Chapter Forty-Eight

 

Ezra

 

 

“It’s just me!”

Mona’s voice booms from the kitchen, and my new daughter Mai, swaddled in my arms, jerks at the sound. 

“Hell.” I rock her a bit until the little pinch between her eyebrows levels out. She settles again, her rosebud mouth rooting even in her sleep.

“Jack?” Mona calls. “Where are you?”

“Mo!” I whisper-hiss. “In my office. How ‘bout that inside voice?”

She appears at my office door, dressed in a hot pink flowing dress and wearing dangerously high heels for a woman I’ve rarely seen out of Chucks. Her locs are swept up and pinned with a matching flower behind her ear.

“Sorry.” She covers her mouth. “I’m still getting used to having a baby in the house.”

“So am I,” I say, offering her as much of a grin as my tired body can produce. “You have on makeup and fancy shoes. What gives, Janet? Obama coming to town? That’s the only man I’ve ever known you to dress up for.”

“Very funny.” She walks over to my desk and lays the back of her hand on Mai’s forehead. “Fever broke?”

“Yeah.” I kiss Mai’s hair, inhaling the smell of baby shampoo. “Hers did, but now Aiko’s sick.”

“You’re kidding? You guys can’t buy a break. How’s Noah?”

“Apparently immunologically resistant to every strain of sickness. I told him it’s all the vitamins I’ve been force-feeding him for years.” I nod to her attire. “Where are you headed?”

“I have a date.” She fiddles with an earring shaped like a fan and doesn’t quite meet my eyes.

Fiddling? Mona?

“Have I met this guy? What are his intentions toward you?” I ask, only half-joking. I do feel like her protective big brother, even though we’re the same age. She hasn’t dated much since her divorce and I don’t want to see her get hurt.

“You haven’t met him, and that dumb second question is why.”

“Seriously, where’d you meet him, Mo? Tinder? Bumble? Show me his profile.”

“Church,” she says, lifting her chin and looking at me pointedly. “He’s a deacon at my mama’s church. No jokes, please, about my weed or my wine or my vibrators or how I’m not—”

“No jokes. I haven’t even met him and I already know he’s not good enough for you.”

Her eyes widen and then soften. “Awww. Thanks, boss.”

“Besides I’ll be living vicariously through you.” I look at the mess on my desk and Mai in the crook of my arm. “It’s gonna be a rough night. This is the longest she’s slept in days. I don’t expect it to last. Every time I try to put her down, she wakes up, and I need to finish my part on these grants before the book drops next week and the tour starts.”

“Look, I can cancel this. Jamal and I can go out any time.”

“Jamal, is it?”

She rolls her eyes and her lips twitch. “I’m serious. I’ll text him.”

“No way. School’s finally out and you’ve been carrying a lot of extra load for me lately. Go. Have fun. I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

“I know it’s a lot,” she says. “But bright side is school’s out and, as much as I know you’ll hate leaving Mai with Aiko alone, it will be good to have some time to yourself out on tour. These last few months have been brutal.”

New baby. Finishing the school year. Preparation for the book release.

Missing Kimba. All the time. Every minute of every day.

“Speaking of school being out,” Mona says, pulling out her phone, “I have something that might make you laugh.”

“A laugh I could use.” I consider the laptop in front of me and the color-coded spreadsheet. “Before I dive into this.”

She walks around and lays her phone on the desk so I can see. “Keep the volume low so we don’t wake Mai,” she says, already grinning. “You’re gonna love this.”

It’s a video on Instagram of our step team’s latest choreography in YLA’s courtyard.

“Does that say a hundred thousand views?” I look from her phone to Mona’s smiling face.

“We’ve gone viral, Jack. Soon Ellen might want us. Wouldn’t that be perfect timing with your book coming out?”

“I’m so proud of them.” I shake my head. “They keep amazing me.”

“Right?” She presses the home button on her Instagram app, and I do a double take at the post that comes up.

