get ahold of his father for months so he could obtain ownership of the home. It was the only thing he had left of his mother, Julianna. She bought the house after she received the pay out on her own mother’s life insurance policy after she died of brain cancer. No one would have fucking expected six years down the line she would have been diagnosed with breast cancer and passed away from it. She never got the chance to get her affairs in order. If she had, she would have left the home for Ahkeem and not his father. From what Ahk told me, his father was never responsible, and his mother knew that.She loved that house and would’ve wanted it to remain in the family.
“Maybe you just need to pull up on him and talk?”
“The nigga been out of rehab for a month now, and I can’t fucking catch him. The one time he calls is to find out if I can give him my mom’s death certificate so he can sell the house. All that love shit go out the window when a motherfucka’ get to playing with me, son,” he fumed in frustration.
I soothed him by rubbing my hands along his chest. “Don’t worry about it. I can have our family lawyer look into it.”
He looked into my eyes, and an instant calm washed over him. “Fuck this shit,” he mumbled. “I’ll handle it with the lawyer.”
We made our way back into the shop, and Saphir sprinted right over to us. Ahkeem chuckled as he lifted him up. “Let me guess. You ready to dip, huh, Blue?”
“Yes!”
“I told you once Daddy was done with his phone call we could leave.” I smoothed my hands over his fresh set of straight back.
“Can you make tacos again? You make them so good, Jazzy.”
“Baby, that’s one of the only things I know how to make,” I laughed, prompting Ahk to bust out laughing.
I appreciated how he never tried to force me into being someone I wasn’t. From the beginning, I told him I wasn’t a domesticated woman, and I barely knew how to make a house a home. He accepted that and not only taught me things throughout our relationship but never made me feel like shit when I made him tacos four times out of the week. My husband was really made for me.
We made it back to our penthouse, and I got started on the tacos while Saphir played the game with Ahk. I appreciated the little family God blessed me with, especially after all the trauma I experienced during my childhood. I always felt like I wouldalways be clinging onto Priest and the family he created with Britain, but God saw it fitting for me to have my own as well.
After I finished cooking my infamous tacos, I made the boys’ plates before we ate together on the couch while watching some cartoon Saphir picked. “Taco Bell really don’t have shit on my baby,” Ahk teased as he downed his last taco.
“You think you’re so funny.”
“I’m dead ass. These joints fire as hell. I clean my plate every time.”
“Yeah, you better.”
