Chapter 16 #2
“Jas special to me, and I’ve always wanted her to know she’s special period.
I don’t trust many of these niggas she’s dealt with, and to be honest, I’m glad you popped that old one.
I didn’t like that nigga one bit. I can’t stand thug ass niggas selling dope for others but portraying themselves as the boss. ”
I laughed through my nose.
“But if I approve of any nigga to be with her, it would be you and that nigga right there.” He pointed at Hov, who was leaning over the counter ahead of us, talking to Kim and Scotty.
“But that nigga already in love as deep as the ocean, so it’s all on you, my boy. Look, come to the house tomorrow. We're supposed to be getting on that big ass pit that P had me order her for Mother’s Day.”
“Thanks, man. I’ll be there.”
“Alright, and I’ll have P make you up some chicken dogs to take home.”
Appreciate it, dog, I dapped him up. Just as I did that, I saw Elijah staring at us from the front of the shop.
He probably never been invited to their spot, but that’s because there is a difference between him and me that he refused to see.
I’m the real fuckin deal, and he synthetic.
He was made to be the killer that I was born to be.
He think we on the same level but it will take twenty years for him to become half of the man I was at birth. Fuck he talking about.
Me and Crew both started towards the front door when my cell phone rang from my pocket.
When I pulled it out, I saw that it was Detective Irvin, the retired PI I’d hired to find my mother.
I’d paid him up front and honestly didn’t expect to hear from him for at least six to seven months. Finding someone across borders wasn’t easy. Hell, trying to track somebody overseas seemed damn near impossible, especially someone who’d been gone as long as my mom.
“Yeah?”
“Amir, this is Jacob, Irvin.”
“Yeah, what’s up?”
“I was just calling you to let you know that I have reason to believe that I’ve found your mother.”
“Huh?”
I heard the nigga clearly, but my brain just wasn’t registering what he just said.
“I said I think that I’ve found your mother.”
“Where is she?”
Jacob paused for a second, like he was choosing his words carefully.
“She’s been here. In the big apple.”
“Here, where? Hold on.” I replied, dashing out of the shop because of all the loud music playing overhead.
“Okay, I can talk now. Where did you find her?”
“I found her with your stepmother, Amelia. She’s been working in the Quatar family house as a maid. They changed her name to Gretchen.”
For a moment, everything went quiet. The room, the air, even my own breathing felt like it was forced.
My mind started flipping through memories I hadn’t thought about ever.
But now, I remember that name, and I could even see her face in my head.
Her standing near the staircase, eyes following me when she thought I wasn’t looking, and watching me longer than necessary.
“Can you get in contact with her to let her know that I know about her?”
“That’s the thing. I found her location from research of your father’s old connections in Cuba, but they said that they haven’t heard from Erika since she left there with your father.”
When I thought about it, I never saw any of the housekeepers on their phones or even their families outside of the homes.
I know they would only be allowed to come home once all of us were sleeping, and they would be back before we woke up, cooking breakfast and taking care of the house. I’m not even sure if they had phones.
“The only breakthrough I can suggest to find her is to go to your family's house, where she is still currently working. I’ve done surveillance on the property because it’s not as heavily guarded as before, and she is still working at the house daily.
Her and about three other staff members. Here I'll send you a picture.”
A second went by before my phone chimed with a picture of the maid that I knew as Gretchen. I looked at the picture so long, I managed to shut out all the noise around me. Everything disappeared but her face on my phone until he snapped me out of my head.
“So, your mother is there and once you go to this house, you can ask her about everything.”
“Shit, that’s if I’m even allowed there with the way things went at the will reading.”
“But you can use that to your advantage. Tell her you want to discuss giving her something. Blow smoke in her face until it clears, and you have the information you want.”
“Alright, I’ll see what I can do, and I’ll call you back if I need more info.”
“Okay, good luck.” He replied, and I cut the line.
I stared out in space for a second, wondering how I could approach Amelia. She was never a big fan of me, and I was sure she wasn’t after everything got left to me. Still, Amelia is a shallow person who can be manipulated with money and promises to make her life better on some materialistic shit.
I dialed her number, and I’m sure my number wasn’t even saved in her phone, but she picked up on the second ring.
“Hello?”
“Hey Amelia, it’s Amir. Are you at the main house?”
“Yes, I’m here. What do you need, Amir?”
“I wanted to uh, come and talk to you about some money. I’ve had a change of heart about some things that I think will benefit you a lot.”
She cleared her throat.
“Oh, you have? Well, come over. I’ll be here all day, because I have not been feeling well the last couple of days.”
“Alright then, I’m on my way.”
“I’ll see you soon.”
I hung up the phone and got in my car to skate that way.
I traveled at a steady pace to get there because, for the first time in a while, I was scared of something.
I say a while, but it’s honestly been about twenty years since fear ever entered my heart, probably since being scared of what my father would say about us breaking something in the house, or scared that my bedroom was on the opposite end of the house than the rest of my family during storms. But this wasn’t the same kind of fear as back then; this wasn’t the boogie man.
