6. TRUTH #2
I nodded, my throat suddenly tight.
“Yeah,” I whispered. “I’m done.”
He picked up four of the bags like they weighed nothing.
I grabbed the other two.
And we walked out of Macy’s together like we’d just conquered the world.
When we got back to the car, Amai loaded the bags into the trunk while I stood there, still trying to process what had just happened.
He closed the trunk and turned to look at me.
“You good?” he asked.
I nodded. “Yeah. I’m good.”
“You sure?”
I looked up at him.
At this man who’d just walked into Macy’s and fired my ex-husband’s girlfriend without blinking.
Who’d handed me his Black card and told me to spend it.
Who’d sat there and watched me buy things for my family like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Thank you,” I said quietly.
Amai’s jaw tightened. “You don’t gotta thank me.”
“Yeah, I do.”
He stared at me for a long moment.
Then, he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.
The touch was gentle.
“Get in the car, Truth,” he said, his voice low.
I got in the car.
And as we pulled out of the parking lot, I realized something.
I didn’t just sign a contract with Amai Landry.
I’d just stepped into his world.
And I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to step back out.
The drive back to Mama’s house felt shorter than it should have.
Maybe because I was still riding the high of watching Destiny get dragged out of Macy’s by security.
Maybe because I was sitting next to a man who’d just spent damn near four thousand dollars on me and my family without flinching.
Or maybe because I was starting to realize that Amai Landry wasn’t just some rich man looking for a surrogate.
He was something else entirely.
Something dangerous.
Something I wasn’t sure I was ready for.
When we pulled up to the house, the sun was starting to set. The sky was streaked with orange and pink, and the air smelled like cut grass and somebody’s barbecue down the block.
Amai put the car in park and got out without a word.
I watched him walk around to the trunk, pop it open, and start pulling out bags like he’d done this a thousand times before.
I got out and met him at the back of the car.
“I can carry some of those,” I said.
He looked at me. “I got it.”
“Amai.”
“I said I got it.”
I didn’t argue.
He grabbed four bags in each hand like they weighed nothing and started walking toward the house.
I grabbed the last two and followed him up the cracked concrete walkway, past Mama’s flower bed that she’d been threatening to replant for three years, and up the three steps to the porch.
The screen door was open.
Inside, I could hear the TV—Criminal Minds, Mama’s favorite show. She’d seen every episode at least twice, but she still watched it like it was brand new.
I pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Mama was sitting in her recliner, a glass of something amber in her hand, her eyes on the screen.
She didn’t look up when we walked in.
“You back,” she said, her voice flat.
“Yeah, Mama.”
“And you brought company.”
“Yeah.”
She finally looked over.
Her eyes went to Amai first—standing in the middle of her living room holding six Macy’s bags like he was a personal shopper—and then to me.
She took a slow sip of her drink.
“Well, well, well,” she said, a smile creeping across her face. “Look like you done found yourself a rich one this time, huh?”
My face got hot. “Mama.”
“I’m just sayin’.” She set her glass on the side table and stood up, smoothing down her house dress. “Last one you brought home couldn’t even afford to take you to Popeye’s. This one look like he owns the whole damn franchise.”
Amai’s mouth twitched. Almost a smile.
Mama walked over to him, her eyes sharp, assessing.
“You better not bring no trouble around my house,” she said, her voice suddenly serious.
Amai met her gaze head-on. “That will never be an issue, ma’am.”
His voice was different. Softer. Respectful.
The code-switch was so smooth I almost didn’t catch it.
But Mama did.
She tilted her head, studying him for a long moment.
Then she nodded. “Mm-hmm. We’ll see.”
She turned and walked back to her chair, picked up her glass, and settled back in like nothing had happened.
“Y’all can put them bags in Truth’s room,” she said, waving a hand toward the hallway. “And close the door behind you. I’m tryna watch my show.”
I led Amai down the narrow hallway to my room—the same room I’d grown up in, the same room I’d come back to after Phillip took everything.
He set the bags on my bed without a word.
I set mine next to his.
“Thank you,” I said again.
He looked at me. “You keep saying that.”
“Because I mean it.”
He didn’t respond. Just stood there, his hands in his pockets, his eyes on mine.
The air between us felt heavy.
Charged.
“Come on,” I said, breaking the silence. “I’ll walk you out.”
We walked back through the living room. Mama didn’t look up from the TV, but I saw her eyes flick toward us as we passed.
