Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
IMANIO “GATEZ”
M y father looked at me for a long second, then leaned back again with a sigh, his expression shifting.
“Well, since we’re being honest... I’ve got a little secret too.”
I turned slightly, brow raised. “Oh yeah?”
“I’m divorcing your mother,” he announced like he was finally taking out the trash.
Just like that. No hesitation. No sadness. Not even a trace of guilt.
Divorce?
For a second, the word didn’t quite land.
I stared at him, waiting for the punchline that never came.
“You serious?”
“As a root canal without anesthesia,” he replied.
“I’m not happy, son. And if I’m being honest, I haven’t been for years.
Your mother is… exhausting. She always has to be the loudest, the rightest, the one pulling all the strings.
Nothing is ever enough unless she’s controlling it.
And you—” he looked at me, “—you know that better than anyone when it comes to that.”
I let out a breath, leaned forward, and rubbed my jaw. “Yeah. I do.”
“Now imagine about twenty years of that. And I’m not counting all the years we’ve been together; just the ones when she forgot who she was. I stayed for a lot of reasons—you and your sister’s childhood, appearances, business... but I’m done pretending it’s worth it.”
A silence fell between us—not heavy, but real.
“Besides, I’ve met someone else,” he revealed, shocking the hell out of me.
“Nah now.”
“I have. She’s from the Caribbean Islands. I’ve been seeing her for a while now—nothing scandalous. Just peace. She's calm, kind, and knows how to laugh. It’s... different.”
That’s when it clicked.
The random trips. The last-minute flights. Him staying gone longer each time.
Pops pulled out his phone and showed me a photo of the lady. She was a dark-skinned woman with locs, glowing skin, and had a beautiful smile… and shape, may I add.
“She’s beautiful,” I complimented. “And Black. Giselle gon’ lose her mind.”
“Let her,” he replied carelessly. “I’ve lost enough years trying to keep her from doing just that.”
I nodded slowly, eyes still on the photo.
“Whatever you choose, I stand with it. You deserve to be happy, Pops.”
He looked at me for a moment. “Same goes for you, son. But I take it that your mother doesn’t know about your marriage. Otherwise, your house may be on fire… or you, personally.”
“Giselle ain’t that stupid. But nah, she doesn’t know. That woman would probably have Homeland Security at my door and a priest scheduling a public exorcism.”
Pops laughed, shaking his head. “Son, do you remember when you missed that gala she planned, and she wore all black for a week? She told people she was ‘mourning the death of her son’s potential’?”
“How could I forget?” I groaned, shaking my head. “She had the staff lighting candles and everything. Talkin’ ‘bout ‘a mother’s grief.’ I thought I actually died the way people kept looking at me.”
“Exactly,” he said, chuckling harder. “That mother of yours is a piece of work. I pray in advance for the next man she gets with.”
“That’s if any man would want her,” I mumbled.
“True. I lucked up and was able to be with her in the beginning—back when she used to burn toast and still blame the toaster. When she danced offbeat to old school jams in the kitchen,” he said, the humor in his voice dimming slightly. “Before everything became about image.”
“Pops, let me ask you something,” I said, leaning back in my seat. “I know you were around, but why did it take you all of those years to finally get us out the hood? Not that I’m complaining. Hell, I wanted to stay a little longer, but… I’ve always wondered.”
That question had lived in the back of my mind for years.
Yeah, he’d show up when we were at Grandma’s. He’d slip us a lil’ cash here and there, fix things around the house, but we still struggled, and even after Giselle got her own place, it wasn’t outside the hood. Pops stayed with his parents, and Giselle never explained why.
Pops didn’t answer right away; he just sighed—a deep one, the kind that came from carrying something heavy for too long.
“Son,” he finally answered, voice gravelly, “the same way your mother walks around acting like she can’t stand Black folks sometimes… that’s exactly how my parents were. They didn’t approve of her, you, or Dess.”
“Word? For real?”
“Yes. I used to make up all kinds of excuses to keep y’all from meeting them. But the truth is, they hated that I was in love with your mother… thought she was beneath me… said I was throwing my future away.”
I frowned as the pieces started to click.
“They told me to leave her; cut her off or be cut off. So I stayed with them so I could finish college. That was their condition. They paid for it but barely gave me any money outside of school expenses. They were afraid I’d sneak it to your mother—and I did, when I could.
