Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
The living room was buzzing with laughter and wrapping paper chaos, but my chest felt too full to enjoy any of it.
I glanced at Papa L, who sat quietly on the edge of the couch, a plate of sweet potato soufflé half-eaten in his lap.
He looked older than I remembered. Time had crept up and softened him around the eyes, but the line in his jaw still carried that same rigid pride.
The same pride that had once looked me in my face and told me I was ruining my life because I didn’t want to be barefoot in nobody's kitchen unless I owned the damn kitchen.
I wiped my hands on my pants and walked over. “Can I talk to you for a second?” I kept my tone light but firm.
He looked up at me, then slowly nodded. “Course, baby girl.”
We stepped into the den, a little quieter, the hum of the house settling behind us like background music. I turned to face him fully, arms crossed loosely over my chest, heart tapping against my ribs like it still hadn’t forgiven him for everything.
“You really showed up,” I said, barely above a whisper.
He exhaled through his nose. “I did.”
“Why now?”
He paused, eyes scanning the hardwood floor before lifting to meet mine. “Because I was wrong. And I almost waited too long to admit that.”
I blinked, caught off guard. “You were wrong?”
“When your mama told me you had two babies, a husband who adored you, and a business that had folks flying you across the country to cook, I realized I might’ve been the fool all those years ago.”
I shook my head, not ready to let it go that easily. “You told me women were meant to serve. That I was out of order for not wanting to follow behind a man. That I was... too headstrong.”
His jaw flexed. “I did and I said it ‘cause that’s all I knew. That’s how I was raised.
But seeing you now... Jream, you didn’t just build a life, you built a legacy.
And that boy of yours? Lucky? That’s the kind of man I didn’t know existed until I saw him hold you like the world might stop spinning if he let go. ”
Tears welled up in my eyes, but I didn’t let them fall yet.
“You said Grandpa corrupted me. Taught me to get under a car instead of in the kitchen. Like one couldn’t go with the other.”
He sighed. “I blamed him for raising a girl who didn’t need a man to survive. I didn’t realize he raised you to love yourself enough to choose one who would never make you feel like you had to shrink.”
The silence hung thick between us.
“I missed a lot,” he added quietly.
I finally nodded. “You did.”
“I don’t expect forgiveness overnight. But if you let me, I’d like to be around. For the kids. For you.”
I swallowed hard, letting the ache settle before I stepped forward and hugged him. “You got work to do. But I’m willing to try if you are.”
His hand pressed gently to my back, like he couldn’t believe I was real. “Thank you, baby girl. I’ll earn it. I swear I will.”
He held on a second longer, like time owed us a pause we never got when I was eighteen.
When we pulled apart, I could see it in his eyes, regret laced in every blink, pride sitting behind the sorrow.
This wasn’t just about an old man changing his mind.
This was about everything he missed because he thought he had the right to dictate who I became.
He was realizing too late that I didn’t need permission to become her.
“I’ll never tell you how to live again,” he said, voice low and thick. “But if there’s ever a day you need help carryin’ that weight, I got you. Same way your grandmama would have.”
The mention of her made my chest pull tight. She was the only one who ever stood up to him before my mama did. The only one who would slip me extra dollars and whisper, “Chase your dreams, chile,” when he wasn’t looking. I knew she was smiling somewhere.
I nodded and wiped the corner of my eye. “I appreciate that, Papa L. And I mean it when I say you got work to do. But this? This was a start.”
He gave a half-smile. “And the kids?”
“They don’t know you yet,” I said softly. “But they will. We believe in fresh starts around here.”
“Just like your daddy,” he muttered with a shake of his head. “But louder. Bolder.”
I grinned a little. “Because I’m also like my mama.”
He let out a short laugh. “That’s what scares me.”
We walked back toward the living room, and I could already hear Lucky’s laugh booming over the sound of holiday music and toy pieces hitting the floor.
My heart settled at the sound. My home was filled with love.
My children were wrapped in safety. And my husband, my forever peace, was waiting with that look in his eyes that told me he’d move a mountain if I even sighed in its direction.
As I stepped back into the light of our Christmas morning, I realized I wasn’t just showing Papa L the life I built. I was letting him see that I never needed permission to bloom. I just needed the space.
And Lucky? He gave me that space. Every single day.
The hours had melted into each other, wrapping paper torn and forgotten, dishes washed, leftovers packed into containers with foil tops labeled in black marker.
Voices once loud had faded, the laughter now lingering only in the corners of the room like a memory that didn’t want to leave just yet.
Everyone was gone or asleep, the house finally quiet.
It was just us now. The babies were tucked in, breathing soft in their cribs.
Jenie with one hand curled beside her cheek, Lucky Jr snuggled against his dinosaur pillow.
The lights on the tree still blinked lazily, casting soft glows on the hardwood floor, and the fireplace crackled with its last stretch of warmth.
I was curled on the couch, legs under the throw blanket, sipping from the mug Lucky had fixed me hours ago, the marshmallows long gone. He was stretched out beside me, shirt off, sweats hanging low on his hips, one hand behind his head, the other rubbing along my thigh in lazy circles.
“You tired, lover boy?” I asked, voice low, playful, but soft with the weight of the day.
He looked over, that crooked smirk tugging at his lips. “Nah. Not yet. This the part I been waitin’ on.”
I sat up just enough to reach behind the couch cushion and pulled out a small black box, nothing fancy but wrapped in a silk ribbon he’d recognize.
His eyes narrowed. “What you doin’?”
“Givin’ you your final gift,” I murmured, placing it in his hand.
He looked down at it, then up at me. “Jream...”
“Open it.”
He untied the ribbon slowly, dramatic like he knew I hated, then cracked open the box.
Inside was a keychain. But not just any keychain; this one had a custom plate with “Bleu Built” etched into one side and on the other, three sets of initials: LJB, JMB, and.
.. two new ones. Tucked beneath the keychain was a sonogram printout, folded once, neat.
He stared at it.
“Twins,” I whispered.
He looked up again, this time with that same look he had the day I told him I was pregnant with Jenie. That same deep, soul-etched awe like he couldn’t believe his life looked like this now. That he had this. That we were real.
“I know we already knew,” I said softly. “But I wanted to give it to you this way. With all the noise gone. Just me and you.”
He exhaled deep, jaw clenching as he stared at the printout again. “You tryna break me,” he whispered, voice thick.
“Nah,” I smiled, tears stinging the back of my throat. “Just tryna love you deeper.”
He pulled me into his lap without another word, arms tight around my waist, his face pressed to my chest like the world was quietest when he was closest to my heartbeat.
“I have never prayed for nothin’ like this,” he murmured. “But God gave me everything anyway.”
“Merry Christmas, Lucky Bleu.”
He smiled into my skin. “Merry everything, Mrs. Bleu.”