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“Put it up, and later on today, ask your grandma if she can take you somewhere to spend it,” I told her.
She ran to the back room, and I walked further into the house, where I spotted Denim in the living room with the physical therapist. While the therapist was packing her things up, Denim was sitting on the couch, doing leg exercises. She was about seven months pregnant, but her stomach wasn’t huge or no shit like that. She did her therapy in a Nike sports bra, which showed off her baby bump, and she had on some black tights. Her dreads had been pulled up into a bun.
When she saw me, she didn’t even speak; instead, she just went back to doing her leg work, like I wasn’t even standing there. Denim knew what I was there for, and that’s why she looked away. Looking at Denim, I swear, a stranger would think that this woman was so fuckin’ innocent, and she was everything but that. She eventually stopped with the leg exercises and slowly tried to stand up from the chair.
“Sit down, Denim. Rest your leg for about twenty minutes. We did a lot this afternoon, and I don’t want you to overwork your leg. With the little one that you are about to have in a couple of months, trust me, you are going to need all the strength in your leg that you can possibly have,” her therapist told her.
She was a white woman who looked to have been in her late twenties or something like that. Denim didn’t respond; however, she did follow her instructions. Her therapist spoke to me, and then she announced to Denim that she was leaving, and she would be back in two days. The moment I heard the door close, I walked further into the room and took a seat on the couch.
“If you were going to come over here, don’t you think you could have at least brought my daughter? I haven’t seen my baby in almost a week, Billion. I’m not even trying to pick a fight with you, but I think you and your wife done forgot whose Khari’s real mother is. You got her around that bi—”
“Yo, watch your fuckin’ mouth! That’s what the fuck I’m over here for in the first place. For whatever reason, in your sick ass head, you done convinced yourself that my wife is the fuckin’ enemy when that ain’t the case at all! Yo, when you was in a coma, Normani stepped the fuck up when it came to Khari. A nigga never asked her to do that shit; she just did it on her own. She was playing stepmama when we wasn’t even married yet. Show her some fuckin’ respect, man. You act like I got Khari over there with somebody that’s fuckin’ abusing her and disrespecting her. What the fuck is wrong with you? I would think that you would have woken up and become somebody who it didn’t take a fuckin’ headache to be around!” I spat, looking at her with disgust as I waited for her to respond.
The disgusted look came from this moment feeling like part two of when she and I were in the parking lot at my grandmother’s birthday party. I thought I would have been over this shit, but I wasn’t.
“It ain’t nothing wrong with me, Billion! Your wife thinks that she’s Khari’s mother, and she isn’t! The way you just came over here and checked me, you need to be doing the same fuckin’ thing to her! What happened between her and me the other night is no different than what happened between you and Reggie when you gave Khari candy after he told her that she couldn’t have any. I told Khari that she couldn’t get her hair wet. Your wife’s excuse was everybody else was in the pool, and they were getting their hair wet, it’s summer break, and oh, she washed it, so I guess she expected me to be okay with it because she washed it!
“That shit don’t fuckin’ matter, Billion! I’m her parent! She isn’t! Ain’t nobody about to be having a fuckin’ say-so when it comes to any of my fuckin’ children! The same way you didn’t let another nigga dictate some fuckin’ rules when it came to Khari, then please keep the same energy when another female tries to dictate some shit about my fuckin’ kid!” she spat, and then she slowly stood up from the couch.
I rubbed my hands down my face, trying to take into consideration that this was a pregnant woman, and I should probably have some respect for her, but shorty made that shit so fuckin’ hard to do.
“Are you seriously trying to stand your ass here and compare my wife to a nigga who was responsible for you shitting in a bag for three months? Shorty, it ain’t no fuckin’ comparison! You was fuckin’ that nigga. That’s the only title you had. The situation that I have with Normani is very fuckin’ different from what the fuck y’all had going on because, in the eyes of the law, my wife is Khari’s stepmother. I just think that because you know deep down that fuck nigga is Khari’s real father, you feel the need to take up for him. I don’t give a fuck whose nut entered you and swam to the egg first, that’s my motha fuckin’ child.
