Chapter 7 Jabali
(The next day)
I meant every word I said to Kyleigh early yesterday morning.
I wasn’t playing about Aziza now that I knew about her, and I never would.
That didn’t mean some part of me didn’t feel a little bad about how alone and somehow small she’d looked sitting up in that bed, pretty brown eyes swimming in tears she was too stubborn to let fall.
I didn’t like that it had come to this, but she’d made her choices.
I was here to wreak the consequences.
I’d needed a day. A day in which I took the time to box up my feelings, put them away to deal with later, like I’d been trained.
I didn’t want to feel too much toward Kyleigh right now, because the rage that was simmering would have me snatching my baby out that big ol’ house and setting that bitch on fire…
I’d have to go back in and get Kyleigh, but still, that’s how I felt.
So, I put it up. Marked it “deal with later” so I could be here for my baby in the present.
I took the long way through town instead of heading straight up the hill, letting the truck roll past all the Christmas stuff Emancipation loved so much.
These people had lights wrapped around the streetlamps, fake snow in storefront windows, and Santas in a dozen shades of black and brown, reflecting the town’s heritage.
The whole town was leaning into the season.
Driving down main, I could see up to where Kyleigh lived with my baby.
My jaw clenched at the clean line marking where the lights stopped just past the foot of the hill.
On one side, everything glowed. On the other, it…
didn’t. I thought about Aunt Alayna calling Kyleigh, the girl who had once loved all things Noel, the Grindley who stole Christmas. Something had to brighten her attitude.
I glanced at the clock. I had time. I was about to meet my daughter for the first time, and I wasn’t about to show up empty-handed like Katelyn Shipley-Christopher hadn’t taught me anything.
I wanted something in my hands that said, I see you to her and to her mother, too, whether Kyleigh liked it or not.
Instead of turning toward the hill, I swung into the lot at a local grocery.
I threw the truck in park and jumped out.
Seconds later, warm air hit me as I walked into the store.
McKenzie’s was small, locally owned, and still smelled like lavender cleaner, disinfectant, and whatever Mrs. Abigail Dupree was cooking in the deli in the back on any given day.
A couple of old men by the lotto machine glanced up, spoke in grizzled voices, then went right back to arguing about the Saints.
I made a straight line for the floral section by the front windows. It wasn’t an extensive display, but they had enough. Bright, loud bouquets wrapped in crinkly plastic stood out against a couple of simple ones with white lilies and pretty greenery.
“Jabali?”
The voice came from my left, familiar enough that I looked up even before my brain placed it.
Taniyah.
She was standing by the display of cupcakes, one hand on her cart, the other holding a pack of Hawaiian rolls.
Her long braids were pulled up into a messy bun, and she wore a hoodie and leggings under a jean jacket.
She looked almost exactly like she had at eighteen, just fuller.
She was fine as hell, I acknowledged in a strictly platonic way. I’d never looked at her “like that.”
“Look who outside,” I teased, grinning as I walked over. “Niyah.”
She didn’t even say anything at first, just stepped up and hugged me hard, squeezing like she meant it. I hugged her back. I was truly glad to see her. Then she pulled back, looked me in the face…
…and punched me dead in the stomach. Not enough to drop me with all that damn conditioning, but enough to make me grunt. Girl always did have them hands on her.
“Damn. What was that for?” I wheezed, hand going to my abs.
“A combination. For teenage you, because I never swung on you back then. And for current you, for showing up and having my girl shook up like this.”
I rubbed the spot, trying not to smile. “You hit like a girl,” I complimented. “So, you been waiting to do that?”
She pursed her lips and gave me a look full of attitude. “I have. Don’t let the hug fool you, Jay. I love you, but I love Kyleigh more. You understand?”
There it was. No small talk. Straight to the point.
“You talked to her?” I asked, even though I knew the answer.
“Finally! You know how long I been calling that girl? Texting? Driving past that big-ass house like a stalker? She wouldn’t let me in. Then you show up with your scary ass, and suddenly my phone dinging at three in the morning.”
She looked ready to punch me again. Guilt and something else twisted in my chest. “How she sound?” I asked.
Her expression fell. “Like somebody trying not to drown. I don’t want to break my girl’s confidence, but I’m telling you because I don’t think this is what you want to do to her.
