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Yeah, aiight. I heard this before, I think as I decide to ask her more ’bout this baby proposition she hit me wit’ earlier. She sounds like she has shit in perspective, but what happens after she gets pregnant—if she can even get pregnant? I’m not sure if I’m really entertainin’ the idea or not, but it does have me curious. I wanna know if I agree to it and don’t want any ties to the child, what guaranatees do I have that she won’t try to drag me into court in the future? Or what if I wanna be involved in my child’s life, then what?
“I won’t put your name on the birth certificate. And I’ll have legal papers drawn up to absolve you of any financial obligations. And if you wanted to stop seeing me, I’d understand since it may be
an uncomfortable position for you.”
Would I wanna stay in her life? My child’s life? Yeah, we have a great time together. Yeah, the sex is great. Yeah, she’s attractive and smart and financially well-off. Yeah, she seems emotionally stable. But, is she the kinda woman I’d want to be the mother of my child? Is she the kinda woman I’d want to be tied to for the rest of my child’s life? I honestly don’t know.
For some reason, I’m startin’ to feel sick, and wish I wouldna brought the subject up, again. Sittin’ here thinkin’ ’bout this— fifty grand or not, I don’t think I could go through wit’ it. I’m sure she’d be a great mother, and do a great job raisin’ it on her own. And I know wit’out a doubt she’d give our…I mean, her child, the best of e’erything. But would that be enough? What happens when he or she starts askin’ questions and wants to know who their father is? What is she gonna tell ’em? Yo, son, ya father’s dead? I don’t know who the nigga is? He was some bum muhfucka who didn’t wanna be in ya life? He was some good dick I paid to knock me up? Or would she end up marryin’ some nigga who raises him or her as his own? Fuck that! A child should have its biological father in its life, too. I never really gave havin’ a child any serious thought ’til today. Hell, I never really thought ’bout anyone other than myself. I know you are not capable of loving anyone more than you love yourself. Her words play in my head. I am capable. Or am I? Hell yeah, I am. I just haven’t been willin’, big difference, right? Then why does what she said have me feelin’ some kinda way?
“So does this mean you’re considering it?”
I shrug, takin’ a deep breath. I can’t wait to get the fuck home to blaze! That’s what I need to get my mind right. “I don’t know. I haveta definitely give it some major thought before I agree one way or the other. That’s for sure.”
“And you should.”
I stare at her. “So what happens if I say no?”
“Then I guess we keep doing what we do until I work out an alternative plan, or find a suitable donor.”
“I feel you. Well, I don’t wanna get ya hopes up.”
“Trust me, you won’t. It was only an idea. Whatever you decide is fine with me. I’m giving myself five years to be pregnant, so I have more than enough time to figure it all out. Who knows, Mr. Right may find his way into my life and sweep me off my feet. In the meantime, are you available the week of February tenth, or not?”
I pause for a minute, tryna remember what day we’re leavin’ for All-Star. The twelth, I think. “Nah, I’ma be in Phoenix that week. How ’bout the week after?”
“That works for me,” she says, markin’ it in her calendar. She slips it back into her bag.
I smile, pourin’ myself some more green tea. I raise my cup. “To good times and good fuckin’.”
She raises her cup of sake. “Exaaaaaaactly.”
I glance at my watch, then lick my lips and slowly pull in my bottom lip. “So dig, baby…you think we gotta ’nough time to get another round in before my flight?”
She eyes me seductively, flaggin’ the waiter. “Check, please.”
29
“I’m soooooo sorry to hear about your grandmother, baby. And I apologize for leaving all those nasty messages. I was wrong for that. When you weren’t at the airport and then didn’t pick up when I called you, I started thinking the worst. I thought you were ducking me.”
I’ve been back from L.A. for almost three days—ten grand richer, I might add—and this is the first time I’m actually speakin’ to Vita. For some reason, hearin’ her voice is already startin’ to get on my fuckin’ nerves. I take a deep breath, slowly blowin’ it out. She’s been goin’ on and on ’bout how fucked up she feels ’bout comin’ outta her neck sideways. And of course, I make her feel even more guilty doin’ it.
“Never that, baby,” I tell her, rollin’ my eyes. “But I’ma keep it gee. I was kinda fucked up for a minute hearin’ those messages. I was like, ‘oh shit, I forgot to hit Vita up.’ I had so much on my mind wit’ my grandmother dyin’, I couldn’t think straight. We were really close so…” I pause, frontin’ like I’m tryna keep from breakin’ down. By the time I finish givin’ her my sob story of losin’ my grandmother and bein’ all fucked up over it, boo-hooin’ ’n shit, I’ma have her offerin’ to cop me another plane ticket to ATL. Listen, think what you want, but would you rather I hurt this Potato Head’s feelin’s and tell her that I wasn’t fuckin’ beat for her ass, that’s why I didn’t come through? Y’all muhfuckas need to get over it. I’ma do what I do, regardless.
“…Umm, listen, this’s been hard on my whole family, feel me?”
“I feel you, baby. I feel so bad, though. I wish there was something I could do to help you get through this.”
“You understandin’ and bein’ here for me is more than enough,” I tell her, grabbin’ my keys and headin’ for the door. I’m meetin’ Akina at the Jersey Gardens Loews over in Elizabeth to check out that flick Body of Lies—wit’ Leonardo DiCaprio and Russell Crowe—and if I’m lucky, I can get her to slide her hand down in my sweats and play wit’ my balls durin’ the show, then drop down and bob up ’n down on this dick. “I’ma hit you wit’ some paper for that ticket as soon as—”
“Oh, no,” she says, cuttin’ me off, “that’s not necessary. I called American Express and they took care of it for me. I got a full refund for the ticket. When you didn’t show up at the airport, I called them right then and told them that there had been a family emergency, even though I didn’t know there was.”
“Oh, word? So you lied to ’em? That’s wassup.”
She laughs. “Well, yeah…I guess. But it ended up being the truth, so I didn’t really lie.” If you say so, I think, wonderin’ how many other muhfuckas she’s sponsored, then had to call her credit card company and lie to ’em when the nigga didn’t come through. How many of ’em did she haveta call, screamin’ for dissin’ her. More than she’d like, I’m sure. “I still hope you can forgive me for going off the way I did. I know this is probably not the right time with you just getting back and all, but I really wanna see you. I’ve been missing you. So whenever you’re ready to get away, let me know.”
See. What I tell you? I smile. “Baby, I’m ready now. I really wanna see you, too. But my paper’s kinda low.” She cuts me off— as I knew she would, tellin’ me I don’t haveta worry ’bout money; that she’s gonna get the ticket; that she wants her box rocked bad. “Damn, you really know howta fuck a nigga’s head up, baby.”
“I really care about you. And I’m always thinking about you.” I shake my head. “Don’t worry,” she says, gigglin’ like some silly-ass bimbo. “I’m not gonna ask you to marry me or anything like that.”
