Chapter 9
Meet the Parents
It was almost Christmas; Nicole was headed home after running errands all day. It was a windy and hot afternoon, one that hadn’t seen rain in several days. Nicole was driving in her car whose AC had recently stopped working. Her windows were ajar; she had just made a turn onto the street where she lived. Her neighborhood was an area that was home to a large population of multiple ethnicities: blacks, Hispanics, and Asians. Various street vendors lined the road with food trucks that sold tacos and other Tex-Mex cuisine.
Nicole was lost in her thoughts when she got interrupted by piercing screams.
“Somebody help. Oh, no. Look!”
Nicole pulled over to the right side of her street and parked. She clearly heard a woman’s voice cry out, “Oh, Jesus. This is horrible.”
Right across the street a scene was unfolding. The entire roof of a three-story apartment building was on fire. Huge flames poured out of some windows; other windows were getting melted. Nicole removed the keys from her ignition and stepped onto the street. The fire made crackling noises. Black and gray smoke steadily rose. It was a terrible inferno. Nicole’s eyes began to itch. Two fire trucks had already arrived and sirens screamed in the background.
A crowd gathered. One thin Hispanic man stood on a balcony. Flames shot at him like the tongue of a rattlesnake. The man glanced at the street below; a few cars were located underneath his window. If he tried to jump, he could be severely injured.
“Hurry, move,” someone yelled. People jumped out of the way so that the fire trucks could pass.
“Oh, my God,” Nicole uttered. She began praying under her breath.
Water was being pumped by the firemen, but it was like aiming a water gun at a California wildfire.
The trapped man stood on the ledge while the flames inched closer; he abruptly made the sign of the cross then leaped off the metal railing that was completely engulfed. The crowd yelled and held its breath. He landed on top of an SUV and crumpled instantly. Emergency personnel rushed to his side.
Nicole couldn’t bear the sight of blood. The man’s body was twisted and mangled. He wailed and moaned as the paramedics attended to him. Nicole couldn’t take it anymore. She turned away and her eyes rested on some children.
“Look at these kids,” Nicole said. She wandered over to a group of approximately four youngsters ranging from two years old to eleven. They were standing next to a fireman. Their straight black hair was singed. Soot and ashes covered their tanned cheeks. The younger kids, a boy and a girl, only wore undershirts and diapers. The second oldest boy was fully dressed. The oldest had on gym shorts. All were barefoot.
One of the kids could be heard speaking Spanish, so Nicole assumed that English wasn’t their first language.
She greeted the fireman and then decided to address the group using the few Spanish words she remembered from college. “Donde está su madre?”
They all shrugged. One little girl began to weep silently.
Nicole watched as two paramedics carried a woman on a stretcher. She was unconscious.
“Mama,” the little boy screeched at the woman, but his mother didn’t respond.
“Excuse me, sir. Is that their—?”
The fireman nodded and explained, “she ran back into the house to save the kids, but—”
The little boy shrieked again and tried to run toward the body.
Nicole quickly shielded the little boy’s vision so he couldn’t see his mom.
EMS brought out more bodies, which were covered by blankets and transferred into body bags.
The smell of iron was strong, the fume of death undeniable.
Someone else screamed. A woman fainted.
Grief had arrived and word soon spread.
“Mi madre. Mi madre.”
Nicole felt weak in the knees as she saw fear cloud the little ones’ eyes.
“The kids look thirsty,” she told the fireman. “May I please give them something to drink? My car is right over there.”
He responded, “No problem.”
Nicole gathered all the kids in a circle. “Come with me. We aren’t going far.”
Nicole made them cross the street with her. She opened the trunk of her car and removed a cooler filled with pouches of flavored drinks that she routinely kept in the car in case she got thirsty. The kids eagerly sipped on Capri Suns while they waited. Nicole reached in her purse and grabbed all the cash in her wallet. Ninety dollars in all; it was the money she had intended to use to buy Rashad’s mother a Christmas gift. She stuffed the crumpled bills into the oldest boy’s hand.
“Aquí. Take it.”
He held a blank look in his eyes but he accepted the money. “Muchas gracías.”
