15. REASON
REASON
Icruised through my old neighborhood in L.A.
, soaking in the sun, the swaying palm trees, and the familiar streets I once called home.
The air smelled like a mixture of smog, barbeque smoke, and freshly cut grass I hadn’t smelled in years.
The last time I was here, I was nineteen.
My mama and old man had just sold the house and were packing up to move to Miami to be closer to me while I attended college.
They couldn’t stand being away from me, and I felt the same, but I needed independence.
So, they gave me autonomy, but they were always close enough in case shit went haywire.
Luckily, I didn’t lean on them much. I carved my own path and handled whatever came my way.
I pulled up in front of my old house, and the memories hit me hard.
Everything looked almost the same, just worn down by time.
The light green paint was chipped and fading.
Instead of the open space, an iron gate now separated the house from the others.
The fresh green grass I used to tear up was gone, replaced by white and black pebbles.
I lost my virginity in this house to my high school sweetheart when I snuck her in while Mom and Dad were gone.
We didn’t know what we were doing, but I did everything I had seen on TV to make her feel special since it was her first time too.
That was one of the best days of my life, and one I never forgot about. I was young, in love, and full of cum.
I fought niggas in front of this crib. I watched people get shot through the front window.
I ran the streets with neighborhood kids until the streetlights came on and our mothers called our names from the porches.
And inside those walls, I built the best memories of my life with my parents. Just the three of us.
I wasn’t one to get emotional, but I felt it in my chest. It was like I could hear my father’s voice in my head. Every morning before work, he would kiss Mama, pull me into a tight hug, and say, “Reason, it’s your turn to take care of your mama until I get home. You think you can handle that?”
“I got it, Dad,” I would tell him, trying to sound older than I was.
He would smile and say, “I know you do. You are going to be a great man one day. I just know it.”
Another memory I never forgot was Mama packing my father’s meals and sliding a small note inside his lunch pail to help him get through his long shifts as an electrician.
At the end of the day, he would come home with that note and place it inside a red shoebox with all the others she had given him.
He saved everything Mama and I ever gave him.
We did not have much. The house was small. Money was tight, as I would hear them say. But the love in our home made us feel rich.
Man, I miss my father so much.
I gave my old house one final glance and drove off.
I checked my Patek Philippe, realizing I had forty-five minutes until my meeting with Basheer.
He had flown to L.A. before me to link with the Honors about my case.
They asked me to come out here to provide my sperm, which was the first thing I handled this morning.
I was told they would process it at a fertility clinic and select the healthiest sperm cells.
Then, once we found a surrogate, she would be inseminated.
I still would’ve preferred to do it the natural way, but we cannot always get everything we want in this life.
I also wish we could’ve used Saje’s egg, but that was not an option either.
That’s why I kept telling Basheer and the Honors that the chosen surrogate had to have similarities to my wife, since technically, she would be biologically related to our baby.
Everything still felt unreal, but it was moving along smoothly. They were reviewing surrogates, trying to find the right match.
I pulled into the circular driveway of the mansion I rented for the two days I was here and parked.
Basheer had already arrived. He leaned against his rental truck, smoking a blunt.
When I got out of the vehicle and headed his way, he passed me the blunt, which I declined.
We had an important matter to discuss, and I wanted to be brain-fog-free.
“You ain’t the same young college nigga who used to smoke up everybody shit,” he bellowed.
“Them days is long gone. A nigga got more important shit to worry ’bout.”
Basheer nodded.
I waited until he finished smoking. Then we entered the mansion and sat in the living room. Basheer didn’t waste no time pulling out a mini notebook from his pocket. He flipped through the pages.
“You lucky you pay well, nigga, because this job is tedious as fuck. After going through hundreds of surrogates, I think we might have found ‘the one’.”
I sat up straight, my heart thumping against my chest.
He turned to a page, flattened the book to make it stay open, then handed it to me.
“Based on the detailed information you provided about Saje’s traits, they searched for surrogates with similar features. They have an entire profile with physical descriptions, medical history, and photos only they have access to.”
“You mean to tell me this shit is really happening?”
“Why you look all shocked? Ain’t this what y’all want?”
“Yeah,” I responded, thinking about Saje. I hoped she approved of the decisions I was making.
“Then what’s up? You having doubts?”
I didn’t want to disclose what was really on my mind.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have agreed to being anonymous.
Shouldn’t I see the woman who will be carrying my seed?
How am I supposed to trust a process when I can’t even look the woman who will be carrying my child in the eyes?
Not only that, she’ll…” My voice trailed off.
Saje’s face flashed in my mind again. The day she came into my office crying about her diagnosis. The way she tried to stay strong, acting like the news didn’t break something inside her… like it didn’t break something inside me.
I had to stop myself from saying more to Basheer. If I brought up that the woman would be the biological mother, this might open the door for him to start asking questions about Saje.
He was aware that Saje’s egg wasn’t being used, but he didn’t need to know why, and if he pressed the issue, I would probably lose a friend today.
“She’ll what?”
I stared at the glass centerpiece on the coffee table of the two naked bodies hugging. “Never mind. I think I’ma speak to the Honors about seeing a picture of her,” I told him, going back to what I was saying.
“Bruh, you already signed a contract.”
“It don’t matter. You know as well as I do that money talks.”
“True, but I knew you would renege on your word about remaining anonymous. What type of assistant would I be if I wasn’t ten steps ahead of you? The surrogate they’re considering already signed a contract. And on that paper, she declined any release of her photo.”
“Man, fuck all that. Get Nehemiah or Amara on the phone.”
“Don’t be no difficult client now. I can vouch for them. They are handlin’ your case with care, my nigga. Making sure you get exactly what you asked for. You hired me to do a job right?”
I didn’t respond. I continued staring at the book that had a list of checkmarks next to the documented characteristics I had given them during our meeting.
“You gon’ be straight. They ain’t gon’ do shit to ruin their reputation or do anything to fuck over one of the richest Black men in the United States. Nehemiah and Amara are protecting their clients on both ends.”
Basheer was right. I hired each of them to do a job. I knew how it felt when people tried to switch shit up with my company. Needless to say, I couldn’t do that to the next person when I hated it being done to me.
“Nigga, you work for them or me? You over here sounding like Nehemiah and Amara’s spokesperson and shit,” I jested, causing myself to laugh.
He burst out laughing.
“Just know if any of this shit goes sideways, you better be ready to take care of a newborn.”
Basheer stopped laughing. “Say what? That baby gon’ have yo’ blood running through ’em. And you know what that means?”
I lifted my brows. “What?”
“I’m suing yo’ ass for child support.”
We both doubled over in laughter.
Basheer and I continued discussing the plan regarding the surrogate, then we hit the L.A.
streets. I showed him my old neighborhood, shared stories, and visited spots I used to frequent.
We drove by my old friends’ homes. This moment was more for me, but Basheer rode along and let me reminisce about the good ol’ days.
Back then, everything felt simple. Now I was building a future that didn’t look anything like the one I planned.