Chapter 28
Mona
Ding. Ding. Ding.
Closing the refrigerator door, I sucked down the extra-cold, crisp apple juice.
Ding. Ding. Ding.
“Thiago, I’m not about to be on the phone with your ass all night.” I giggled, placing my phone to my face.
My heart skipped a few beats as I stared at ‘The Enforcer’ with a demon and eggplant emoji before and after the name. My tongue jogged around my lips as my nipples hardened. My clit tingled. Instantly, my back arched as if someone dragged a feather down my spine.
Ding. Ding. Ding.
Opening August Senior’s text message thread, I was faced with dick pictures with emoji captions.
“Lord, that thang be thanging,” I held out, scrolling to his voice message.
My thumb slapped it before my brain could recognize what I did.
“Hey, Mona. I’m in town fo’ six hours. I need to put up our daughter’s crib an’ place a ton of shit in Azaria’s room. I know you see him. May I come over an’ let him see you fo’ a bit after I get our girls’ rooms together?”
Smiling like a schoolgirl and feeling like a sneaky teen, I damned near broke a nail typing yes. Scurrying from the kitchen, aiming for my room that was filled with limbless dolls, pails, and shovels, my phone vibrated. Sashaying into my room, I opened his audio message.
“I remembered you said you’on live in that suburban area much. I need to know where you at?” he said thickly as if exhaling smoke.
“Shit, I forgot to give him this address,” I hissed, rushing to type it in with my left hand while reaching for the TV’s remote control.
Once I sent it off, I put on the sensual jam playlist Thiago created a week after Thanksgiving.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
Knowing I would see The Enforcer on my phone just as August saved it as on Thanksgiving, I was shocked not to see it. Instead, I saw Thiago’s name. With a racing heart, I prayed he wasn’t at my door ready to kick it in again.
Clearing my throat, shaking my head as if I had a ton of stray hairs on it, I answered, “Hello.”
“What you doing?” he inquired as the sensual song in his background brought forth a naughty scene that occurred between us two weeks ago.
“Sitting on the edge of the bed, about to put on my nighttime playlist,” I answered, toes curling more as flashes of his condom-covered dick crawled in and out of me while I was up against the front door.
“Which one?” he asked through violent coughs.
“Not sure yet,” I said, needing to know where he was. “What are you doing?”
“In my car, in my driveway, thinkin’ ‘bout unlockin’ yo’ door, comin’ in wit’ a bag of salt an’ vinegar chips so I can sprinkle the crumbs in yo’ eyes,” he said seriously as I laughed.
“Why would you do that shit?”
“‘Cause I know I put this dick, mouth, an’ fingers down on you … two weeks ago. You wet up that door, had my jeans drenched, an’ my neck fulla yo’ scent.
I ain’t received the text or call I thought I would have.
What’s the deal, Mona?” he exhaled as my apartment complex was drowned in bass.
My heart raced as I looked at my bedroom door.
“I’m single. A divorcee. Pregnant with my ex-husband’s kid who arrives next month.
I’m just … idling, focused on my kids, my mind, job, and school.
I … I don’t need anything to be rushed, Thiago.
I’m charting in territories that can become deadly.
You can be hotheaded. August Senior is different.
Very different. I like you, Thiago, but I like August Senior too.
I’m not entertaining a relationship. When I need my back to be blown out, and if you fit into that moment, you’ll get me.
If he’s in town and I’m feeling that moment with him, he’s going to get it.
I’m … I ….” I trailed off as the bass stopped shaking my apartment.
“So, you fuckin’ both of us, huh?” Thiago asked through gritted teeth.
As I hopped off the to let August Senior into my haven, I nodded. “I am.”
“Who you fuckin’ the most?” Thiago inquired as I walked out of my room.
“My dildo that you bought.”
“You fucked us on the same day?”
“Nope.”
“Same month?”
“Finna be.”
“Hmm,” he said angrily.
“Thiago, he’s my kids’ father. He’s your homie, remember. Y’all made a pact. Don’t renege on that because of me. I’m not worth it,” I pleaded, nearing the door as the doorbell chimed.
As I wobbled to the door faster, he sinisterly chuckled.
“I’ll never hurt a homie physically. I like to do that shit mentally.
Fo’ the record, you worth me going at August Senior’s head.
He fumbled; I caught an’ gon’ continue to catch …
all ‘cause I’m closer to you. Seein’ I need to amp my game up, I’mma let you go so you can figure out what clothes you wearin’ to our lunch date.
Be ready at noon. We gon’ drop Azaria off wit’ Momma. I’m gone.”
“Oh, lord. God, please don’t let either of them shoot each other. I’m not worth it,” I whispered, unlocking the door.
