Chapter 17
It was a few weeks after Kennedy’s wedding.
Surprisingly, the time passed without too much drama.
There were occasional blog posts about Amora’s baby and photos of me around the city, taken by camera crews, but it wasn’t anything too dramatic.
It wasn’t anything I had been used to. Princess and I had been cordial since then.
Nothing was back to normal, but it didn’t feel as cold as it did before, either.
We texted more, even called sometimes, but it was always short conversations that didn’t dig too deeply.
“How was the studio?”
“Cool.”
“You eat yet?”
“Yeah. You?”
Small, safe things. I gave her the space she asked for. I didn’t push or try to fix things overnight, like I usually would when I felt something slip.
She was in Atlanta, finishing up edits on her newest book. I was back in Los Angeles, buried in production sessions and brand meetings.
The house was quiet, as always, that morning. The sunlight hit the hardwood floors in long, bright streaks that illuminated the space. I stood in the kitchen with no shirt and gray sweatpants. I poured coffee into a black mug that read “Detroit vs. Everybody.”
My phone buzzed on the counter. I glanced at it instinctively, expecting Kam or a label email. As I read the subject line of the email across the screen, I almost dropped the mug on the counter.
In capital letters were the words Lab Results Ready. For a second, it seemed as if everything in the room stood still. I stared at the notification until the screen went black. I took a deep breath, and then I picked up the phone.
Alright, let’s do this.
I tapped the email open and leaned against the counter. I scrolled through slowly and read every word, although it didn’t register.
Then, I saw it.
Probability of paternity: 0%.
Suddenly, my body felt lighter, as if someone had spotted me on the bench press.
Although the feeling of relief washed over me, I didn’t quite feel victorious.
I didn’t feel that celebratory feeling I’d expected to.
I felt sorrow. I felt like the past few weeks of confusion and chaos had all been something that I could have prevented from the beginning.
Somehow, I blamed myself for Amora’s decision to withhold the possibility of having a child with me.
If I had been more forthcoming and open, she wouldn’t have felt the need to.
The guilt reminded me of how similar I’d handled things with Princess when she was pregnant with Yana.
I knew, deep down, we all had our roles in creating the drama that unfolded, yet it still didn’t stop me from feeling how I felt. However, that moment of remorse was short-lived.
I set the mug down, walked to the living room, and paced across the rug. I thought about calling Kam first. I thought about letting the PR team handle it. I thought about what the blogs would say when they realized they’d been wrong. But, before I could think, Amora’s name flashed across the phone.
I hesitated to answer at first. I wasn’t scared of her, but I knew that answering would bring her energy into a space that already felt fragile. But then, I realized that hiding was what the old me would’ve done. I breathed out slowly and clicked the green button.
“What’s up,” I said.
Her voice boomed through the speaker. “You got it already, didn’t you?”
“I did.”
There was a short pause, then she laughed. It sounded like a person trying not to fall apart. “And?” she said, as if she didn’t already know.
I felt the irritation begin to rise. “He’s not mine. You read it too. Don’t play with me.” There was another pause. I rolled my eyes and exhaled.
“So, what now?” she snapped. “You gon’ have your people act like I just made this up for fun?”
“Amora,” I shot back, dryly. “You the only one that play games like that. The only thing I need to say is that he isn’t mine.”
“You still embarrassed me!” she yelled. “You ignored me! You had me looking stupid!”
My brows furrowed. I looked at the phone as if she could see the look on my face.
I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard. “I ain’t have you doing nothing!
” I snapped. “You posted that child. You used my lyrics. You did that on some funny shit. Don’t try to blame that on me!
” I could hear her heavy breathing through the phone.
“You know what?” she shot back. “I don’t give a fuck what that paper say. The blogs already got it. They already talking. You think this just gonna go away because you got a test? You think the press cares about that?”
A rush of embarrassment fell over me. The fact that I’d once entertained the attention-seeking desperation to be noticed, the obsession with how she was viewed by others, all felt so cheap.
I hoped that she found whatever she was chasing, but in that moment, I also knew that I no longer wanted to be anywhere near it.
“Amora, . . . listen to me,” I said. “That baby deserves peace. If you mad at me, be mad at me. But using him like a chess piece is foul.”
“Don’t tell me what to do with my child!” she shouted.
“I’m telling you what I’m not about to be a part of.” My voice was firm and final. “I’m not his father. I’m not claiming him. And I’m not going to let you keep attaching my name to him for attention.”
She went quiet again, and when she spoke, her voice had that dangerous softness. “So what you gonna do? Sue me?”
“I’m gonna protect my family. That’s what I’m gonna do. Stop posting like we were ever a couple. Stop implying that we have a family. We don’t.”
“You think she better than me?”