I used what little they gave me to help her get her own place, pay rent…
keep y’all afloat. But I couldn’t do more without losing everything.
I kept telling myself I’d wait; that maybe one day, I’d be in a better position.
That I could move y’all out the right way—safe and stable. Not on struggle.”
He paused, his eyes distant, like the memory was still raw.
“I’ve never told anybody this—not even your mother—but when my parents died, as cold as it sounds, I finally felt free .
I inherited everything: the house, the cars, the money.
I used the money to move y’all to a better environment immediately and start my business.
That was the first time I could do something for y’all without sneaking, begging, or without guilt.
But it came too late to fix some things. ”
“Damn,” I muttered, feeling a lump in my throat. “So all that time… you were trapped ?”
He nodded slowly. “I call it… invisible bars, son.”
“Invisible bars?” I repeated, confused.
“ It’s not always chains or jail cells keeping a person locked up; sometimes it’s guilt, obligation, family expectations, or even pride,” he explained.
“I wasn’t in prison, but I wasn’t free either.
I stayed in a house where love came with strings and support came with silence.
And the worst part? You don’t even realize you’re behind them until you’re in too deep. ”
We sat in silence for a moment.
He looked at me and added, “You and Dess… y’all were my light in that place. And your mother—back then—she was too… before everything changed.”
I nodded, a deep respect settling in my chest.
“Invisible bars. I get it now… more than ever.”
Because I lived behind them too.
They weren’t the physical kind made of metal; they were the kind made of image, control, and expectations… just as my father had stated.
Money doesn’t make you free; it just changes what holds you down.
I looked like a man who had it all—and maybe I did—but I still wasn’t free.
I couldn’t show weakness. I couldn’t lose my temper in public.
I couldn’t love out loud. I couldn’t let go—not even for a second—not unless I wanted everything I built to be used against me.
I was always calculating… always guarded .
Then Naji showed up.
Twitching. Blinking. Cursing at nothing and everything. Beautiful and anxious all at once.
I didn’t know her yet—not really—but I recognized pain when I saw it.
Naji was quiet, but her silence was loud as hell. And when she did speak, it was clipped and cautious—like she didn’t know if it was safe to say too much. Her eyes stayed moving, and when they landed on me, they didn’t trust me—not fully.
And why would they?
Naji had been uprooted from her familiar world, thrust into a strange house, and forced to adopt a role she never agreed to play.
All she had left was her teddy bear, packages of peppermint tea, and the pills that dulled the edge of her anxiety—though even those seemed to be losing their grip on her lately, as her hands trembled slightly more with each passing day.
What Naji didn’t realize was that I was acutely aware of the little signs of her distress.
I noticed the way she flinched at the sound of laughter or chatter when too many people were gathered around.
I observed how she would tap her fingers rapidly beneath the table—a nervous habit she performed when she thought no one was watching.
Her voice would sometimes crack mid-sentence, like she was holding back more than just words.
Naji was in a cage of her own, and I was the one who locked the door—even if I told myself it was for her safety.
The truth was, I had no idea what I was doing.
Yet I understood too well what it felt like to be trapped in a life you didn’t ask for, to be expected to perform and to be the calm in the storm when you were barely staying afloat yourself.
And somehow, without saying much, Naji reminded me that we both had invisible bars.
Hers were anxiety and trauma; mine were legacy and lies.
“Well, why I’m here, I may as well tell you that your mother’s planning one of her random dinners next Saturday. Told me to remind you that you're expected ,” Pops announced, bringing me back to the moment.
I rolled my eyes. “Of course I am. But next week? She usually tells us at least two weeks in advance.”
“Hey, I’m just the messenger, son. I will say, I do think you should invite your wife. ”
I chuckled. “Bold of you to assume she will even agree to go. Naji gets really nervous meeting new people; that’s why she said what she did to you. It wasn’t disrespect; it was panic. Social settings twist her up, and I’m not trying to overload her more than she already is.”
“Imanio, I get all of that, and I know you haven’t been married too long, but you can’t keep her cooped up in this house forever. Ask yourself this. Is she your wife or a prisoner?”
I leaned back in my chair after I said it; his question echoed in my head.