“As long as my wife ain’t putting her hands on Khari, as long as she ain’t telling her no foul shit, then I’m going to allow her to parent her in any fuckin’ way she sees fit. You dead ass standing your ass here mad because Khari got her hair wet when you were on the phone cursing and shit at your own child, something that the woman you hate so much doesn’t even do! Normani will talk shit to me if I even curse in front of one of my kids. I tolerated yo’ slick ass mouth for years Denim. Get your shit together, ma, because I ain’t going to be coming down here every other week and checking you about some shit,” I let her know.
I stood because she had her daughter in the back room, and her mama was back there too, so I didn’t want to be doing too much. Well, doing any more than I’d already just done.
“As soon as I get a little better, I plan to move anyway. I’m moving to Georgia,” she said.
“Let me know when you get there, so Khari can have your address,” I told her.
“Nigga, I’ll be taking my kids with me,” she barked.
I ran up on her ass, getting right in her face.
“Denim, shut the fuck up, yo, because you making yourself sound like a bitter ass bitch right now! All of a fuckin’ sudden, you want to move to Georgia? You a grown ass woman. If you want to move, then move, but my daughter is not going no motha fuckin’ where! You ain’t ever in your fuckin’ life expressed any interest in moving somewhere, but now, all of a sudden, you want to be on some bitter shit and take my child away from me! Fuck you, yo!
“In the past, I watched how I handled you because I know the kind
of petty ass woman you are, and you would try to keep me from my daughter. Shorty, I make legit money now. I can prove to a court that my daughter has multiple rooms to choose from in that big ass house. I don’t look forward to stepping foot in a courtroom because that shit just brings back fucked up memories for a nigga, but just let me know the kind of time you on, because I’ll go to war for my kids,” I barked.
Denim didn’t say shit else. She just sat her ass back down on that couch, and I turned to leave. On my way out, her mama was standing right in the hallway. From the look on her face, I could tell that we’d woken her out of her sleep with our bullshit, and she was trying to piece together what had happened between her daughter and me. Once I left, I was sure Denim would tell her side of the story.
Denim was so motha fuckin’ toxic, yo. I forgot the way her mouth could get under a nigga’s skin. In the past, I would always be going toe to toe with Nesha. For so many years, Nesha had a lot of resentment toward me because she had been hurt for so long. With Denim, we were never in a relationship or no shit like that, so we rarely had any differences back then.
Sidnesha had moved in with her new nigga, and shorty was happy. My son liked the dude that Nesha was with, so that was all that mattered to me. I couldn’t wait for Denim to find some fuckin’ happiness or something because I could see a nigga just spazzing the fuck out on her ass one day.
7:55 P.M.
“Baby, I’m soooo happy for you,” my wife cooed as she sat next to me in the booth inside this nice, fancy pizza restaurant down on Miami beach. Her arms were wrapped around my waist, and her head was leaning on my chest as she looked up at me and puckered her lips, so I could give her a kiss.
I did just that, with my hands on her stomach, rubbing it as my daughter kicked like she was playing soccer in there. My kids were sitting on the other side of the table from us, and they had their own little thing going on, talking to each other while digging into their pizza. Normani had a rule that we couldn’t have our phones or any other electronic devices when we were at the table. So, she’d confiscated everybody’s shit and had it in her purse until we got back in the car.
It was my victory dinner, and I had talked about wanting steak and lobster, but my kids wanted pizza. You see how life worked when you became a parent? Normani was at the table with me, still in her work clothes, because she’d gotten off a little later than usual tonight. She still was so fuckin’ beautiful, though, even with her low eyes because I could tell how tired she was. This was the same woman who was up at four every morning and never complained about doing that shit either.
“Thank you, bae. I appreciate that. How many rounds you giving me tonight?” I asked, and she laughed at my question.
“Baby, you better hope that I don’t ask you to carry me out of here. I’m so tired,” she whined.
