Chapter10
Entry #: 175
Mood: Bloated
Title: I found love
Craving: S'mores
As of today, I am six months pregnant. Never knew time could move fast and slow at the same time. Having Russell here has been a big help. I don’t know what I would do without him. I feel like we’re finally moving forward from the scandal. The first few months weren’t easy. I didn’t trust him at all. But he’s showing me different. He’s been to every doctor’s appointment, every birthing class. I kind of think there are two of him. The thing I’m most proud of is him owning up to his mistakes. He held a press conference and publicly apologized to his now ex-wife and introduced the world to his son. The DNA test proved him to be the father. I know most people wouldn’t take him back, but I know he wouldn’t hurt me again. I can honestly say I’m happy.
###
Entry #: 204
Mood: Fat
Title: Tired of being pregnant
Craving: Chinese Soul Food
I don’t know if Chinese soul food is even a thing, but somebody needs to invent it. Baby boy is getting heavier by the day. I feel like he’s gonna be 20 pounds. God I hope not. Everything’s going well. Baby boy is healthy. We don’t have a name yet. Russell wants him to be a junior. Ha! I think not. I wish I could see him. Is it bad that I want to know what color his skin is? I don’t care, but if he’s leaning toward my side that’s bragging rights forever. Unless he looks like his dad. I hope he’s competitive like me. Only two months to go.
###
Entry #: 220
Mood: Nervous
Title: Meeting the parents
Today has been seven months in the making. I guess it would be normal if me and Russell weren’t about to have a kid. I hope my parents like him or at least are cordial with him. I spent the last week prepping them. They know about the scandal so there won’t be any surprises...on either side. Side note: I literally don’t fit in any of my clothes and I just went shopping last month. Bigger belly = bigger baby. At least my baby boy is growing. If I don’t make it out of my parents’ house alive, this is my last will and testament. I want everything to go to Olivia. I’m thinking too hard. Everything will be fine. Right?
###
Russell’s hand in the small of Nariah’s back comforted her, allowing her to embrace the cool breeze swirling around her. If the day’s temperament was any indication, the meeting would go well. The sun was out, birds singing its praises, love on display—people holding hands, sneaking quick kisses, men carrying their women across puddles, producing smiles just as wide.
When she turned around, she was greeted by a slightly more aged version of her face. “Hey Mama.”
Tyra skipped over her daughter, her eyes drawn to the handsome man standing next to her. She wiped her bangs out of her eyes, erasing any sign that she was impressed. “So this is him?”
“Hello to you too,” Nariah returned. “His name is Russell and yes, this is him.”
Tyra responded by turning her back, leaving the door open for them to walk through.
“Is that good?” Russell asked.
“She didn’t insult you, so I’d have to say yes.”
Inside, the traditional Jamaican spices scented the air. Curry powder, ginger, an assortment of peppers, and turmeric tickled their noses, Russell, unused to the combination, blinked the tears out of his eyes. An inhale too deep conjured a deep cough.
“I hope that doesn’t mean you don’t like spicy food,” Tyra teased from the kitchen.
“I’m confident in saying we have two definitions of what spicy is.”
“That’s fine. I brought plenty of milk. Nariah, go say hello to your father and brother. They’re in the basement watching the game. Russell, are you a basketball fan?”
“Yes ma’am. I was on the team in high school.” He kept his eyes moving from the sculptures surrounding the room, feeling Nariah’s stare threatening to melt his skin.
“You’ll fit right in.”
Nariah stopped at the top of the stairs, turning around to face him, holding onto his shoulder for support. “You never told me you played basketball.”
“I didn’t say I played. I said I was on the team. The father of your child was the leading bench warmer.” He ignored her punch to his chest, holding her waist as she descended into the darkness.
“That better be my baby girl or you’re liable to get hit with something that ain’t nice.”
“It’s me Daddy,” Nariah confirmed. She hobbled past her brother, greeting him with a slap on the thigh before throwing herself into her dad. “Never thought the day would come when you couldn’t fit your arms around me.”
“That’s only because I don’t want to crush my grandson.” Maxwell quizzed her on her diet as he had done each time they spoke. Unlike Tyra, he directly acknowledged Russell’s presence, introducing himself and Jacoby.
“Nice to meet you sir.”
“There’s no need for that, call me Mr. Alexander.” After getting his amusement from Russell’s shock he said, “I’m just kidding, call me Maxwell.”
“Call me Mr. Maxwell,” Jacoby said, shaking his hand.
“Butthead.”
“It’s just a joke sis, geez.”
“Did your mom ignore him?” Maxwell asked.
“You know she did. She likes him though. Their first conversation went well.”
A yellow light beamed into the room as Tyra opened the door. “Ten minutes, start washing up.”
Not needing to hear anything else, Maxwell and Jacoby raced up the stairs, Jacoby pumping his fists in victory. “Ha, I get the big piece of chicken.”
Nariah allowed the silence to linger, using it to observe one of the most prominent places of her childhood. The basement represented the transformation into the woman that now stood in it. It was her first gym. Where she learned to channel her anger into motivation to better herself. Where she learned to love herself. In it, her dad taught her the definition of hard work. It was also where they bonded. It was the place where she found her inner strength. The basement also held significance in her heart because it was where she first explored her sexual desires; the site of her first kiss, her first time having sex, her first time fucking.
“Hello,” Russell waved his hands in front of her eyes, “earth to Nariah.”
“My bad, what’d you say?”
“I didn’t say anything. A lot must have happened down here,” he guessed.
“How’d you figure?”
