“Daddy, are you listening to me?” my daughter whined.
“Yes, Junie, I am, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to get your way,” I responded knowing damn well that she was going to get her way.
We were in the mall, at her insistence. In Finish Line, also at her insistence. We were allegedly just coming in here to see how this pair of rose gold 11s looked on her feet, not for her to try to talk me into spending damn near $200 on a pair of shoes for the second time in a few months. She’d already gotten me for a pair of the Season of Her Js that she just had to have. Because I was a sucker and her mother was immune to her charms, she knew this little trip would end up working out in her favor.
“I thought we were supposed to be bonding, babygirl,” I said before signaling to the kid hovering not too far away that he could ring me up for the shoes.
His eyes lit up at the thought of the commission as I ran my fingers through my locs on a sigh. This little girl had gotten me once again. I was just glad she was actually willing to hang out with her old man, even if it was under the guise of bonding that was clear manipulation. I’d heard of most little girls becoming nightmares for their parents as soon as the clock struck twelve on the year in which their ages ended with teen, but so far—three years in—Junie was still my darlin’ babygirl.
She turned to me wearing the sweetest smile and replied, “We are bonding, daddy. And rather splendidly if I do say so myself. I mean my love language is receiving gifts and you just bought these for me, so I’d say we are killing the daddy daughter bonding thang in these streets.”
I couldn’t do anything but laugh as she removed the shoes from her feet, placed them in the box and we walked toward the cash wrap. The aforementioned salesman already had us all rung up and he was just waiting for me to insert my card and sign to complete the transaction. After we finished ringing out, and that lil nigga had the audacity to try to flirt with my babygirl in front of me, we headed over to Junie aka Quincey Junior’s favorite restaurant, Wildfire. She was clearly all about going deep into my pockets tonight, but I wasn’t fazed. We were celebrating because for the sixth semester in a row, my girl had brought home an all As high honor roll report card. As long as she kept working hard and bringing home all As, I had zero problem spoiling her, much to her mother’s chagrin. But Charity had learned to stop trying to regulate how Junie and I bonded pretty early on. She insisted that I spoiled Junie, but I countered that I was just rewarding excellent behavior. The problem was that money was no object when it came to my baby, but Charity was so damn frugal that trying to get something extra outta her was like squeezing blood from a turnip. Since Charity was the full-time custodial parent, Quincey Junior to had to deal with her tightfisted ways for a long while until she learned that she had me wrapped around her baby finger and started using her powers of manipulation for good.
Both my mother and Charity consistently reminded me of how much of a sucker I was and also said setting Junie up for unrealistic ideas of what it meant for a man to be in her life, but they were trippin’. My baby had every right to be expected to be treated like royalty because that’s what she was (no hotep) and she needed to remind every single one of these knuckleheads out here that if they couldn’t put in the effort that her pops put in that they might as well hang it up.
“Dang, daddy, your phone is blowing up,” Quincey said, as we drove over to Wildfire. I’d left my phone in the car while we were in the mall and came out to it buzzing nonstop. I picked it up to see who was trying to get in contact with me, but the screen was filled with a bunch of notifications from Instagram, which was strange. I only had an account to keep up with the moves Junie was making online, so I had no idea why my notifications would be going off crazy style. Whatever it was could wait, however, because nothing was more important than spending time with my babygirl.
Much of dinner was spent with Junie filling me in about the goings on in her school life and the lives of her friends. On the one hand I felt honored that she was comfortable enough to talk to me about her peers, but if I had to hear one more so funny story that wasn’t that funny at all I’d be ready to dig my ear drums out with the salad fork. After dinner and to-go dessert, we were headed to drop Quincey back off at her mother’s house with intentions of picking her up in a few days, so we could travel to go see my parents who had moved South to avoid the harsh winters of our home state. As I was dropping Quincey off, my phone rang and according to the dashboard it was my boy Ant. I should have known better to answer the phone through the car with Junie sitting here, but I went ahead and answered it anyway.
“Aye nigga who is this fine hoe that tagged you on IG callin’ you her future baby daddy?”
“Say what?” I asked.
“Bruh, Bree tagged me in some girl’s photo asking if it was you she was talkin’ bout in the caption. Shorty bad as fuck, bruh. If you ain’t getting on it, I am definitely bout out slide head first into them DMs like ay yooooo.”
“Hey Uncle Ant,” Quincey chirped.
“Aw shit, dawg. I forgot you had Junior with you tonight. Hit me later, nigga,” Ant said, hanging up before I could respond.
