4. Stop Holding Back and Love Me
Luckily, I had just cleaned my kitchen three times before Jared arrived.
My house already looked like a Pinterest board for Black suburban moms with anxiety and a HomeGoods addiction.
The counters were spotless. The throw blankets were folded neatly.
My boys’ slippers and basketball shoes were neatly lined up by the front door to avoid Demir yelling that he couldn’t find them otherwise.
Still, I kept finding things to do. I wiped the counters three times and refluffed the couch pillows.
I lit a third candle and kept my reflection.
I stared at myself in the mirror and admired my Fancy Homebody jogger set.
I loved the elevated essentials from this Black-owned company.
The material felt like butter on my skin, and my ass looked good in these pants.
I thought about putting makeup on, but I decided against it.
Jare had been in my life since I was born.
He’s known every part of me and spent nights reading my long, vulnerable letters about every part I wanted to change about myself after being postpartum in a relationship with a man who made me feel like shit.
Jare didn’t say exactly when he was coming, but I knew it would be sometime today.
He had to see Jazzy. YaYa told me that when she was younger, I tried to spend time with her and do manis and pedis along with her Aunt YaYa and Channy, but her Mom, Jackie, put a stop to it every time.
She would say I was a disrespectful hussie cosplaying as his best friend when I wanted the dick the whole time.
Jackie was a lot of things, but she wasn’t wrong.
I loved my best friend, but never knew how to tell him.
When we were young, I thought Jackie had something I didn’t.
She was beautiful, and she used to boost the flyest clothes.
Her hair stayed done in the most up-to-date styles, and Jare spared no expense on her.
But he didn’t love her. He loved his daughter, and because Jackie gave her life, he made sure she was taken care of all these years.
He funded her childcare center, which later became a statewide franchise.
Young me was jealous of her. Although I knew what we had and how we bonded, I didn’t like that he was financially taking care of her while he was inside.
But he explained that a real man cared for his child, and that Jackie’s success while Jazzy was in the house was directly tied to Jazzy’s success.
I think back now and realize I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.
I couldn’t have loved Jared if he didn’t love his child.
So, Jared not giving me an exact time because he was spending the day with his daughter made me love him more.
I tried to keep myself busy. If I stopped doing housework and allowed myself to focus on the fact that Jared was coming to my house today, I would lose my shit, because Jared Davis was finally free.
Even after twenty-four years of praying for something, your body didn’t just know how to act normally when it actually happened.
I stood at my kitchen sink staring out the window toward the front yard while cinnamon vanilla filled the air from the candle burning beside the fruit bowl.
My appointment book lay open on the kitchen table because I cleared my entire client schedule for the day.
My regulars were pissed, especially Miss Gloria.
“Camilla Renee,” she said over the phone this morning, “Ain’t no man worth canceling my silk press over.”
I smiled just thinking about it. If only she knew. Jared was worth damn near everything. My phone buzzed against the counter. My big baby, AJ, was calling.
I answered immediately. “Hey, baby.”
“Mama, you forgot to send me that insurance card picture.”
Lord. I pressed my fingers against my forehead. “It’s in the family group chat.”
“No, it ain’t.”
“Yes, it is.”
“No ma’am.”
I pulled the phone away from my ear to check. Damn. I sent it to YaYa by accident.
“Okay, hold on.”
AJ laughed softly through the phone while I forwarded the picture.
His laugh sounded deeper these days. College had put bass in my baby’s voice and muscles on his shoulders.
Nineteen years old on a full basketball scholarship and already walking around like he paid bills.
But no matter how tall and muscular he got, and no matter how these little fast-ass girls chased him around, he was still my baby.
“You good?” he asked after a second.
“Mhm.”
“You lyin’, momma.”
I rolled my eyes immediately. “Why do all my children accuse me of lying?”
“Because you get quiet when you’re nervous, and why does your location say you’re still at home and not at the salon?”
“Who’s the parent, AJ? Why you clocking me like you pay my damn bills?”
“Uncle Jared’s there ain’t he? His redemption story is playing all over the news.”
My chest tightened instantly. I hate that the kids called him uncle.
