1. Journee
Four Years Later . . .
What’s good, Journee? You can’t be that busy that you ain’t written me back.
I ain’t beat for sending back-to-back letters.
This actually is the last one because a nigga is about to be on the other side of these walls.
That’s the point of this last letter. When I touch down, my people are gonna throw me a coming-home party.
I’m gonna hit your line as soon as I get a phone.
But you better show up to my party. No fucking excuses either.
You won’t have the ability to dodge me when I’m capable of pulling up on you. But be breezy, and we’ll talk soon.
J. P.
I bite my bottom lip as my eyes rake over the letter from Jamarion.
Every letter I’ve received from Jamarion is short and straight to the point.
But this one fills me with a feeling that I’m unable to identify in the moment.
I had no idea that the day I found out about BN’s deception, I would gain a new friend and fake brother.
But two weeks after my visit, I got my first letter from Jamarion.
I wanted to be mad that my ex, who I now refer to as BN thanks to Jamarion calling him that, gave my information to a stranger.
But by the second letter, I found myself becoming Jamarion’s pen pal.
I’m not sure if Jamarion or I need a cat scan for our unorthodox relationship.
But four years later, here we are, and the surprise is that my friend is about to be released from jail.
Life has been kicking my thirty-one-year-old tail, and it’s the reason I haven’t been able to write my friend back.
Time is a precious commodity that I don’t always have the privilege of receiving.
My days and nights are often blended together, so sitting down to write is the last thing I’ve made time for.
“Mommy. Mommy.” The sweet, raspy voice cuts into my thoughts as the sound of little feet draws my eyes to the little person hurrying toward me as fast as her feet allow.
About a month after my ex was locked up, I found out he had given me an unexpected parting gift.
In an attempt to be the woman my parents raised me to be, I drove to Ribax Correctional Institute, where BN was relocated.
Imagine my surprise when I found out that I was blocked as one of his visitors.
I should have gotten the picture then, but nope.
My simple, wannabe responsible ass sent him a letter to inform him that he was gonna be a father.
Another shock came when BN sent me a letter giving up his parental rights and saying that my child and I were dead to him.
Like, be for real because who the hell surrenders their rights through a letter? BN, that’s who.
“Mommy.” Little hands cover my face, and a giggle escapes my mouth because clearly baby girl doesn’t like me ignoring her.
Milan Egypt Gavin is the love of my life and the reason I am the woman I am. There have been many days when I didn’t think I would survive as a single parent. But seeing Milan’s beautiful face makes all of my worries, pain, and delusions about my parenting fade into thin air.
“I’m sorry, baby. What can I do for you?”
“Hungry, Mommy.”
Milan rubs circles on her stomach to emphasize her point, and I smile as she releases my face and steps back.
Milan is three years old and the apple of not only my eye but everyone who is invited to be a part of her village.
I thought my parents would be displeased with me not only getting pregnant by a buster but also being forced to be a single mother.
But instead, they let me shed my tears and committed to helping me through it all.
As a business owner, I have unorthodox work hours, but Mom retired so she could keep Milan so day care wouldn’t be a burden for me.
At first, I felt bad about her decision, but then Dad told me that Mom was just killing time until something gave her a reason to leave.
Thankfully for me, Milan was that something.
Between Mom, Dad, and Zuri, I have been able to maintain my sanity while growing my business and handling motherhood like the boss I am.
While most people knew what they wanted to be when they grew up, it took me a little bit to figure out my life plan.
Cocoa Luxe is my first baby, and I had to learn how to put in the blood, sweat, and tears while growing a tiny human.
Some days, I wanted to stay in bed after spending early mornings with my head inside my toilet bowl.
But my determination to continue thriving in business pushed me to the front line even when energy wasn’t something I had.
I have managed to keep my human and professional babies alive, and for that, I’m proud of myself.
“What do you want to eat, baby?”
“Ricken Ugget,” Milan tells me, and I smile.
If Milan had her way, chicken nuggets would be breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
Mom ensures she has balanced meals throughout the day, but sometimes I give in to Milan’s chosen foods just to avoid cooking.
Not to mention, Tyson makes a pretty tasty chicken nugget.
I open the freezer and pull out the bag, then move to the cabinet to retrieve a baking sheet to cook them on.
Then I preheat the oven and move to place enough nuggets for Milan and me to eat for dinner.
Tonight, my toddler’s suggestion works for both of us.
Once the oven chimes, I place the sheet in the oven and head back to the freezer for some broccoli, since Milan also enjoys it.
My phone rings before I can grab the pot from the cabinet.