This was a fear of resentment, fear of rejection. Fear of being let down.
When I pulled up to the family house, the first thing I noticed was that the gates were wide open.
There was no guard in the booth checking who was coming in or out like clockwork because of Mecca’s paranoia.
As I looked around, I couldn’t help but see that this place seemed to be falling apart and didn’t have the look of luxury I grew up seeing.
The grass along the edges looked like it hadn’t been cut in months; there was grass growing over the fountain statues, and the large letter Q on the front door was not polished and shining as my father liked it.
Back when my father was alive, this place ran like a machine, and he would’ve had a fuckin stroke had he seen the grounds upkeep as it is today.
I parked and got out, closing my door. I was about to knock, but I pulled on the handle, seeing that the front door wasn’t locked, which is another telltale sign that Mecca was no longer here.
When I walked in the house, my footsteps echoed through the house, and that wasn’t normal either.
I could hear a conversation, but it was far away, like it was on the other wing of my stepmother's house.
Pictures covered the hallway of my pops' family dinners, which were all that fake happy shit, and I felt weird looking at them. Like the pictures themselves were judging me. Knowing that I’m the reason their asses weren’t still here.
Once I got to her bedroom door, I pushed the door open slightly after knocking on it twice.
“Can I come inside?”
“Yes, come inside.” I continued into the room.
“I would greet you, but I’ve been feeling weak the past few days. The doctors don’t know what’s wrong. I’ve been so tired, can’t eat, can’t sleep.”
I leaned against the wall.
“Amelia, if you need money for better doctors, I've got you. I planned on coming to tell you that I want to look out for you in the future.”
The change on her face was instant, like I woke something up inside her. A smile spread across her face, not a big one, but enough for me to notice.
“Thank you, Amir, that will for sure help me. Help me help myself and this place. I know Mecca would reprimand me had he seen how this place has gotten since he's been gone.
“Yeah, I can hear him yelling through the halls now. Speaking straight Arabic.”
“Yeah, switching in between that and English, whichever words he felt would get across to us the most.”
We shared a quiet fake grin.
I turned my head toward the window, more to break eye contact than anything, but that’s when I saw her.
A brown-skinned woman walking down the front path, pulling her purse tighter on her shoulder. A taxi sat out front, engine running, and she opened the door and got in.
“Do you still pay the original maids you had?”
“Yeah, just a few of them. The ones that have been around forever.”
“Makes sense.” I was barely able to have a straight conversation with her for looking out of the window.
“Amelia, I just thought about leaving my stove on at home. Is it cool if I come back over here later?” I said, throwing the first excuse that came to mind so that I could get out of there.
“Yeah, that’s fine,” she replied quickly. “Come back whenever you can. The door is always open, especially if there is going to be a good vibe and relationship between you and me. I hate how things went down at the will-reading. I was emotional.”
“Yeah, I get it. I get it,” I said, already turning to leave.
“But I’ll see you later, send someone to the front door to lock up.”
I rushed out of the room.
By the time I hit the hallway, I was in a full sprint.
My only thought was getting to my car before that taxi got too far.
I burst through the front door, ran down the steps, and jumped behind the wheel.
The engine roared to life, and I peeled down the driveway, pushing about eighty to get back to the main road.
Because I was driving so fast, it only took me a few seconds to catch up to the taxicab crawling ahead. I slowed down just enough to stay behind so the woman that I felt was my mother wouldn't notice me following her.
Eventually, the taxi slowed and stopped in front of a small brownstone, letting her out as I parked down the sidewalk.
She climbed out of the back seat, and her body looked tired, like she’d been working all day.
She paid the driver, then walked up the steps and went inside, shutting the door behind her.
Something in me almost told me to leave because I wasn’t ready for the rejection.
I wasn’t ready for her to tell me there was no way she could be my mother, or worse, she just flat out didn’t want to be.
I shook that off and stepped out of the car and walked up to the door.
My hand hovered in the air for a second before I finally knocked.
Knock. Knock. Knock, I beat on the door with no answer at first until the door finally opened, but it wasn’t her.
It was a young teenager with a controller in his hand, headphones hanging around his neck. He looked at me, confused.
“What up?” He asked, voice high and low because of puberty.
“I’m looking for Miss Erica,”
“Yo, who is that?”
I heard another voice yelling at the door. This voice was deeper, and another kid stepped into my view. He was older, maybe nineteen or twenty.
“What’s up? What do you need?” he questioned me with his nose turned up.
“I’m here for, I’m guessing, your mom, Erika,” I said, locking eyes with him.
“What do you need with her?”
I watched this boy’s movements, his face, the way he talked, and it felt like I was looking at someone I knew. If I’m being honest, he reminded me a lot of Mecca, which tripped me out completely.
“My bad, I actually need to roll out, something has come up.” I backed down the stairs and jogged back to my car. Now that I know where my mother is, I now have even more questions that need answering.
Did those two boys belong to Mecca? Was I not really the last living Quatar in New York?