Would this shit be confusing if we did become something?
But of course, my boys knew and loved him.
They called his sisters Aunt YaYa and Aunt Channy.
Hell, because of Uncle Jared, we had a roof over our head, and I got to be an entrepreneur.
Being in charge of my own schedule meant I got to be present with my boys.
I got quiet for a moment, not because AJ was wrong, but because his ass knew me too well.
I leaned back against the counter slowly. “Mind your business.”
“That man’s been in love with you since cassette tapes were cool.”
I barked out a laugh despite myself. “Boy.”
“I’m serious.” AJ’s tone softened. “You happy?”
The question caught me off guard enough to answer honestly. “Yeah.”
My answer came out honest and fast.
AJ noticed.
“Damn.” He laughed. “You got it bad, huh?”
“Go to class and stay out of grown folks’ business.”
“You blushing?”
“Antwon Junior—”
“Mama blushing!” he shouted dramatically before hanging up.
I stared at the phone, smiling like an idiot.
Then I immediately got emotional because my boys loved Jared.
Their own father didn’t give a shit if we ended up on the streets.
Once I didn’t want to be with him anymore, he acted as if his kids didn’t exist. He was bitter that I didn’t take his ass for child support.
I wanted to, but Jared made it clear that I was never to beg a Nigga to do shit for me and mine.
That a Nigga who didn’t want to do for his seeds was a dead Nigga as far as me and his children were concerned.
His use of his is what got me. AJ, Josiah, and Demir wrote him letters and talked to him on the phone.
I let AJ visit with me a few times, and the sight of where Jare was humbled him.
Jared always used it as a chance to talk to him about his choices.
Jared had been present even from prison.
In addition to making sure I had financial autonomy, he sent birthday money and gave advice over the phone about everything from handling bullies to asking a girl to a dance.
He talked basketball with AJ and Josiah.
He listened to Demir’s obsession with Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and would make him wooden Mickey Mouse sculptures.
The basketball camp fees were mysteriously paid before I could ask any questions.
When AJ got suspended in tenth grade, Jared talked to him longer than his own father did.
When Josiah got caught fighting, Jared made him write a letter to me explaining the source of his anger, rather than punishing him blindly.
When Demir cried because other kids had dads at football practice, Jared sat on the phone for an hour teaching him how to spiral a football using rolled-up socks.
Jared had always been our covering.
My boys trusted him and respected him. I would even go as far as to say that they needed him. And if I could be honest, so did I.
I looked down at my outfit again. My joggers and matching quarter zip may be too casual for this reunion.
Then again, this was Jared. Jared, who had seen me at seventeen and crying in church parking lots behind dumb ass Niggas that I was chasing after. The Jare who saw me while I was exhausted and pregnant. What I loved about us was that there had never been a performance between us.
I walked through the living room, adjusting picture frames unnecessarily while my nerves kept tap dancing in my chest. The boys were at school. The house was quiet except for soft R&B playing through the kitchen speaker.
I played Jilly from Philly and listened to her croon Can’t Wait, a track about her not being able to wait to be loved by the right man.
I joined in singing my heart out because I could relate.
Jared always made me feel like my favorite slow jam.
Every time I got off the phone with him, I swear I could hear Aaliyah’s One in a Million playing on repeat because I had never known a love so steady, even without physical touch.
I paused near the hallway mirror and stared at myself. I’m forty-four years old. I’m a grown-ass woman with three kids and a thriving business, and somehow the thought of seeing Jared again made me feel sixteen again.
My outdoor camera alerted me on my phone that Jared was walking up to the porch. I pressed my hand flat against my chest.
Breathe, Camilla.
You have known this man your entire life.
I opened the front door too fast, and there he was, standing at the edge of my walkway, looking so fine.
He wore a black Nike Tech sweatsuit. His broad shoulders stretched through the fabric.
His beard was now salt and pepper, making him look even more delectable.
His eyes were heavy and watchful. Prison had hardened parts of him.
But somehow, Jared still looked like safety to me.
His eyes met mine, and all I saw was love in them.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were on your way, Jare?” I asked breathlessly. “I would’ve gotten dressed and done my face.”