Outside, the street was quiet. A few kids were riding bikes down the block. Somebody’s dog was barking. The smell of barbecue was stronger now, mixing with the smell of cut grass and gasoline from a car idling somewhere nearby.
Amai stopped at the bottom of the porch steps and turned to face me.
“The fertility clinic will reach out in a couple days,” he said. “Dr. Simone Beaumont. She’ll be your doctor.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
“If you need anything before then, let me know.”
“I will.”
He stared at me for a moment longer, like he was about to say something else.
But then headlights cut across the yard.
A car pulled up to the curb.
I knew that car.
My stomach dropped.
“No,” I whispered.
The driver’s side door opened.
Phillip stepped out.
And then Destiny got out of the passenger side, her phone already in her hand like she was about to record this.
“Well, well, well,” Phillip said, grinning like he’d just won the lottery. “Look who it is. My broke-ass ex-wife and her new sugar daddy.”
My hands curled into fists.
Amai didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stood there, watching.
Phillip walked closer, his chest puffed out, his voice loud enough for the whole block to hear.
“What, you think you special now, Truth?” he said, laughing. “You think you better than me ’cause you got some nigga with money? You still the same?—”
Amai moved.
Fast.
One second, he was standing next to me.
The next, he was on Phillip.
The sound of Amai’s fist connecting with Phillip’s jaw was so loud it echoed down the block.
Phillip went down hard, his body hitting the pavement with a sickening thud.
But Amai didn’t stop.
He grabbed Phillip by the front of his shirt and dragged him up, only to slam his fist into his face again.
And again.
And again.
Blood sprayed across the concrete.
Phillip was screaming—high-pitched, desperate, terrified.
“Amai!” I shouted.
But he didn’t hear me.
Or maybe he did and just didn’t care.
He was a different person now.
Not the man who’d sat in Macy’s watching me shop.
Not the man who’d code-switched for my mama.
This was the man people whispered about.
The man people feared.
Destiny was screaming too, her phone forgotten, her hands covering her mouth.
And that’s when I moved.
I walked up to her, grabbed a fistful of her hair, and yanked her head back.
“You threw a drink on me,” I said, my voice low and steady. “Remember?”
Her eyes went wide. “Truth, I?—”
I punched her in the face.
Not hard enough to break anything.
But hard enough to make her feel it.
She stumbled back, her hands flying to her nose, blood already dripping between her fingers.
“You think you cute?” I said, advancing on her. “You think you won?”
I hit her again.
This time she went down.
And I didn’t stop.
I grabbed her by the hair and dragged her across the pavement, her screams mixing with Phillip’s, the sound of fists hitting flesh, the smell of blood and sweat and gasoline thick in the air.
Behind me, I heard Mama’s voice.
“That’s my baby!”
I looked up.
Mama was standing on the porch, her robe tied tight, her slippers on, and her shotgun in her hands.
She wasn’t pointing it at anyone.
Just holding it.
A failsafe.
But she was laughing.
Actually laughing.
“Put that belt to they ass, baby!” she shouted. “Show ’em what happens when they fuck with a Renois!”
And that’s when I saw it.
Amai had pulled his belt off.
The leather cracked through the air like a whip as he brought it down across Phillip’s back.
Phillip screamed.
Amai hit him again.
And again.
The sound was brutal. Visceral. The kind of sound that made your stomach turn and your heart race at the same time.
I looked down at Destiny, still on the ground, still bleeding, still crying.
And I felt nothing.
No guilt.
No regret.
Just satisfaction.
By now, the whole block had come out.
Miss Claudette from next door was standing on her porch with her arms crossed, shaking her head but smiling.
Mr. Jerome from across the street was leaning against his car, a beer in his hand, watching like this was pay-per-view.
The kids on bikes had stopped to stare.
This was entertainment.
This was justice.
This was the Seventh Ward.
Phillip finally managed to crawl away, his face a mess of blood and tears, his body shaking.
Destiny scrambled to her feet and ran after him.
They stumbled back to the car, Phillip’s hands shaking so bad he could barely get the door open.
Destiny was sobbing, her face ruined, her hair a mess.
The engine roared to life.
The tires screeched as Phillip peeled out, the car fishtailing down the street before disappearing around the corner.
The block went quiet.
Then Mama started clapping.
“Now that’s a real man right there,” she said, looking at Amai. “That’s the kind of man you need, baby. One who don’t let nobody disrespect you.”
Amai was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling, his knuckles bloody, his belt still in his hand.
He looked at me.
And I looked back.
“You good?” he asked.
I nodded. “Yeah. I’m good.”