Page 12 of About the Green

My brows pinch together on my forehead, as I try to recall the previous times I’ve brought this up to Redd. “And how is that?"

He gestures to me. "I mean, you look like... I mean, do you know how you look?"

"No, I don't know how I look,” I grumble, brows furrowing more. “You pissin’ me off, for real.”

He laughs again but doesn’t elaborate, instead changing the subject to one that I’ve been avoiding. “Well, I asked you about three weeks ago if I could take Gracie to the zoo with me and Lav. You said you talked to Marissa about it…”

Sitting up a little taller, I say, “And I did… She said no."

“The fuck, bruh? Man up and tell her I want to hang out with my little buddy. She don’t even have to do anything. In this economy, she can’t turn down a free babysitter.”

Marissa and I are amicable, but I respect her decisions when it comes to my daughter. She knows too much and if pushed could do damage to, not only my reputation but, Dupont as well. Her allowing Redd to see Gracie in the first place only came after her own acceptance of the situation. It’s that fire that drew me to her, but now I see how fierce and determined she can be when it comes to our daughter. I’m not butting against that for another man. “Yea, I'm not gonna tell my baby mama to do anythin’, you understand?"

"No," he says, shaking his head. “I’m not even a problem. She's trippin’.”

It's then that my phone rings, and, as unusual as it is for just about anyone else in Dupont, I actually keep my ringer on so I know when I'm getting a call. It could very well be my baby moms, or it could be my daughter wanting to talk. I'm never going to cut off access to her if I don't have to.

Despite what this life will give you, I still am hoping to strive for normalcy for my daughter, which is why I want to keep the relationship with her mother as amicable as possible.

She wants for nothing, needs nothing, because I provide for her.

Do I live in the home with Gracie?

No.

Do I visit her at every opportunity I can?

Hell, fucking yea. I’m at the crib whenever I’m not working on something.

And that's why going to Georgia is tearing me up a little inside, but I can't help that.

This is the job.

This is the life I signed up for, and I'm going to make as much lemonade as I can with the lemons I've been dealt.

The phone buzzes in my hand. I don't recognize the number on the receiver, but I pick it up anyway. Anyone bold enough to call me is bold enough to get an answer.

“Yea,” I say into the line.

At first, all I hear is a little bit of heavy breathing.

"Who the fuck is this?" I question.

"What are you wearing?" a feminine voice asks. It takes me a second to register whose voice it belongs to. I don't think I've ever heard it sound this way.

"What the fuck? What do you want?"

More panting, “Tell me what you're wearing. I'm really close."

Pulling the phone from my ear, I check the number again. I save it quickly. I don’t want any more surprise calls from the likes of her. “Close to what? The fuck are you doin’? Stop playin’ on my phone."

There’s a sharp inhale, then, “Oh, I'm playin’, but it's not with—it's not on your phone,” she giggles breathlessly.

I pause at the whiny quality of her voice.

Is she?

I know she didn't just call me while she's...