3. Journee
Nobody prepared me for the task of dealing with a child alone.
It’s also not the life I saw for myself after being raised by two parents whose example should have prevented me from this life choice.
But I let myself be blinded by dick and multiple periods of a wet ass.
I sigh heavily as my phone vibrates, giving me a much-needed distraction from my negative thoughts.
Aye, it’s Jamarion. Lock me in and hit me up when you get off. I want to see you and Mimi.
“Well, I guess he’s out.”
I gave Jamarion my number during our pen pal conversations in case he wanted to call on days when he didn’t want to write.
His text isn’t a surprise because of the letter I received a while ago, but it still catches me off guard.
Jamarion never told me a date or when to expect to hear from him, but knowing that he’s back in the city slightly relieves me.
We’ve gotten close over the years, and I’m curious to know what our dynamics will be now that he’s on the outside of the prison walls.
Not to mention how he’ll be involved in Milan’s life, or whether he’ll be available to her as her godfather.
Milan has spoken with Jamarion on the phone but has never seen him, so it will be interesting to see whether she takes to him.
She calls him JJ because she’s too young to be able to pronounce his full name.
It’s the cutest thing to hear, but it also makes me wonder how she might have bonded with BN.
380-521-0853:
It’s rude to read and not respond, J.
I roll my eyes and add his name to my contacts before sending a quick reply.
Me:
Welcome home, Jamarion. I’ll call you later.
Jamarion:
Say less. Enjoy your day.
“Come on, Milan. It’s time for you to go to Nanny and Papi’s house so Mommy can go to work.”
“Yay!” Milan runs to grab her little purse that Mom insisted she have during one of the ventures to the mall.
According to Mom, every little girl should have a purse with her essentials.
I have no clue what that means or why it’s necessary, but I choose to mind the business that pays me.
Getting between a grandmother and their grandchild has proven to be a waste of my precious time.
Milan and I are out the door seconds later as I secure the front door and head to the bank of elevators.
We reach the elevator, and I fight the urge to gag when the smell of Old Spice hits my nostrils.
“Top of the morning, Ms. Journee. Howdy, Melan.” My neighbor Elmo, greets me in a cheery voice as I look down at Milan.
“Uh, good morning, Elmo. Her name is Mi-lan, like the animated movie.”
My baby’s face is contorted, and her nose is twisted as she waves her little hand in front of her face. “Stinky, Mommy.”
My lips twitch as I force myself not to respond the way I want to.
“It’s okay, baby.”
“No, Mommy.” Milan continues to frown with an unpleasant expression on her face.
Thankfully, the doors open, and we step inside as Elmo waves and returns to his apartment, granting my baby and me permission to breathe easy again.
“I no like him, Mommy,” Milan tells me, and I giggle lightly because my daughter has formed an opinion about Elmo based on the smell of his cologne.
For me, Elmo is creepy because who comes out of their apartment, only to greet a woman and her child, and then goes back inside when the elevator arrives?
It’s strange to me, but I don’t give it much thought as I exit the elevator upon reaching the garage floor.
I need to drop Milan off and get to the shop to open on time.
I help Milan into her booster seat and then get in, start my car, and turn on Milan’s favorite car tunes.
“Wait, pray, Mommy,” Milan says seconds before I pull out of my assigned spot.
Another Nanny attribute that Milan doesn’t play about that I appreciate.
“I’m sorry, baby. Go ahead and pray.”
“Fader, in da name of Heshua, protek Mommy, Nanny, Papi, Jr., and err body. Cober us in your name. Angels, do your ting. Amen.”
A smile upturns my lips when Milan finishes her morning prayer.
Hearing her attempt to say Yeshua always tickles me.
But I’m grateful that Mom has been teaching my baby to pray.
It’s a continuation of my upbringing that has never failed me during every stage of my life.
Every time Milan prays, it reminds me that I need to do a better job of doing so myself.
But for now, I’m thankful that my baby prays over me when I don’t take time to do it for myself.
Twenty minutes later, I pull up to my childhood home and park behind Mom in the driveway.
I get out, move to the back seat, and open the door to see that Milan has fallen asleep.
Even at three, my baby falls asleep seconds into a car ride.
I unbuckle her from the restraints and then pick her up as my body protests from her weight.
“I don’t know why you insist on carrying her instead of calling me when you’re about to pull up,” Daddy says from behind me.
Without waiting for my response, Daddy gently removes Milan from my arms as I follow him back to the house.
Vaughn Gavin will never cease to be my first love and the one who makes me dream about finding a forever love of my own.
I envy Mom for getting it right and giving me the blueprint on what a real man is and looks like.
While I don’t regret Milan, I definitely regret the sperm from the lame who knocked me up.
“I made breakfast and packed you some to take with you because I know you won’t stay to eat with us,” Daddy says once we’re in the house.
See. This is the flex I need from a man who desires me.
“Thanks, Daddy. I appreciate you. Where’s Mom?”
“At the table waiting for the two of us.” He motions to Milan as a warm smile falls into place on my lips.
I nod wordlessly before following him as he carries Milan to the kitchen. Either the food or knowledge of my presence causes Milan’s head to pop up once we reach the threshold.