“Phone, Mommy. Mommy, phone,” Milan says like a parrot.
“Can you get it for me, big girl?”
“Mmhm.” Milan runs out of the kitchen to retrieve my phone and returns seconds later with it to her ear.
Her face is bright, and her cheeks are rosy, which lets me know it’s either my parents or Zuri.
“Who is it?”
“TT Uri,” Milan says before she hands me the phone.
“Thank you, baby. How about you go play, and I’ll call you when dinner is ready?”
Milan smiles and runs out of the kitchen like her daddy is an Olympic track star.
Hell, I wish.
“Hey, girl, hey,” I say in a singsong voice, ignoring the statement in my head.
“Hey, bestie. I was just calling to check on my favorite girls. Millie didn’t give me time to check on her before she passed you the phone. What did you do to my god baby?” Zuri asks.
“Made her wait for dinner because I was reading a letter from her godfather.”
“Oh. Is everything okay?”
I shake my head and finish putting the broccoli on so it will be done around the time the chicken nuggets are. When I’m done with that, I take a seat at the table and answer Zuri’s question.
“He’s getting out. He didn’t tell me an exact date, just said I’d better show up when he gives me the information.
All of my communication with Jamarion has been through letters and phone calls because he wouldn’t let me come see him.
How the hell am I gonna deal with him on the outside?
Better yet, how did you let me enter into any type of relationship with this man?
What kind of therapist/best friend are you? ”
“Tuh. Don’t you dare try to put this manure in my lap.
You were the one talking about how cool he is when I tried talking you off the ladder.
Who becomes a pen pal in today’s climate of crazies anyway?
You, the lonely chick who should have been riding the next dick to get over the one that double-crossed her. ”
A loud laugh comes from deep in my belly when Zuri finishes her spiel.
My embarrassing truth is that I used Jamarion to fill the empty spaces in my desire to secretly hold on to BN.
I initially was okay with being his pen pal because I thought for sure he would give me additional dirt on Milan’s sperm donor.
But Jamarion never mentioned BN in his letters, and by then, I had gotten attached to him.
It didn’t help that I spilled my pregnancy details like he slid his dick in me to go half on a baby.
I didn’t plan to get pregnant, let alone carry out the nine months by myself, so it was easy to latch onto Jamarion.
At one point in my pregnancy, my hormones had me imagining us in a different capacity.
Thankfully, that’s a delusion I shared with Zuri, who literally slapped the thought out of me.
What’s sad is that I want marriage and everything that comes with it.
I want a man who will not only love me but also my daughter, as we deserve to be loved.
I want the fairy tale that doesn’t feel like pretend.
But how I will get it is a mystery because I only go to work, my parents’, and with Zuri when our schedules permit.
Dating seems like a fantasy, and honestly, I’m not sure if I’ll get the chance to do it again.
“Talk to me, Journee.” Zuri’s voice is softer than it was seconds ago, and my chest tightens from the knowledge of her knowing I’m stewing about something.
I sigh heavily and then let my thoughts flow freely because I know the last thing Zuri will do is judge me.
I’m struggling with Jamarion’s release because I’m unsure how things will look for us with him on the outside.
Jamarion and I live two different lives, and I don’t know how my child and I will manage to fit into his world.
Jamarion is a street pharmacist, and under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t associate with someone like him.
But I can’t fake our connection. Not to mention the fact that I had given him the privilege of being Milan’s godfather.
I can’t even explain why, other than that I know Jamarion is the only male figure in Milan’s life besides Dad.
“From what you’ve told me about that man, I believe that you and Millie will be safe regardless of his lifestyle.”
“He’s a drug—how can we possibly be safe? He got caught and did four years. I can’t take the risk of being around him with Milan, and KPD invades our space. Then that lifestyle has other factors that can be life-altering.”
“You’re forgetting the fact that you spent a couple of years with a man who’s also in jail for the same thing. Said man is the one you were busting it wide open for and with whom you created life. Let’s not forget your past while you’re trying to find something to judge another about.”
“Wow. Make me swallow my tongue, bestie.”
“Perspective is all I want you to have. BN wasn’t a saint, and you strutted around the city like he was the best thing since sliced bread. My only prayer is that you will see that you and my baby deserve a man more suited for the clothes you supply in your boutique.”
What can I say to the things that Zuri has said without hesitation or fear of my rebuttal?
Absolutely nothing. The truth is often hard to swallow, but it’s always worth digesting.
Zuri, having said her peace on the subject, transitions the conversation to something else.
I continue talking to her as I put the finishing touches on dinner, then feed my baby.
For now, I’m gonna let tomorrow worry about itself.