“Oh, shit,” she mutters, biting her bottom lip.

It’s Kimba with some guy. Some tall, Idris Elba lookalike. He’s probably around my height, but bulkier. His hand is at her waist, and she’s laughing up at him. Her hair is pressed straight and spills around her shoulders, bare in a formal strapless dress.

We haven’t talked much since she called from Alabama. The occasional text, a phone call at Christmas. Usually initiated by her. This is her plan. Her terms, and I’m trying my best to respect what she says she needs. I know there was a part of her afraid my feelings would change, deepen for Aiko as we went through the pregnancy. She couldn’t have been more wrong. If anything, over the last few months, Aiko and I remembered why we were friends in the first place. I get why Kimba wanted to wait. Our situation was complicated and difficult and unstable, but I’ve gotten through it counting on our promise that there wouldn’t be anyone else. 

Who is this good-looking motherfucker?

“What the hell?” I grit out, grabbing Mona’s phone from my desk. 

“That’s nothing,” Mona says hastily, trying to get the phone back from me. I stand and walk Mai and me out of her reach. “Ezra, don’t overreact.”

“You’ve seen this?” I tear my eyes from the screen, from Kimba’s bright smile to Mona’s guilty expression.

“It’s not a big deal.”

Reading The Shade Room’s post, it seems like I’m not the only one who thinks it might be.

Be still our woke hearts! Kimba Allen, political badass, and Israel Hammond, professor, activist, author and thirst bucket-worthy, out together for a night on the town? We full-time stan for this hook-up.

I’ve heard of Israel Hammond, but have always seen him as a…thinker. Not this burly man. And I’ve never thought of him with Kimba.

“Is this real?” I ask Mona, shooting her a sharp look. “Kimba said…”

She said she didn’t want anyone else, but that was nearly a year ago. She’s probably tired of waiting—not that I asked her to. I assumed this was as difficult, as lonely for her, as it is for me. 

She doesn’t look lonely in this photo.

“We haven’t talked much lately.” Mona takes her phone from me carefully, like it’s a loaded weapon. “But I do know her life is crazy right now. Not only did her firm take on Congressman Ruiz and Keith, but there’s a few other key races she said needed support. She’s stretched really thin.”

“I know.”

“So are you. Once election season is over—”

“I know.” My jaw aches I’m holding it so tight. “You don’t have to reassure me, Mo. I get it.”

It’s quiet, her looking at me and me looking at Mai. 

“Don’t keep Jamal waiting,” I tell her, my voice even. “I don’t want you to be late.”

“Ezra, it’s nothing.”

“Right. You better go.”

She dips to kiss Mai’s cheek. “I’ll check on you guys tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” I say, giving her a smile that I know she knows isn’t real.

Mona’s heavy sigh speaks for her before she heads out toward the back exit.

As soon as the kitchen door closes behind her, I pick up my phone, my finger hovering over Kimba’s contact. I look down at Mai as if she might stop me before it’s too late. “I’m gonna regret this, huh, little girl?”

I dial anyway.

It rings four times and I’m formulating the message I’ll leave on Kimba’s voicemail when she picks up.

“Ezra?”

Her live voice throws me for a second.

“Uh, yeah. Tru, hey.”

I sound about as awkward as I felt at our middle-school dance. I just call her out of the blue like this? Like we talk every day? We don’t. We haven’t.

“Everything okay? Noah? The baby?” She pauses to clear her throat. “Aiko?”

“They’re sick. I mean, Mai’s been sick, but her fever broke. Aiko just got whatever Mai had, I guess. Noah’s Teflon.”

“Of course he is.” Her laugh is low and husky, familiar and missed. “And you? Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. Who’s Israel Hammond?”

That was not subtle.

“Oh. Well, Iz and I—”

“Oh, it’s Iz? That’s what you call him?”

That was not low-key anything. 

“That’s what all his friends call him, yes,” she says, her voice slowing, stiffening. “Did you want to ask me something, Ezra?”

