16. Melissa Domaine
Charlie Mac’s house always smelled like barbecue sauce and cigar smoke.
It was weirdly comfortin’.
Since I found out he was my blood daddy he had stepped up in ways I didn’t imagine. So when he called and said, “Come eat, I made ribs,” I showed up.
“Girl, you still skinny,” he said, shakin’ his head as I walked into the kitchen. “You eat?”
“I’m literally standin’ in front of food,” I said, laughin’. “Relax.”
“Relax not in my vocabulary when it come to you,” he said, kissin’ my forehead. “Go fix you a plate.”
We sat at the table, just the two of us. His wife was out with her sister, so it was quiet.
He asked about my mom, my business, the girls. I lied about bein’ fine like I always did.
“What about that boy?” he asked eventually, leanin’ back. “What his name… Roman?”
I damn near choked on my cornbread.
“What about him?” I asked, playin’ dumb.
He smirked. “You know you my business, right? I hear things.”
I rolled my eyes. “From who?”
“From everybody,” he said. “You think Truce and Trend don’t talk? You think Charlee keep her mouth shut?”
I sighed. “We cool.”
He gave me a look. “You say ‘cool’ the same way your mama used to say it when she was two minutes from cryin’.”
I looked down at my plate.
He didn’t push.
That’s what I loved about him.
He’d let me sit in my silence until I was ready.
After a while, we was done eatin’, just sippin’ on drinks. The sun was startin’ to dip, orange light comin’ through the window.
“Aight, let me walk you to your car,” he said, gettin’ up. “You know I don’t play that ‘bye at the door’ shit.”
“Yes, Daddy,” I said, grabbin’ my purse.
We stepped outside, air a little cooler, street quiet.
Soon as we hit the driveway, I felt it.
That prickle on the back of my neck.
Like eyes were on me.
Charlie Mac must’ve felt it too, ‘cause he stopped mid-step and looked across the street.
A black truck sat parked a little way down, lights off.
I squinted, and said to myself Of course, Roman.
Charlie Mac clicked his tongue. “This nigga,” he snapped.
He looked at me. “Stay right here.”
“Where you goin’?” I asked.
He was already walkin’ toward the truck. “To say hello.”
“Charlie—”
“Stay,” he repeated, in that tone that brooked no argument.
I stood there, heart beatin’ a little faster, watchin’ him cross the street.
He walked right up to the driver’s side, tapped the window with two knuckles.
The glass slid down.
Even from where I was, I could see Roman’s silhouette.
They talked low. I couldn’t hear words, just tones, deep, even. No shoutin’, no wild hand movements. Just two men havin’ a conversation in the dusk.
At one point, Charlie Mac laughed, patted the top of the door like he was amused.
Roman said somethin’ that made him nod slow, face more serious.
After a minute, Charlie stepped back, pointed at the house, then pointed down the street like, you see this, you see me.
Roman gave a little nod.
Window went back up.
Charlie walked back to me, chucklin’.
“Who was that?” I asked, even though I already knew.
“Your man,” he said. “Roman.”
“He not my man,” I said automatically.
He smirked. “I told him the same thing.”
My eyes widened. “What you say?”
“I told him if he gon’ sit outside my house starin’ at my daughter like a Lifetime movie, he might as well come check me out and talk ‘bout you sometime this week,” he said. “He said he was gon’ pull up.”
I sucked my teeth. “You invitin’ my stalker in the house now? Wow.”
He laughed. “Ain’t nobody scared of that boy. He respectful. Crazy, but respectful. I just wanted to see what kind of man got you in a chokehold.”
“I am not in a chokehold,” I lied.
He gave me that daddy look. “Okay, Melissa.”
I hugged him, shakin’ my head.
“Love you,” I mumbled into his shirt.
“Love you more,” he said, kissin’ the top of my head. “Text me when you get home. And if that boy act too wild, you know where to bring him.”
I laughed and pulled back. “You not about to be fightin’ my almost-boyfriend.”
He raised his brows. “Almost?”
“Goodnight, Charlie,” I said, dodgin’ the question.
He chuckled, watchin’ me get in the car.
Once I pulled off, I checked my mirror.
Sure enough, that truck eased out a few seconds later.
Not too close, and not too obvious, but there.
I gripped the wheel tighter.
“Okay, Melissa,” I whispered. “We doin’ this today.”
Instead of headin’ straight home, I made a right where I usually went left. Took the long way, through a couple side streets.
His lights stayed in my rearview.
I turned again, and so did he.
A little spark of anger flared under my skin.
At the next light, instead of goin’ through, I flicked on my blinker and pulled into a small empty lot by a closed-down corner store.
Parked.
Turned the car off.
My heart was poundin’, but my jaw was set.
His truck rolled past slow, then braked.
Reverse lights flashed.
He backed up, pulled into the lot, parked two spaces down.
For a second, we both just sat there.
Then I opened my door and got out.
He got out too, shuttin’ his door behind him, hands in his pockets.
We stood there under a streetlight, in the middle of a damn hood ass parking lot, starin’ at each other like a showdown.
“You good?” he asked first, like he was the normal one.
“No, I’m not good,” I snapped. “Why are you followin’ me, Roman?”
“I wasn’t—”
“Don’t lie,” I cut him off. “You been on my bumper since I left Charlie Mac house. And April already told me Royce told you to chill. So how long you been doin’ this? Huh? How long you been ridin’ past my people shit, watchin’ where I go?”