Shirtless in all his fine ass, dark clothing glory, August Senior stood with so many bags in his hand that I pointed and asked, “Please tell me that there aren’t any more damn dolls in there?”
As I stepped aside, staring at the fine man who gazed at me, he chuckled.
“Plenty. I bought her a styling doll head an’ som’ other shit.
Since I got yo’ main resident address, I’mma have two niggas come by later today an’ put her sandbox an’ swing set together.
By next Tuesday, y’all’s go-kart gon’ be delivered. One fo’ you an’ one fo’ her.”
My mouth was to the ground as he closed the door.
“August, where are you getting money from? Where are you living?” I questioned as his face relaxed. Not once did it look like he wanted to open his mouth to answer.
Much time passed before he asked, “May I put our first daughter’s things in her room?”
Knowing when not to press for an answer, I nodded. “Yes.”
“Lead the way,” he said, eyeing the locks while in motion to set the bags down.
“I can do that,” I replied quickly, causing him to narrow his eyes and growl possessively.
My breathing became deep and sensual. My body was still like a rat in a cat’s mouth as he smiled and locked the door.
“That’s my fuckin’ job. A lady should never lock anything.
You know how shit should go, Mona. Don’t let being single make you forget certain things I showed an’ taught you.
You gon’ fuck ‘round an’ get less than what you deserve,” he breathed silkily while retrieving the bags. “Lead me to our daughter’s room.”
Forcing myself to breathe, I nodded and walked from the door. While we walked toward Azaria’s room, I said, “She wants a big girl bed.”
“How big?”
“Queen,” I answered, causing him to laugh lovingly. My heart skipped a beat when I missed hearing him laugh in my ear while we watched a comedy movie.
“That ain’t a big girl bed. That’s a grown woman bed,” he replied as I slowed at her door. “But I’mma buy it when I finish puttin’ up Angelette’s crib an’ other stuff.”
“Okay,” I responded, opening the door, pushing out lavender and vanilla scents.
“Ah, she still need that to have a peaceful night’s rest,” he voiced as I stepped aside, allowing him to see our wild child snuggled in her toddler bed.
Resting his head on the door, August exhaled sharply. “Daddy’s Girl, I miss the fuck outta you. I hate I have to see you while you sleep. I know if I see you while you up an’ at it … I ain’t gon’ follow through on my end an’ possibly fuck up our endgame.”
“Mona, can you take a picture of us an’ show it to her. I’on want her to think I’m gone fo’ good ‘cause I ain’t,” he voiced emotionally, looking at me with teary eyes.
“Of course.” I nodded, unraveling a little by seeing him.
“Thank you,” he said sincerely, searching my eyes.
“You are welcome.”
While he entered our daughter’s room, I asked, “Have you talked to Momma Orthella?”
His head jerked while his torso grew rigid. While digging into a bag, he calmly answered, “Yeah.”
“And?” I inquired; much had been said.
“She’on want nothin’ to do wit’ me.”
“When was this told to you, and why?” I asked, eyes for sure becoming teary because he was his mother’s everything.
“A week befo’ Thanksgivin’, I heard she went into another assisted livin’ facility.
I popped up, explained my changes, an’ why.
She ain’t like my path an’ told me she’on want nothin’ to do wit’ me if I was gon’ be the son she ain’t raised.
I ain’t debate her. I ain’t respectin’ her wishes of not showin’ my face.
I make sho’ she get everything she need an’ make sho’ her hair and nail stylist keep the old men in her face.
I ain’t heard Momma’s voice since that day, but I get pictures an’ videos of her every day.
By you askin’ me ‘bout her meant you ain’t talked to her either,” he said, looking back at me.
So much pain was in his eyes that it stopped me from breathing for a few seconds.
Stepping closer into Azaria’s room, shaking my head, I said, “The last time that I heard her voice was of her screaming my name after I shot you. I’ve asked Thiago about her, but he doesn’t tell me anything.
Says she doesn’t want any of the people tied to her past to know where she lives.
He said she doesn’t want to see her grandkids because she’ll have to deal with you and me. ”
“Then, she won’t see them. Honor that,” August Senior voiced as best as he could through quivering lips.
From his eyes and the slow removal of items from the white plastic bags, he wanted to say more. Kneeling beside him, I ran my fingers down his face and sincerely said, “I’m sorry you lost your living mother.”
“Me too.” He choked up, leaning his head to the left. “Me too.”
Relaxing his body, he closed his eyes. For eight seconds, he rocked his head slowly as if receiving the word from a mighty loud preacher during the first Sunday sermon. Ten seconds in, he rocked harder, smiled wickedly, and removed his face from my palm.
“Ahh! Ahh! Ahh! Ahh!” he chanted demonically, lifting his head upward and swaying as if he were on a hoverboard.