“Oh! I have to call Joyce!”
Joyce was my aunt… and unfortunately one of the nosiest fuckin’ women alive.
“I gotta tell her immediately! And don’t touch my food while I’m gone!” Mama said while hurrying toward the kitchen.
The second she disappeared around the corner, the room got quiet again.
I looked over at Pops.
He still hadn’t said a word; he just sat there calmly sipping his whiskey with the same unreadable expression he used during business negotiations and funerals.
“Pops… say something,” I finally said.
“I suppose congratulations are in order.”
I frowned slightly. “So… you’re not mad?”
“Mad?” He scoffed, softly. “Hell no.”
He set his glass down slowly.
“Like your mother said, I don’t particularly care how the child was conceived, as long as the kid arrives on time for me to step down.”
I laughed under my breath.
Of course… somehow this still circled back to business.
“So, are you even alittleexcited that you’re having a grandchild?” I asked out of genuine curiosity.
“Of course, I am.” His expression sharpened immediately afterward, eyes narrowing just slightly. “The real question is, areyouexcited about having a child?”
That question wiped whatever mask I’d been wearing clean off my face.
“Yeah,” I answered, but even I could hear the doubt bleeding through. “Why you ask?”
He leaned forward, elbows on the table, fingers steepled. “When you were explaining everything just now—andthat 'yeah' reply you just gave me—you didn’t sound thrilled at all, you soundedconflicted.”
See... always observant and reading between the lines I didn't even know I was writing.
“Talk to me,” he added, his tone softer but no less demanding.
I leaned back in my chair slowly, jaw working. “It's the surrogate.”
His eyebrows lifted. “What about her?”
“I don’t trust her. Then again, I don’t trust a lot of muthafuckas.”
Pops nodded. “Facts. But keep going.”
“I just don’t know if I trust her enough to carry my child. Maybe I’m overthinking it, but something about her feels… off. Every instinct I got keeps telling me to watch hercloser.”
“Do you need me to step in?” he asked calmly.
That was the scary thing about my father. In the face of chaos, he never exhibited panic, there were no frantic questions or emotional outbursts, just a calm resolve to find solutions.
I shook my head. “Nah, I got it.”
Pops studied me for a moment longer, before giving a slow nod. “Well, regardless of how you feel, remember, this is still the woman you’ll have to marry.”