He stared at me, jaw tight.
“Answer me,” I demanded.
“A minute,” he said finally. “Since we got back from Saint Lucia.”
I laughed, in disbelief. “A minute? Nigga, that’s not a minute. That’s damn near months.”
He didn’t deny it.
“Why?” I asked. “Why you feel like you gotta play shadow behind me?”
“I already told you,” he said. “I like knowin’ you straight. I like knowin’ where you at. Who you with.”
“That’s not your job,” I fired back. “I didn’t ask you for that.”
“I didn’t ask you for how you in my head either,” he snapped. “But here we are.”
I blinked, thrown.
He took a step closer.
“You think this shit easy for me?” he asked, voice low and rough. “You think I like feelin’ like a fuckin’ lunatic every time you don’t answer your phone? You think I enjoy sittin’ in my car outside places I know you hang out at, just to make sure your car there when it’s supposed to be?”
“You do it,” I said. “So yeah, some part of you like it.”
“Nah,” he said, shakin’ his head. “Some part of me is scared. That’s what you not gettin’. I watched one woman I love die ‘cause I trusted the world to let me have her in peace. I’m not rollin’ those dice twice.”
My anger flickered, but I kept my face hard.
“And what about me?” I asked. “You so worried about losin’ me you not even seein’ how you makin’ me wanna run. You not givin’ me a choice.”
“I am,” he said. “You just don’t like the options. You wanna do this shit your way, you act like you don’t feel nothin’, dip in and out when it suit you, call it ‘fun’ so you don’t have to own it. I’m not built for that.”
I folded my arms, heart thumpin’ against my ribs.
“So how you built then?” I asked. “Spell it out.”
He stepped even closer, close enough I had to tilt my head back to keep eye contact.
“I’m built to love hard,” he said. “All in. No halfway. When I say you mine, I mean that. Not ‘mine’ like property. Mine like responsibility. Like, if some shit happen to you, it gon’ sit on my chest. If you cry, I’m the one who gotta wipe it.
If you happy, it’s gon’ be ‘cause I added to it, not ‘cause some nigga did you right by accident.”
“That sound cute on a T-shirt,” I said, voice shakin’. “But in real life, you chokin’ me.”
His eyes flickered.
We stood there, breathin’ hard.
“I know I’m pressin’ too much,” he said finally. “I hear myself when I talk to you. I see your face when I pop up. I know I’m two steps from losin’ you with the same shit I think is protectin’ you.”
“Then stop,” I said. “It’s that simple.”
“It’s not,” he said. “Not for me.”
He ran a hand over his head, swearin’ under his breath.
“I don’t sleep right if I don’t know you made it home,” he admitted. “I don’t focus if I don’t know you not out here gettin’ played or touched or… hurt. I know you grown. I know you don’t need a savior. But after what I seen, after what I lost, my brain don’t know how to chill.”
“And you think my brain just chillin’?” I shot back.
“You think I ain’t up at night runnin’ scenarios?
You think I ain’t scared as fuck of lettin’ somebody else have that kind of access to me again?
I didn’t ask you to sit outside my life like security ‘cause I was tryna protect me. From you. From this.”
He looked like I’d slapped him.
“Well,” he said after a second, voice a little hoarse, “how is that workin’?”
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
We both knew the answer.
I was still here.
Still textin’ him back.
Still lettin’ him touch me.
Still feelin’ that twist in my stomach every time his name popped up on my phone.
“I’m not sayin’ what you doin’ is okay,” I said, softer now. “It’s not. You need to chill forreal. No more hide-and-seek shit. No more bathroom stunts. If you worried, call me. If I don’t answer, leave a message. Don’t turn my life into your personal surveillance project.”
He listened, jaw tense.
“And I…” I hated the words already, but I pushed them out, “I will stop doin’ that disappear shit. The pull-back, block-you, ignore-you shit. It’s not fair for me to act like you don’t exist then get mad when you force yourself into my space.”
His eyes narrowed. “So what you sayin’?”
“I’m sayin’…” I took a breath. “If you wanna know where I’m at, ask. Straight up. Give me the chance to answer before you decide to lurk. And I’ll actually answer. That’s the compromise I got in me right now.”
He stared at me like he was tryna see if I was playin’.
“That’s all you can give me?” he asked.
“For now,” I said. “I ain’t ready to be nobody full-time yet. But I’m… tryin’.”
The last word came out small, but it was real.
His face softened the tiniest bit.
“You really got me out here in parkin’ lots negotiatin’ my crazy.” He chuckled.
A laugh bubbled out of me before I could stop it.
“Yeah, well,” I said, “you earned it.”
We stood there, some of the heat drainin’ out the air.
He reached up slow, like he was givin’ me time to move, and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear.
“You text Charlie Mac?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said automatically. “Told him I was headin’ home.”
He nodded. “Text me when you make it in.”
I sighed. “You not gon’ stop with that, huh?”
“Nope,” he said. “Difference is, now you know I’m waitin’ on it from my couch, not from your bushes.”
I shook my head, but I couldn’t hide the little smile this time.
“You somethin’ else,” I said.
“I know,” he said. “Still yours, though.”
I didn’t correct him.
Didn’t say we wasn’t a thing.
I just walked back to my car, heart still beatin’ too fast, fingers already itchin’ toward my phone even before I pulled off.
‘Cause for better or worse, I knew one thing:
I wasn’t done fightin’ this man.
And I wasn’t ready to let him go either.