Dallas lifted her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. It’s not Duke. It’s definitely not Tristan.”
“How do you know?” Blake asked. “It’s not like Fun Killer wasn’t living a secret life for years.”
Waving a dismissive hand, Dallas said, “Yeah, but he’s not the one who would have a kid without being involved. Look at Raven. He’s a very devoted father to her.”
My niece, Raven, hugged her father. “Right? I’m surprised you haven’t mentioned one very important Young.”
Oh, shit.
“You’re right, niecey.” Dallas folded her arms over her chest. “And it’s curious that he’s not here.”
“Asa!” Ma shouted. “Come here.”
Growing up as the youngest of the group, I’d grown accustomed to slipping under the radar, hiding in a corner while the room buzzed around me. But Ma had always seen me. She knew shit I never wanted her to know. It was a gift that she wielded with precision, with no apologies.
As much as I tried, I couldn’t get away with anything. Not with her. Sometimes she’d let me know she was on to me right away. Other times, she would let me figure my shit out. Either way, Ma never let me escape accountability. When I failed, she didn’t always save the day,butshe supported me through it.
“Son, don’t make me come out there,” she warned.
It was my fault. I should’ve walked my ass out of the house instead of ear hustling at the door. Because this was a conversation I never wanted to have. Not with her, not with anyone. Especially not in a room full of people. And Dallas.
Peering up at the ceiling, I blew out a slow breath, sent up a silent prayer, and walked into the room.
“What’s up?” I asked no one in particular.
Ma approached me. “You heard.”
“Dex got some random woman pregnant and Charlye ran into them in the mall?” I shrugged. “That’s all I got.”
“I know you lyin’,” Blake said.
Ma glared at Blake. “I got this.” She turned to me. “Babe, I’m not even going to address your sorry recap of events. I know Dex doesn’t have any kids. You know Dex doesn’t have any kids. What I don’t know is . . . Are you somebody’s daddy?”
The room descended into awkward, tense silence. A stark contrast from a few minutes ago. I met the waiting gazes of all of my siblings as I considered my next move. Lying was an option, but . . .
“Probably,” I admitted.
My mother sucked in a deep breath, placing a hand over her heart. “Oh my goodness.”
Dad frowned. “Explain yourself,” he commanded. “Because I can’t understand how you could be a father and not take care of your kid.”
The weight of his disappointment felt like a slap, and I took a reflexive step back. “That’s not what I said.”
“Thenyoutell me what you mean when you said you’re probably someone’s dad,” he pressed.
Before it was popular, my father taught me to stand on business. Which was why I made it a point to keep my movements to myself. I kept my relationships quiet. I never brought a woman home. It was common knowledge that my sisters talked too much, so I didn’t share. Other than the obligatory glimpse into my life to sell my business and the occasional picture on one of my friends’ pages, nothing about my life could be found on the internet either.
I liked it that way.
My parents amassed a fortune teaching others how to stay married and parent their kids. They were lowkey celebrities with money, influence, and power within our community. But they never let that keep them from being active, involved parents to us. Basketball, baseball, track, football, music, dance, karate, sword fighting, rock climbing, junior chef challenges, cheerleading competitions . . . Every day, no matter what they had going on professionally or personally, they showed up. We ate breakfast together every morning, took family vacations, played family sports, and had movie nights. Education was important to them, so they taught us things that would improve productivity, increase our emotional intelligence, and develop perseverance in the face of adversity.
Of all the lessons they taught, though, the one that resonated with me most occurred after I broke the news to my parents that I wasn’t going to college. Instead of forcing me to see things their way, he asked me to help him build a new deck off the back of the house.
That summer, we drafted a layout, applied for a building permit, prepared the site, dug holes, poured cement, built the frame, and installed the deck flooring. Then, we added stairs and wrought-iron railings. Finally, we sealed the wood with a protective stain. For three weeks, we talked while we worked. Just me and him. I didn’t realize what he was doing until we had our first cookout on the completed deck.
Success starts with a strong foundation.
Plan your approach to avoid wasting resources and mitigate setbacks.