“De nada,” Nicole told him. “It’s nothing.”
His little brother abruptly fell down on the street and lay prostate on his back; he covered his face with his hands and wept.
It was a struggle, but Nicole sat down beside him and caressed his sweaty shirt. “It’s okay, honey. I know you love your mommy.” Her voice broke. She thought of her own unborn baby and loved her child even more.
Soon a Houston NBC news truck pulled up. A reporter and a camera man started interviewing witnesses. The female reporter noticed Nicole choking back tears as she comforted the children.
“Hello, I’m with the media. May I ask what happened?” the reporter said to Nicole.
“It was crazy. The flames were awful. A man almost got killed trying to jump. And these kids. They—” She bit her bottom lip, unable to continue.
The reporter saw all of the children quietly sipping their flavored drinks. She noticed the money in the older boy’s hand.
“Did you help these kids?”
Nicole reluctantly nodded. The youngest, a two-year-old girl, waddled over to Nicole and stretched out her tiny hands. Nicole struggled to lift the child. She placed her on her hip while the reporter observed.
“It’s obvious you care. Are you their babysitter?” the reporter continued.
“No, I’m not.”
“Why did you help these children? Do you know them?”
“I dunno. I-I’m about to become a mother myself,” Nicole said, and let out a sob. One of the kids came and hugged Nicole around the waist. The weight of the two kids hanging onto her made Nicole tired, but she pulled herself together as the camera man pointed his lens in her face.
“I couldn’t imagine anything bad happening to my baby; my child. And I just put myself in their shoes. This tragedy will affect them for the rest of their lives. They don’t deserve it.”
“Will their mother be all right?” the reporter softly asked.
“I honestly don’t know.” Nicole kissed the little girl’s smudged cheek. It felt brittle and tasted salty, but Nicole didn’t care.
She was dazed as she answered question after question. The reporter noted how Nicole would alternatively speak to the kids in Spanish, other times in English. Someone came over and volunteered info about how Nicole shielded and protected the kids.
Before it was over with, the story of the inferno got carried on all the major networks, including CNN. Four people died from the tragedy. The reporter who questioned Nicole heard that that the kids’ mother took her last breath while en route to Memorial Hermann hospital. Eight firemen suffered from heat exhaustion, many tenants lost everything, and a few survived with just the clothes on their backs.
ABC-13 came along. They got Nicole’s name from an iReporter. They conducted a brief interview. They informed Nicole that they received official word that the children’s mother had died. Nicole was visibly shaken. She told the reporter, “I relocated here from Birmingham, Alabama. And you never could have told me I’d be a witness to such a tragedy.”
Soon other journalists lined up nearby; they set up cameras and waited to aim their microphones at Nicole’s mouth.
After the taped segments were done, Nicole smiled gratefully when people within the community began to bring food, fresh drinking water, and clothing. They placed everything on top of a makeshift table hastily set up on the street.
“Thank you, God,” she whispered as she watched the kids’ stunned faces.
Nicole remained on the scene as fire personnel cordoned off the area and started their investigation. She received countless pats on the back. And some requested her name and phone number.
She gave the kids’ hugs when one of their relatives arrived to take them with him. They exchanged information and she promised to keep in touch.
As soon as the kids left, an elderly woman approached Nicole.
“You’re pregnant, right?”
“Yes ma’am,” she said.
“You’re going to be a wonderful mommy.”
“I sure hope so.”
Four hours later Nicole made it home.
“Oh, my God, that was so unbelievable.” Tired as she’d ever been, Nicole plunked herself down on the couch and sighed. In that moment, she understood that life was precious and unpredictable, and she had to make each day count.
Every single part of Nicole’s body ached. She just wanted to lie down and go to sleep.
“Where the hell have you been?” Rashad asked as he entered the living room. “Why didn’t you answer my calls?”
“My phone went dead,” she responded in a raspy voice. “I was at that fire down the street. It is too much to even go into. Just horrible and crazy. And trust me when I say I’m glad to be home, bae. I’m so glad to be alive.”
Rashad told her he was happy she was home, too. He prepared her a quick and simple dinner of hamburger patties and mac and cheese out of the box. Then he made sure that she got adequate rest that night.