I guess that’s what those Instagram notifications from earlier were about, I thought as I picked up my phone to investigate whatever Anthony was talking about. Before I could navigate to the app though, Quincey had grabbed my phone from my hand, protesting against me texting and driving. Instead she let me unlock the phone while she did the Instagram investigation. Navigating through my notifications to the photo in which apparently tens of people had tagged me, Quincey came upon the picture in question. We were stopped at a light when she turned the phone, so I could view the photo. As soon as I saw the photo, a grin spread across my face as I remembered the absolutely breathtaking sista who had almost made me miss my damn stop on the train this morning as I tried to covertly check her out while not seeming like a creep. As keyed into her as I was, I was shocked that I didn’t even remember seeing her phone being out, nor that she was taking a picture in which I was caught in the frame.
“Ohmigod daddy, my new stepmommy is gorgeous,” she squealed, damn near bursting my ear drums, “You totally gotta slide in her DMs before Uncle Ant does, daddy. You want me to send her something?”
“Pass me my phone, little girl. Stay in a child’s place,” I said, trying to sound stern, but failing miserably from laughing.
“One sec, daddy,” Quincey said, before handing my phone back to me.
When I looked at it, I saw it was still on the picture of the beautiful stranger, but my eyes immediately locked onto a new comment posted in the thread from me that was simply the emoji eyes.
“Really, Junebug?”
“Aw c’mon daddy. Where’s your sense of adventure? I know you and Sheila aren’t together anymore and this lady…she’s a glo-up, daddy. Especially compared to Sheila.”
She tried muttering that last line under her breath, but I heard her loud and clear. Sheila was an on again, off again…friend of mine. I hesitated to give her the title of girlfriend because she and Quincey Junior never managed to get along. At first, I thought Junie didn’t like her because she wasn’t used to seeing me around any woman who wasn’t someone to whom we were related, but I soon discovered that Sheila had a very condescending way of dealing with my babygirl. And, while she and I had no beef, I couldn’t abide by her and my baby beefing. So, when it came down to it? Sheila had to be dismissed.
"So, you drop the creep eyes? Damn, you couldn't make me even slide into her DMs like a respectable thot?"
"Daddy, please. One, you're not a thot. You're a catch. And secondly, you gotta make your interest known publicly. You didn’t see the rest of those thirsty ni...men with comments talkin' about what they would do to her since you were so oblivious."
"You're a little too invested in this Junebug. What's that all about?"
"I just...daddy's gotta have a life too, right? Mommy and Chuck have been married for years, but the only person you were remotely halfway serious about was unsuitable and unstable."
"Damn, babygirl tell me how you really feel?"
"I'm just saying, daddy. This Juju lady could be The One."
"And what exactly do you know about The One, young lady?"
"Enough to know that you've been ducking and dodging her like you owe her money. It's been time for you to settle down, daddy-o."
"You're killing me here, kid. But if she is The One, that doesn't explain why you got me out here on my creep steez?"
"Leaving it up to you, your corny behind would have slid into her DMs mad proper on some 'excuse me queen...' notep adjacent mess. I'm keeping you current, old man."
"Yeah, yeah...tread lightly, lil girl."
Quincey flashed her trademark, double dimpled grin and winked.
"I'm just sayin, daddy..."
After dropping Quincey off, I headed home to unwind and catch the last couple of games in the season before NBA playoffs. My boy Russ was on the verge of averaging a triple double for the second season in a row, which was insane. That man was a beast, easily my favorite active player in the league. Tonight, he and OKC were taking on the Grizz. I got home, grabbed a brew from the fridge and plopped down onto my couch ready to settle in for the night when my phone chimed with an unrecognized tone. I picked it up to see if that shorty replied to the comment that my presumptuous child saw fit to send. Nothing from her, but there was another interesting reaction to that photo that made me navigate from Instagram to my texts.
You callin' me a bum ass baby daddy?
My phone chimed with a response immediately.
Calm down, negro. I just warned the girl not to let the pretty face fool her. - Case
Damn, it's like that, baby mama?
You changed my name from Charity Case in your phone yet or nah, baby daddy? - Case
I chuckled because in a fit of petty when I felt like she had her hands out a bit too much beyond the court ordered child support that I was paying, I'd changed her contact info to read Charity Case instead of her government name of Charity Jacobsen. I eventually got over it but jokes trump facts, so I kept her in my phone simply as Case. It became a nickname of sorts, much to her chagrin.
Touche. You ain't have to blow up my spot like that tho.
