Chapter 21
“Hero” by Mariah Carey
You got to eat a little bit for Daddy, killa,” Messiah signed.
He picked up the plastic spoon and scooped some Jell-O onto it, holding it up for Yara. She shook her head, causing her pretty curls to bounce in protest.
“I don’t want that,” Yara signed. She pressed her lips together so tightly that Messiah couldn’t do anything but sigh.
“You killing me, baby,” he said, sighing as he put the spoon down on the plastic lunch tray. “What do you like to eat?” he signed.
“French fries,” Yara signed back.
“Your mama don’t let you eat fries,” Messiah shot back. He already knew Morgan wasn’t feeding his children bullshit often.
“La La does behind her back.”
“Quit snitching,” Messiah chuckled. “Alright. You want to blow this joint for a little while? Break you out of here and go get French fries?” he asked.
Yara smiled big and nodded her head.
“Bet,” he signed.
Messiah checked her vitals. Her temperature was down, her blood pressure was normal, and her heartbeat was strong.
They had just given her a round of antibiotics and Tylenol.
She had been stable for hours, and although her lethargy came and went, right now she was doing okay.
They were just waiting, and the waiting made things feel terrifying.
Messiah had been in and out of hospitals for years.
He knew enough to know that all he had to do was take her IV with them.
He quickly dressed her and grabbed the tiny backpack Yara carried with her everywhere.
He slid the IV into the backpack and strapped it to her back before lifting his daughter out of the bed.
“You ready to have the best day ever with Daddy?” he asked, signing.
Her smile was worth whatever trouble he was about to step into.
He knew he wasn’t putting her at risk. He would only be gone a little while.
The walls of the hospital room were closing in on him, and he knew firsthand how it felt to be the one in the bed.
They both could use some fresh air. They weren’t doing anything but waiting anyway.
He could take his daughter to get some French fries during the wait.
He carried her to the door and peeked out.
The way he and Yara poked their heads out, it was clear they were accomplices. He saw the nurses were busy, and he walked in the opposite direction. He didn’t bother with the elevator. He took the stairs down one level to the lobby.
His head was on a swivel as he walked toward the door. He nodded to the security guard. “We out this mu’fucka,” he said aloud, kissing the top of Yara’s head as they made it to freedom.
“Messiah?”
He turned to find Khadeen emerging from her open car door as the valet waited for her to hand over her keys.
Messiah pivoted. “Get in the car,” he said.
“What?” Khadeen was caught in utter confusion. He walked around to her passenger side.
“Get in,” he said.
Khadeen looked at the valet. “So sorry,” she said before hopping back in the car.
“What is happening?” she asked him frantically.
“She wants French fries,” Messiah said as he cradled his daughter in his arms and pulled the seatbelt over them both.
“They have French fries in the cafeteria. Did they discharge her?” Khadeen asked.
“We’re just sitting, KD. We’re waiting for the doctors to come tell us what I already know. She won’t eat. She said she wants French fries. I can’t control much, but I can get my daughter some fries,” he said.
“You broke Yolly out of jail,” Khadeen said, scoffing.
“We just need an hour,” Messiah said.
“Wait here,” Khadeen said. She hopped out of the car and jogged into the hospital. Ten minutes later, she came rushing back out.
“I told the nurse the plan. They didn’t like it, but they can’t stop you. Her bed will still be here when you’re done,” Khadeen said.
“You’re amazing. Good money,” Messiah stated. Khadeen shook her head as she put the car in drive.
“This was impulsive,” Khadeen said. “You want to talk through it?” she asked.
“Not really,” Messiah answered. “I don’t need you to psychoanalyze me right now. I don’t need you to be Dr. Brown.”
“What do you need?” she asked.
“A friend,” he said. “I’m kinda short on those these days.”
Khadeen sighed as they drove in silence for a beat. “My dad used to tell me you only need one good friend in this world. Too many and you’ll spread yourself thin. He told me to choose one and give that one friend the sum of what I was trying to spread across the others.”
“Sounds like a smart man,” Messiah noted.
“He was,” Khadeen responded softly, the tone of her voice reflecting a memory that both healed and hurt.
Khadeen drove to the nearest Coney Island and parked her car.
“Text Morgan and tell her where her daughter is and that you’re safe. You need to keep her informed,” Khadeen said.
“Yeah,” he said, almost like he was half listening, but he pulled out his phone and dialed her number. He thought nothing of it when it went straight to voicemail. He sent a text next.