Early the next morning, Rashad vigorously patted Nicole’s shoulder while she was still asleep in bed.
“Get up, Nicky. Wake up.”
“Wake up? Why? I’m asleep,” she yawned.
“Get your ass up, now.”
“Is it an emergency?”
“Maybe. Look.”
She opened her tired eyes. Rashad turned up the volume on the television.
“You’re famous, Ma.”
There was footage of Nicole being interviewed by a news reporter. Her name was in big yellow letters on the TV screen. When Rashad turned to a different channel, he saw Nicole again, speaking about the fire and the kids.
Her phone started chirping. Texts poured in.
She answered her phone. “Yeah, I just saw it,” she told Shyla. Nicole had to sit up in bed and groggily repeat the whole story to her girlfriend. The second she hung up, her phone rang once more. This time it was a reporter from Montgomery, Alabama. She agreed to a live phone interview. By the time a couple of hours had passed, Nicole had spoken with journalists from Atlanta, Las Vegas, Toronto, DC, and every other place in between. She gave impromptu interviews that lasted several minutes. And some of the reporters scheduled telephone interviews that would take place all throughout the week.
“I can’t believe this,” she said as she hung up from the last call. “Someone must be playing a joke on me. I guess my communications degree from UAB came in handy.” She laughed.
“I didn’t know my baby was as famous as a reality TV star.”
“You mean that?” she said, feeling excited. “I’m your baby?”
“You’re my baby, baby.” Rashad picked up Nicole and spun her around. He immediately started huffing and puffing.
“You’ve been eating like a pig and now you are as heavy as one.”
“You know you’re wrong. Put me down, crazy man.”
He instantly set her down. Then he kissed her to let her know all was well. She loved that. She loved when he showed her how he felt about her. And she enjoyed when he did what she asked him to do; she wanted it to happen again and again.
The next morning, Nicole woke up in a panic.
Rashad immediately sensed her mood. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Christmas Eve and we’re meeting your mother tonight. I-I spent the money that I was going to use to buy her a last-minute gift.”
“Oh, all right,” Rashad said. He and his mother, Beeva Reese, didn’t see each other as often as they should, but during this holiday season he wanted to make an effort and do right by her.
He pulled out his wallet and peeled off two twenties.
“Here, go find her something.”
“Forty dollars? Are you serious?”
“I’m running low on cash. I’ve had to give Lily another two grand. I paid my people some generous Christmas bonuses. And I owed back taxes. My funds took a big hit.”
“Oh, please, that’s crazy, Rashad. You have so many projects going that you can barely keep up.”
“True, but the money is still funny. And I’m not joking.”
Nicole wondered if she should believe him or not.
“Does that mean I shouldn’t expect a nice gift from Santa?”
“It means that Santa’s attorney told him do not buy any girlfriends expensive presents right now. Kiara’s attorneys are going to be all over my bank statements and cash withdrawals. And if I am caught buying diamonds and gold, it could be categorized as community property. Kiara doesn’t play that. That’s hardball, so you gotta wait till I’m single again before I can splurge on you. I can buy the baby nice shit, but not you.”
The words “splurge on you” rang loudly in Nicole’s ears. She heard future, she heard desire, and she wanted to be patient and hold on until her married boyfriend officially became her man.
“Hmm, that sucks,” she replied, “but I hear you. Let’s forget about me for right now. Somehow I will manage. But I’m mostly thinking about your mama, and with this little bit of money you gave me I’ll have to do the best I can. What type of things does she like?”
It had been a while since Rashad bought his mother a decent gift. And that was because every time he did do it, she rarely said thanks so he said forget it. And the only reason he agreed to buy her something now was because Nicole insisted on it.
“Damn, I dunno. But one thing she likes is fruitcake.”
“Ugh, fruitcake? Are you sure?”
“What do you mean am I sure? I know what my mama likes.”
Nicole ended up buying a couple of two-pound fruitcakes from Three Brothers Bakery; she thought that if they were really the woman’s favorites, she would score major points.