“You zoned out for like ten minutes.” His kissed the center of her cheeks. “You’re hot when you’re in airhead mode.”
“Shut up. There won’t be too many of those moments. I’m not a blonde.”
“Thank God, had too many of those in my day.” He pulled her into him, swaying her to the music in his head. “I hope you’ll tell me about it.”
“If you’re a good boy.”
Tyra’s voice ruptured through them, Russell jumping back as if she were standing right next to him. “You better get up here before Maxwell and Jacoby eat it all.”
Though minimal words were said, the conversation was lively, grunts signifying agreements, moans equaling compliments, histrionics denoting whether to pass a dish or water. Russell was right in assuming he wasn’t ready for Jamaican heat, his skin resembling the colors of the cayenne pepper he consumed. He hadn’t managed to take three bites before asking for a glass of milk.
“Come to me whenever you get sick. I have a combination of spices that’ll clear your sinuses right up,” Tyra bragged.
After the meal was over, Nariah led the way into the living room. Not one to shy away from an uncomfortable setting, she asked, “How are we gonna do this? Do you want to break out the conversation cards or take turns asking Russell questions?”
“I want to do the conversation cards. I’d like to get to know you all as well.”
“I like a man who knows what he wants,” Maxwell complimented.
Tyra disappeared, returning with a red and white box in hand. After shuffling them, she set them in the middle of the coffee table. “Russell, you have the honors since you are our guest.”
He cleared his throat before he read. “If you had intro music, what would it be and why?” The room was quiet as he contemplated his answer. “If Nariah hasn’t told you already, I’m a hip-hop head. My intro music would be C.R.E.A.M. by the legendary Wu Tang Clan because I’m about the dolla dolla bill ya’ll.”
“That is so douchey,” Nariah scoffed.
Jacoby gave him a pound. “Marry him sis. Lock him down tonight!”
“Is money your only concern?” Tyra words slashed through their amusement, the room’s temperature dropping. “I only ask because being a businessman of your stature, I can only imagine how much time goes into your work.”
“I plan on staying with Nariah for at least the first year of her pregnancy. I’m also moving here permanently, so being there for my child and her won’t be a problem.”
“Being present physically is different from supporting someone emotionally and spiritually,” Tyra challenged.
“Mom, Russell and I already talked about this. We have a plan.”
“Nariah and my son will always come first. Even if that means moving them into my office.”
Despite there being no animosity in their faces, their tones of voice more than demonstrated the seriousness of the conversation. They both donned classic defensive stances, neither one willing to back down, Nariah in the middle.
“I’m sure you’re following in your father’s footsteps. Did he teach you your time management skills?”
The twitch in Russell’s left eye showed that Tyra struck a nerve. Fear constricted Nariah’s throat. She and the other two members of the scene kept their eyes moving from side to side. Russell stared straight ahead, the red hue traveling toward his hairline belied his cool exterior. Tyra relaxed, proud of what she had done. Satisfied in her effort to shake him, she was patient in waiting for his response.
“I think I’ve overstayed my welcome. Nariah,” his cold eyes landed on her, “you can stay if you want.”
“I’m coming with you,” she said as she packed up her things. After exchanging goodbyes with her dad and brother, she withheld the same affection from Tyra. “We’ll talk about this later.” In that moment, their roles had been switched, Nariah wearing the disapproving glare. She followed him out the door, speaking loud enough for her disappointment and anger to reach their ears.
###
The brown liquid in the glass Russell held inched up the sides, trying to taste his fingers. His steps thumped on the brand-new hardwood floors, producing a galloping sound.
Ca-lunk. Ca-lunk. Ca-lunk.
Nariah watched him in silence, part of her not knowing what to say, another part not wanting to say anything at all. She winced as his drink slapped against the back of his throat. Other than wine, she had never seen him drink. It was his third since they arrived home. His eyes were beginning to show signs of his drunkenness, the otherwise visible veins beginning to blend into the background. He hadn’t said anything, which scared her. She thought of how Olivia must have felt when she shut her out. It was enough to never make her do it again.
Russell stopped in front of her. “I see where you get it from, now.”
“What?”
“That pretentious holier-than-thou attitude of yours.” His slur made the sentence into one long word.
“What?” Nariah asked again.
“You heard me. Your mother thinks she’s better than me. She thinks I can’t take care of you and our son.”
“She’s just protective. She would have come at anybody else the same way.”
“It’s because I’m white.”
Splash.
“Okay,” Nariah said, prying the glass from his hand, “you’ve had enough. Time to go to bed.”
Refusing her attempts to get him into the bedroom, he questioned why she didn’t defend him. “You just sat there. You didn’t say anything on my behalf. You left me hanging.”
“I did not. I just didn’t want either of you to think I was taking sides.”
“You’re supposed to be on my side. It’s supposed to be me and you over anybody; against the world.” Intoxicated, he didn’t realize how hard he pushed her. “Go back with them. I don’t even know why you came here.”
“I’m gonna let that slide because you’re clearly drunk. But don’t put your hands on me like that again.”
“Oh I forgot, you’re a—” he flexed his biceps— “strong black woman. Just like that bitch mother of yours.”
She didn’t help him as he tripped over his feet, stumbling into the couch. He banged his head against the metal arm. Pain-filled groans replaced his insults, humiliating himself with his drunken arrogance. Nariah shook her head in disgust as she slipped into her coat. She kept the insult on the edge of her lips from spilling over, deciding to take the high road. She was sure the baby could feel the rise in her stress levels. “Call me when you sober up?”
Slam.