I knew she was talking about Princess. “This is not about her; this is about you not respecting boundaries. You too grown for all this reality star, Real Housewives shit. We pushing forty. That shit ain’t cute!”
I heard a sniffle on the other end of the phone. “You right,” she whispered. “You right.”
“I hear you,” I answered with a calm voice. “I wish you the best, but I’m done doing this with you.”
With that, I ended the call. Without another thought or second wasted, I scrolled through my contacts and dialed the only person who would understand how I felt in that moment. She answered on the third ring.
“Hey,” Princess said softly. I heard papers shifting in the background. “I was just about to text you.”
“You busy?” I asked.
“A little. Why? You okay?”
I sat down on the arm of the couch and leaned forward. I placed my elbows on my knees. “The results came.” The shuffling in the background stopped. I knew that it got her attention.
“And?” she asked.
“It’s not mine.”
“You sure?” she asked carefully.
“It said it right there on the paper,” I said. “It’s not mine.”
“How do you feel?”
That question surprised me. I didn’t know what to expect, but I thought maybe she would ask, what comes next? What did that mean for us? I couldn’t answer that right away. But I couldn’t answer how I felt right away, either. I thought carefully.
“I feel . . . lighter,” I said honestly. “But not happy.”
“Why not happy?”
“Because my name still been dragged for weeks. Because you still had to sit in that. Because Yana had to hear people talk. Because I hate that I let it get that far before I told you.” She didn’t interrupt me as I spoke.
“I’m relieved,” I continued. “But I’m not celebrating like I won something. I don’t like how any of it happened.”
She was quiet again. It didn’t feel distant. It felt thoughtful.
“You sound different.” She broke the silence.
“In what way?”
“You’re not gloating,” she replied. “You’re not mad. You’re not blaming her.”
I leaned back on the couch. “I’m not about to tear her down because it ain’t mine. That baby still somebody’s child. I’m just not his father.”
“And Amora?” she asked carefully.
I took a deep breath. “She called.”
“Already?”
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“She didn’t take it well.” I stood and walked slowly toward the hallway that led to my home studio. The house felt big at that moment, bigger than it used to. “She said blogs not gonna care what the test say,” I continued.
Princess sighed. “That sounds about right.”
“I told her that I didn’t care. I’m not doing the drama. I told her I’m protecting my family, and I meant it.” The words hung in the silence that fell between us again.
“You usually go quiet when things blow up,” she said softly. “You . . . you said all of this to her?”
“I know.”
“And now?”
“If it needs to be addressed, I’ll address it. But I’m not feeding into it either. I’m not arguing online. I’m not doing back-and-forth. The facts are the facts.”
“I understand.”
“You okay?”
“I think so,” she replied. “I’m . . . relieved too. I just didn’t want to admit it out loud before.”
“You had a right to feel how you felt,” I said. “I should’ve told you sooner, when it first came up.”
“You did what you thought was right at the time,” she said. “It just hurt.”
“I know.”
I wrapped my arm around the staircase and walked down. I cut the light on and shut the door behind me when I walked into the studio. With my shoulder holding my phone to my ear, I cut on the soundboard and watched everything come to life.
“I’m proud of you,” Princess said, breaking my train of thought.
Those words hit me in the chest harder than I expected. “For what?” I asked quietly.
“For choosing differently,” she replied. “You’re not reacting. You’re responding. That’s new.”
I swallowed. “I’m trying,” I said.
“I can tell.” There was warmth in her voice now. “What you about to do?” she asked.
“I just walked into the studio,” I said. “Got a session in an hour.”
“You just couldn’t wait to get to that studio, could you? Still working through everything?” she teased.
I smiled. “Nah. I’m not hiding in it this time.”
She laughed softly. “That’s growth.”
“Yeah. I’ll call Yana later,” I added. “Tell her myself, if that’s cool.”
“She’ll appreciate that.”
I nodded even though she couldn’t see me. “I don’t want her learning how to handle things from watching me panic,” I said. “I want her to see steadiness.”
“You’re giving her that.”
That one almost made me sit back down. “I’m still giving you your space too,” I said after a moment. “I don’t want you to feel rushed just because this part cleared up.”
“I know,” she said. “And I see that too.” Her tone softened even more. “Zay?”
“Yeah.”
“You handled this well.”
“Thank you,” I said. I let that sit with me for a moment.
I stood there for a second and looked around.
Weeks ago, I would’ve blasted music to drown everything out.
I probably even would’ve texted Amora something slick.
I would’ve let my ego step in. Instead, I looked at the mic stand that waited in the corner.
For the first time in weeks, the noises in my head didn’t scream.
It wasn’t because the world had changed, but because I had.
As I stepped into the booth, I realized something I should’ve learned years ago.
Relief was never the reward.
Growth was. Choosing differently was.