Echo #4
“You think I was gonna let my godbaby go to her first day of kindergarten without me?” he asked, squeezing her cheek gently.
Juliet giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck.
Optimus glanced up at the building. “So how we getting in this motherfucker?”
“We not getting in no way,” my mother interjected smoothly, stepping forward and taking Juliet from his arms. “Her parents go in, and her crazy-ass Godfather sees her later.”
“Good morning, Mrs. E,” Optimus said, leaning in to kiss the top of her head.
“I know a dead nigga when I see him kissing my wife,” my father said, walking over like he had been waiting to say that all morning.
Optimus laughed, stepping into his dap. “Aye, Mr. E, you know I don’t want no smoke.”
“Yeah, you don’t,” my father replied, gripping his hand a second longer than necessary.
Juliet looked between all of us, smiling like she had the strongest army in the world standing behind her.
And she did.
We stopped in the main office to get Juliet checked in for the day, which gave me the opportunity to grill administration about emergency exits, fire drills, and lockdown procedures.
Mr. Spengler—the office manager and a thirty-year vet—remembered my family and me, and assured us Juliet was in the best of care.
Not that I needed his reassurance.
I had thirty ready, willing, and able men watching this place from the time Juliet stepped foot on this property to the moment she left. If she skinned her knee, I’d know about it before she made it to the nurse.
Still, I shook his hand out of respect and thanked him for “looking out.”
A student helper escorted us to Ju-Ju’s class, and we waited outside.
The room was lined with large glass windows, allowing you to see the entire class from the hallway.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. Who decided that barely ventilated rooms behind cream-painted brick walls weren’t good enough?
Why the hell did they need natural sunlight and a full view of the corridors?
They were five.
Give their little asses iPads and sit them in a circle like normal citizens.
Looking into the brightly decorated room, I noticed different play stations, a small library, and what looked like a center built around STEM and sensory activities. The kids were having a great time, all locked into their own little worlds.
It looked like free play at an amusement park—just with an education theme.
One kid ran up to the glass.
I kneeled down and nudged Juliet. “Wave,” I said, lifting my hand with hers.
Instead of waving back, the little girl just smiled…
…and started licking the window.
“Oh, fuck no,” I said instantly, scooping Juliet up. “She ain’t gotta go—we out.”
My mother covered her laugh with her hand, shoulders shaking, while my father pointed his finger toward the ground, silently ordering me to put Juliet back down.
“She will be okay, son,” he said, calm as ever.
“Gina!” Juliet shouted, pointing excitedly toward the classroom.
Her little voice carried through the glass, catching attention immediately. Gina—and some fine, pear-shaped woman—made their way to the door.
“Hey, Ju-Ju,” Gina said warmly, opening it and scooping Juliet up, kissing all over her face.
Gina, as structured and professional as she tried to be, was also a proud member of the Ju-Ju does no wrong crew.
She treated baby girl more like a little sister than a student.
Plenty of times, homeschooling at the studio turned into me renting out entertainers dressed like princesses and throwing full-blown parties in spare rooms.
“Et—um,” my mother cleared her throat.
Gina froze mid–babying, then gently set Juliet down and straightened herself up.
“Pardon me. Good morning, everyone,” she said, snapping back into professionalism.
My mother gave her a subtle wink before extending her hand toward the pecan-brown, ebony goddess standing beside her.
“I am Olivia, this is my husband Axel, our son Echo, and this is Miss Juliet. We are the Everettes, and it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
The woman accepted my mother’s greeting with a handshake and a bright smile.
The lavender sweater dress clung to her thick frame like it had something to prove—accentuating the fullness of her breasts, hugging the curves of her hips, and doing its best to contain all that thunder she called thighs.
She was short too, which only made me hungrier for a taste.
At five years old, Juliet was already halfway to her height.
Yeah… a nigga definitely needed to bite that.
“Mrs. Everette, Mr. Everette—welcome. I’m Ms. Faye. Ms. Dionne Faye. We’re so happy to have Juliet.”
My mother smiled politely, but I saw it—the pause. That quiet little window she always left open.
Because she knew.
We all knew.
It was coming.
“Pardon me, Mrs. Everette—and I know this is totally unprofessional—but can I please—”
“Go ahead,” my mother said softly, already smiling.
And just like that, Dionne cracked.
“Olivia Everette! Oh my goodness—I am your biggest fan. I love your work,” she gushed, hands coming together like she was trying to hold it in but couldn’t.
“Girl, when you told your management company that you weren’t about to be boxed into playing just the strong Black woman or the girl from the hood—that your Blackness wasn’t an act, it was your culture? Man… I felt that in my soul.”
She placed a hand over her chest, shaking her head like the moment still lived inside her.