Messiah
Just letting you know I had to get some air. I took Yara to get some real food. I’ma bring her right back. Don’t worry. She’s fine. We won’t be long. I’ll meet you back at the hospital.
Call me when you get this.
“Mo gon’ flip the fuck out,” Messiah scoffed.
“Probably,” Khadeen said, shaking her head. “It was a very extreme action to take, but we’re here now.”
“You want to be somewhere else?” he asked.
Khadeen sighed. “I’m where I’m needed.” Her concerned stare focused on Yara.
“Is she okay?” Khadeen asked. “I would ask her, but I don’t know sign language.”
Messiah showed her the signs. “You beautiful girl, you,” Khadeen admired, reaching over and rubbing her back gently. Yara lifted her head, and Khadeen signed to her.
“Are you okay?”
Yara nodded her head and rubbed her eyes before wrapping her arms around Messiah’s neck tightly, turning her face away from Khadeen like she was trying to hide inside Messiah.
“She’s never this nice to a nigga. That’s how I know she’s sick. She’s settling for me. I’ve never wanted to be bullied by somebody more in my life. A mean Yara is a healthy Yara.”
“She’s not settling,” Khadeen said softly, as she stared at the pair. “She’s bonding. It doesn’t matter how much you missed in those first few years. Children have an instinctual affinity for those who made them, especially when they’re sick.”
“This is hell,” he whispered.
“I know,” she replied, moving her hand from Yara’s back to place it on top of his. He stopped soothing Yara and stared at Khadeen.
He took her hand, and he felt her resistance as she kept her fingers straight, stiff, for a few seconds, as their eyes met.
He saw her breath hitch as she decided, right then and there.
Connection and humanity overrode boundaries in this moment.
She could pull her hand back, or she could be a friend to Messiah when he needed it most. Just this one time, she could remove the clinical veil she viewed him through, and simply be a person.
Messiah felt a comfort wash over his body when she closed her fingers, intertwining them.
It was a vulnerability, an aching, that made his eyes burn like a motherfucker.
He wondered how she knew to rub her thumb across his hand the way she was doing.
Was it a psychological method she had learned in her fancy schools, supported by her big textbooks, and her expensive degrees?
He wondered if she knew how safe it felt, like she was someone he could run to get when the school bully was threatening to beat him up after school.
No one had ever reached out a hand for him to hold when he was afraid.
Messiah had always been the protector. Outside of Ethic, he had never been protected a day of his life.
He certainly didn’t know anything about feeling safe with a woman.
He came to their rescue, and he loved being a man to the damsels he deemed worthy.
He thrived in that form of masculinity. He prided himself on fulfilling that role, especially for Morgan.
He had even done it with Bleu. They made him feel like a man, like he was strong, like he was a savior of victims, so he could never be one.
But sitting in this car in silence, he had to turn his head out towards the window, so that Khadeen wouldn’t see his eyes go wet.
He felt like she was protecting him. That thumb moving back and forth across his hand as she squeezed his hand tightly felt more powerful than a gun.
“Let’s get Ms. Yolly some French fries,” Khadeen suggested. He missed the warmth of her hand as soon as she pulled it away. He climbed out of the car, carried Yara inside, and followed Khadeen.
“Table for three,” she told the hostess.
The diner was empty, and they were seated right away. The waitress left menus, and Messiah’s stomach growled. The food in the hospital was terrible. He couldn’t remember his last decent meal.
“You should eat too,” Khadeen said.
“You’re probably right,” Messiah agreed.
The waitress came back over, and Khadeen spoke up, “Can we have an order of French fries and an ice cream sundae for this little one, and he’ll take the salmon voodoo pasta,” she ordered.
“And for you?” the waitress asked.
“I’ll take a blackened chicken salad and iced tea,” Khadeen finished. “Do you want something to drink? Maybe apple juice for the baby?”
“Water is fine,” Messiah said.
When they were alone, Messiah scoffed at her assertion.
“You like salmon, right?” Khadeen asked, cringing as she realized that she hadn’t even asked.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Messiah chuckled. He found the look of relief that overcame her endearing.
“What were you doing at the hospital? Are you okay?”
Messiah’s question took her off guard, and she stumbled through a reply. “Oh, yeah, I was…I’m fine. I had a patient commit herself last night. I was just visiting.”
“You’re feeling better, then?” he asked.
“Yes, I am. Thank you,” Khadeen said, fidgeting in her seat as she tucked her hands between her thighs.