She’s scared out of her mind. About you.
About court. About losing her child. About seeing you again.
About everything. So, I’m here to tell you this one damn time, because I don’t like repeating myself. ”
She stepped a little closer, tilting her head back to look me dead in the eye.
“Handle my friend with care,” she said quietly. “I know you mad. I’d be too. But if you go in there trying to punish her, you gon’ be fighting me too. And you don’t want that smoke, baby.”
I believed her.
I sighed. “I’m not trying to punish her. I’m trying to be a good father to my kid. I’m trying to make sure she don’t grow up in a house that feel like a prison every December.”
“And I’m not saying you wrong. I’m saying there’s a difference between consequences and revenge. Watch the line, Jabali. That girl already hurting and too proud to say it,” she shot back.
Her words landed harder than her punch.
I nodded once. “Noted. You done swinging on me?”
She smiled. “For now.”
“You met my shorty?” I asked, not giving a fuck about the pride I could already hear in my voice.
“Yesterday. She’s a doll, Jabali. Beautiful little human. Reflective of both her parents,” she responded, squeezing my arm. “What you doing in here?”
“Picking up something before I go up there,” I said, nodding toward the flowers.
Her gaze softened just a little. “Good. Ky needs to remember you not the devil.” She reached up and patted my cheek once, like I was still the boy her mama had babysat sometimes.
“I gotta go. Children need feeding. First lesson, Daddy: they always need feeding. Text me if you need help translating Ky-speak.”
She pushed her cart past me, then glanced back over her shoulder. “And Jay?”
“Yeah?”
“When she frustrates you, just remember, she couldn’t hate you so much if she didn’t love you so much.”
Then she was gone. I stood there like a fool, blown away by that observation, wanting a few things, like to know how she knew that and why she’d told me.
But mostly wanting to know if it were true.
Finally, I exhaled deeply, faced the flowers, and focused.
I grabbed a bright mixed bouquet for Aziza and a simpler bouquet for Kyleigh.
It felt like walking into an ambush with nothing but flowers and hope, but I’d experienced worse situations.
I turned toward the registers.
“Boy, I know that’s not you.”
I recognized that voice, too. My shoulders went tight for a second before I plastered my face neutral and turned.
Deon. He was standing by the end of the candy aisle, one hand stuffed in his jacket pocket, the other holding a bag of chips. Same dude from high school, just thicker around the middle, beard grown in patchy, still with that slick smile that had gotten under my skin more than once.
“Deon. You still stealing oxygen, I see,” I greeted.
He laughed, came over, dapped me up. “Man, look at you. Mr. World Traveler back in the country. You too good to call a nigga, huh?”
“Been busy. You know how it is,” I said vaguely.
“Yeah, yeah. I heard you was a Navy SEAL or some shit.”
“People talk too much.”
He shrugged, unconcerned. Then his eyes dropped to the flowers in my hands.
“Who that for? You already found you a little Emancipation boo?” he asked, smirking.
“Something like that.”
I didn’t owe him explanations, and I had neither the time nor the inclination.
He leaned against a cart, rubbing the salt on his fingers like he was getting ready to say something slick. “You know who back on that hill, right? The Grindley herself. I know you seen that big-ass house dark as hell like it’s Halloween instead of Christmas.”
“Yeah. I’m aware.”
He laughed. “Man, people still mad about that. She really came back from Houston and stole Christmas. Talking about ‘liability’ and ‘my property.’ Like she wasn’t running up and down that hill when Mrs. Amanda had it open for everybody. Now, she acting like she too good for the rest of us.”
He said it like a joke, but there was that mean edge under it. It was the same one he’d used in high school when he thought nobody would check him.
I always checked him.
“Deon. Watch your mouth.”
“Here we go,” he sneered. “What, you still on Ms. H-Town’s side after all this time? She the one shut the gate. You know how many folks still mad we can’t take pictures up there? Just cause she mad that people laughed at her weird ass.”
“Say that again.” My voice was low, calm.
My temper was not.
He blinked. “What?”
“Call her that again. Call her weird. Talk about her like she ruined your life because you can’t hang some dollar store ornaments on trees you don’t own. Go ‘head.”
He frowned, confused by how fast the mood changed. “Man, calm down. I’m just saying—”