“I saw a post on Instagram.”

“The Shade Room? Yeah. I heard about it. Somehow, I didn’t peg you as a Shade Room kinda guy.”

“I’m not.” I pause, give myself a second to get my shit together better. “Are you seeing him? Or…do you want to see him?”

“I’m not seeing him, no. Our interests intersect, and we’ve known each other for years. He has a girlfriend.”

“The Shade Room didn’t mention that.”

“He’s very…private.” She chuckles. “I actually think he’s a little self-conscious about it. She’s younger than he is and used to be his TA back in the day.”

I’d feel like an idiot if it wasn’t for the fact that my impulsive, jealous phone call means I get to talk to her. 

“I pre-ordered your book.” Her voice is warm. My arm holding Mai is asleep. I’m so exhausted I can barely keep my eyes open, and I still have a shit ton of work to do before I can sleep, but I’d stay on the phone with Kimba all night if I could. 

“Thanks. That’s you and my mom. One step closer to a bestseller.”

“I’m excited for you. Proud of you.”

“How’s the campaign going? Or campaigns. Mona says you’re running a few.”

“Well, obviously, Congressman Ruiz is our main concern, but we did take on a few smaller races. Nothing we can’t handle.”

“Seems like a tight race. I mean between Ruiz and Colson.”

“Very much so. One of the tightest, hardest I’ve ever been in. Colson’s tough and plays dirty. We’re in the fight of our lives.”

“I have no doubt you’ll figure it out.”

“I hope so. And you? How are things there? Besides the sickness.”

“Good.” I hesitate. “I found a house nearby.”

The silence from the other end comes alive with a dozen questions she doesn’t voice, but I know are there.

“It needs a lot of work,” I go on, “but it’s just one street over so I could still be around for Noah and Mai, close to the school.”

“Oh. That’s…that’s great. I didn’t realize you—”

“I told you I would move out.”

“I know you did.”

“I miss you.” The truth makes its way up from the deepest parts of me and shows in my voice. “It’s almost unbearable sometimes.”

“I know,” she whispers, her voice cracking. “I miss you, too. I—”

“Kimba, what the hell?” a female voice demands from her side of the call. “You just leave the field in the middle of a battle to take a call? We need you.”

I’m such an idiot. I got jealous and called, pulling her away from the very thing she told me she needs to focus on.

“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I’ll let you go.”

“If I can’t leave a meeting for two minutes without things falling apart,” Kimba says flatly, “what the hell am I paying you for, Felita?”

“Well, your two minutes are almost up,” Felita replies, the tension in her voice easing some. “And then I start charging overtime.”

Kimba chuckles. “Get back in there. I’m coming.”

“Mateo was asking for you,” Felita says. “Just wanted you to know.”

“I said I’m coming.” Kimba waits until a door clicks closed. “Sorry. I should probably—”

Mai’s wail cuts off whatever Kimba started to say. I look down into miserable blue eyes. She’s tired and probably hungry by now. With Aiko sick, too, I’ll use the milk she expressed that’s in the fridge.

“That’s quite a set of pipes she’s got,” Kimba says. “I better let you go. I have to go anyway. Apparently, the world burns down if I leave a meeting.”

Mai’s lungs shift into another gear.

“Shhh.” I bounce her and speed walk to the kitchen to get the milk. “Tru, maybe we can—”

“Kimba,” a deep voice says from the other end. 

“Mateo, hey.”

“I could use your weigh-in on this if we don’t want to be down another five points tomorrow.” There’s a bite to his voice, and I want to tell him to handle his own damn five points.

“Right,” she says. “I’m coming now.”

I hear the door close decisively.

“I really have to go, Ez.”

“I get it,” I say, opening the refrigerator in search of the bottles I know Aiko left, but I can’t find. Mai’s wailing doesn’t let up, so I speak louder to make sure Kimba hears me. “I just called because I miss you like hell. When this is over—”

“Yes,” she says, her voice low and tired and sad. “When this is over.”