“Nanny!” Milan says in a cheery and heightened voice.
“Good morning, sugar dumpling. Morning, Journee,” Mom greets as she extends her arms for Milan once Dad’s next to her chair.
When my parents’ attention shifts to my daughter, I grab my food container, say my goodbyes, and head back out the door. Warmth spreads through my body, when I get back in my seat and pull out of the driveway, at the knowledge of Milan being in the best hands other than mine.
“Maybe I should have come with y’all,” Zuri says.
A week after Jamarion texted to let me know he was out, Milan and I are outside the address where his welcome-home party is being held.
My nerves bounce like I’m in a tennis match with one of the Williams sisters.
My thoughts spiral about how today will go, since this is the first time I will see Jamarion in person outside the prison walls where we met.
It’s also the first time Milan will meet the man I deemed worthy of being her godparent.
Although Jamarion mentioned wanting to see us, his hectic lifestyle and schedule didn’t seem to have provided the opportunity until now.
“Look, Mommy.” The curious excitement in Milan’s voice shakes me out of my thoughts as I turn to see her pointing toward a group of guys heading toward the backyard of the house we’re parked across from.
“I see, baby.”
“What’s got her so excited?” Zuri asks.
“A bunch of men with sagging shorts and loud conversation,” I say.
“Oh. My poor baby ain’t been around so many men before. This is gonna be interesting. Call me if either of you needs me.”
“Will do.”
I disconnect the call seconds later, take a deep breath, and then exit my car.
I might as well get this over with while I have the courage to do so.
Thankfully for me, Milan prayed over us this morning, so I’m not worried about anything.
Or at least that’s what I tell myself as I take Milan’s hand and make my way across the street and up the driveway.
Loud music fills my ears the closer we get.
But it’s the type of music my parents listen to that somehow settles my butterflies.
“Yo, you a fine mothafucka. Who you here for?” a random man says, once Milan and I walk through the backyard, which almost causes me to trip.
My eyes widen as I take in the man who’s in all black from head to toe. Tattoos cover nearly every square inch of his body, making me wonder what his motivation is for covering the tops of his feet with ink.
“Aye! Who shorty is this?” the man shouts, and I instantly freeze in place when all eyes land on Milan and me.
I could literally melt into the grass as the unknown people stare at my baby and me as they attempt to figure out who we are.
“Why the fuck are you so stupid?” a familiar masculine voice with the hoodest tone I’ve heard shouts from the right of me.
That seems to pop the bubble of the onlookers as everyone goes back to whatever they were doing before the man asked his question. A tap on my right arm causes me to jump as my head moves to see who’s touched me.
“I thought I was gonna have to pull up on your ass.”
“Hey, bighead,” I say.
“I’ve been waiting for today. Come give me some love, J.” Jamarion doesn’t wait for me to act as he pulls me into his body in an awkward side hug as I self-consciously grip Milan’s hand tighter.
“Ouch, Mommy,” Milan cries out, and it forces Jamarion to release me as his attention shifts to her.
“Mimi? It’s Uncle JJ. Come here.” Jamarion’s tone is softer as he bends to Milan’s level.
Milan must recognize his voice and his name as she lights up like a Christmas tree and releases my hand so she can hug Jamarion.
“I miss you, JJ,” Milan says, and it almost melts my heart.
“Me too, Mimi. Come on, I want you and your mama to meet the fam.” Jamarion stands to his full height, interlocks their hands, and walks off without another word.
Well, alrighty then. Ready or not, here we go.
I walk to the other side of Milan and grab her free hand as the three of us move around the crowded yard of strangers.
The first couple of people Jamarion introduces us to help me shake my jitters, thanks to their warm reception.
When his mom forces her own meeting, I realize that Jamarion isn’t a product of how he was raised.
Ms. Dorinda, while a sweetheart, also has a ‘don’t play’ persona about herself that reminds me of Mom.
Not long after that, Milan runs off to play with the kids, and I’m sitting in one of the lawn chairs sipping a spiked strawberry lemonade.
“Hey, girl. Which one of my cousins is ignoring your pretty self? I’m gonna fight them for you because I don’t like that.” A woman walks up with a wine cooler in one hand and her other hand on her waist.
“I’m Jamarion’s guest.”
“Oh, Lord. No, girl. I love my cousin, but you need someone better than his jailbird tail.”
I giggle at the outrage on her face until my gaze shifts slightly to the left, and my heart stalls in my chest when I see Milan crying with an unknown man kneeling in front of her.
“What the hell? Excuse me for a second.” I don’t wait for her response as I leave my chair with enough flair to knock it over.
I practically walk/jog to where Milan and the mystery man are. I take my eyes off my baby for a couple of seconds, and something happens. Guilt rises up my back with every step I take toward Milan, and it leads my words when I reach my destination.
“What the hell did you do to my baby?” I ask with a glower as the man kisses Milan’s knee and slowly stands to his full height.
The minute his gaze penetrates me, I lose my ability to speak as he takes me in from head to toe. A devastating, panty-melting smile forms, sending my pulse racing. Gotdamn! Who is this man?