Yeah yeah whateva. You'll be aight. - Case
I hesitated before sending my next message. Although Charity and I had been together officially for less time than it took to gestate Junior, but we did have our fair share of...difficulties before we got to our current state of peaceful co-parenting. Admittedly, I wasn't the best father...or man for those early years, giving both my baby and her mama the runaround as I tried figuring out who the hell I was. We got pregnant with Quincey at a young enough age for me to still be out in the streets looking for the next best thing, but at an advanced enough age that I should have gotten my shit together immediately and manned up. It took a few years, but eventually I got it together. Those years of game playing, however, led to a massive amount of strain between Case and I that had honestly only been resolved in the past few years.
...so you know shorty?
Really, Q? You that hard up that you need your baby mama to hook you up?
Nevermind, Case...
I'd just have to get to know more about her on my own.
“Aye bruh, you j down on shorty yet or nah?” Ant asked as soon as I emerged from my car.
We were out at Pembroke Park for an early hoop session before I had to head in to the shop for the day. Originally, I was supposed to be off today, but I decided to pick up a few extra hours to offset the unexpected extra money I’d spent on and put into Junior’s pockets.
“Good morning to you too, Anthony,” I replied on a chuckle.
“Nigga, since when are you Miss Manners? Did you slide or nah? Coz if it’s fair game…”
“Now you know damn well Nina would beat your ass—again—if you even thought about tryna slide anywhere but right beside her ass on the couch to watch this week’s episode of Scandal. Relax.”
Ant gave me the middle finger but didn’t refute my claim. He and Nina had been together as long as Junie had been on this Earth and this negro still kept tryna play games with her like he was really going somewhere. Despite sticking with Ant this long, Nina had no desire to tether herself to him permanently by means of marriage and as much as he hated to admit it, I knew it had him tight. So, Ant would talk mad shit about leaving her and finding someone else, but he never exactly seemed to follow through on any of that talk. And all this talk about him sliding in ol girl’s DMs was nothing but that…talk.
“So you tellin’ me you ain’t said shit yet, got it,” Ant replied, dribbling and throwing up a quick shot.
The ball bounced off the rim and I snagged it from mid-air, dribbling a couple times before throwing up a shot of my own.
As the ball cascaded through the net, I said, “I said something…well…kinda.”
“What’s kinda nigga? Either you did or you didn’t.”
“Well…” I hedged and told him about Junie leaving the comment under the photo on my behalf.
“You know, you really need to establish some firm boundaries between you and Junebug, Q. You got your daughter shooting your shot for you? And you let a weak ass emoji be the only thing you said? Wow, I thought I taught you better.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. I know after you finally got rid of Sheila’s clingy ass you got on your eat, hoop, work shit, but bruh…it’s time. And shorty is wide open. Nigga she called you zaddy…you know the shit is real when they spell it with a z. Do better.”
The earnest look of disappointment on Ant’s face made me break down laughing.
“Man, you so ignant. Eat, hoop, work, really?”
“The nigga equivalent to that white lady’s search to find herself. Great film, honestly. You should watch it, you could learn a lot,” Ant deadpanned.
“Why do I even talk to you?” I asked, shaking my head.
“Because beyond your mama, Charity, Junior, and Jesus, I’m the only one who’ll put up with your moody ass.”
“Man, whatever, we hoopin’ or you wanna stay in the feelings circle a little longer?”
“Check up, nigga.”
After a couple games of one on one, we parted ways and I headed home for a quick shower before heading down to Holt’s. I hadn’t been working there long, but so far, so good. I was referred to this job by my boy Prentiss who was the operations manager. The shop that I’d been working unexpectedly shuttered, Prent came through right on time with this opportunity. I was still in my probationary period, but I definitely saw myself at this joint for the long haul. Unlike the shop I worked at previously, this one had a good group of guys that I didn’t mind being around for up to twelve hours a day, some days. The owner, Karim, ran a tight ship, but was also a fair boss. He’d stepped back from the day-to-day operations a lot, leaving Prentiss to make sure things flowed smoothly. And as a former Navy guy, Prent definitely kept us running like a well-manned oiled machine.
When I walked into the shop today, it was quiet…despite loud ass Darrell being on the schedule for the day. I nodded to him before heading to the back to put my stuff in my locker and change into my coveralls. I checked the work orders and saw we had a fairly light day ahead of us so far, with a couple of oil changes and a busted starter that needed to be repaired. I had grabbed one of the oil changes to get started but was stopped by Prentiss and told to attend to the car with the starter issues since it was a VIP and the owner of the car was due to be picking it up in a few hours.