Rashad called Beeva Reese to get the address of where she had moved six months ago. He and Nicole went on an hourlong drive to Bryan, Texas, late that afternoon. When Rashad rang the doorbell of the attractive brick house located on a hilly street, a man whom he’d never seen before answered the door. He had salt-and-pepper hair and was small in stature and build.
“Hi,” he said. “Welcome.” Then a woman appeared from behind him. She had short reddish blond hair, round, fat cheeks, and wide hips. She was a couple of inches taller than her man.
“Well, hello there,” she said in a booming voice.
“Hi, Mrs. Eason,” Nicole replied in a respectful soft tone. “I am Nic—”
“I can tell your husband doesn’t tell you much. You know everyone always calls me Beeva Reese, but I’m about to become Beeva Murphy. And this is Winston Murphy.” Her man greeted them and disappeared inside the house.
“Merry Christmas, ma’am. Here’s your gift. I-I hope you like it.” Nicole proudly displayed the fruitcakes.
Beeva barely suppressed her frown. “Umph. You shouldn’t have.”
“Oh, it wasn’t nothing.”
“I wasn’t being modest. You really shouldn’t have. I’m allergic to these nasty-ass stinky things, but it doesn’t matter. We can feed them to our dogs.”
Beeva grabbed the packages from Nicole and went into the house.
Nicole felt like punching Rashad. How could she make a good impression with his mom if he didn’t even know a few of her favorite things?
Nicole followed the woman into the house; she went to the left, which took her through a simple but elegantly decorated dining room. Nicole admired family photos on the wall then continued on. She found Rashad’s mother in the kitchen screaming.
“What’s taking you so damned long?” Beeva yelled at her microwave oven.
The sounds of kernels popping filled the air.
Rashad shrugged. “Popcorn,” he said. “Beeva loves the hell out of some Orville Redenbacher. I just should have bought her eight packs of microwave popcorn and called it a day.”
“Are you joking?” Nicole argued. “That is no type of gift for the woman that gave birth to you.”
“The way we get along, sometimes I wonder if she’s my birth mom.”
“Rashad, I’m standing right next to you so don’t think I didn’t hear that,” Beeva grumbled. “You know damn well I’m your mama. You look just like me.”
“No, I don’t.”
The second the microwave timer sounded, Beeva pushed the button to open the door. She sprinkled a little salt right inside the bag, grabbed a handful, and was about to toss some popcorn in her mouth. She paused.
“Oh, I’m so rude. Want some?”
When no one answered, Beeva shrugged and shuffled across the hardwood floor to the family room; it had a high slanted ceiling and a stone fireplace. Rashad and Nicole followed behind her. There was a large picture window in the rear of the two-story house. The view allowed them to see the huge backyard, which was full of lemon trees. Rashad noticed two white barking Yorkies playing with each other. Nicole took a seat on a recliner and listened in.
“What’s been happening, Beeva?”
“Can’t kill nothing and won’t nothing die,” she declared. She grabbed a few more pieces of popcorn and shook them around in her hand like dice.
“I haven’t heard you say that in a long time. Must be them Georgia roots coming out of you.”
“Ain’t nothing shaking but the beans in the pot, and they wouldn’t be shaking if the water wasn’t hot.”
“I know that’s right,” Rashad answered with a hearty laugh. There was nobody quite like his mama. It felt good to be home. And family was everything, even if the family wasn’t as close as it should have been.
“Anyway, it’s sure good to see you, Beeva. This is a real nice place you got,” Rashad told her. “You got yourself a nice husband, too. Seems like you hit it big. Again!”
“What he’s trying to say is that I’ve upgraded,” Beeva volunteered while nibbling on her snack. “Yes, I’m on my fourth husband. So what? Who’s counting? Don’t answer that! Anyway, we decided to combine households to save on bills; we living together like sinners, but we’ll be married real soon. Did my son tell you, Kiara?”
“How the hell can I tell her what I didn’t even know?” Rashad protested, so annoyed with the question that he couldn’t think clearly.
Suddenly Beeva squinted and cocked her head. “Wait one minute. This ain’t—” She frowned. “This ain’t your wife.”
“Not yet,” Nicole said under her breath.
“No, Beeva, Nicole is not my wife. Kiara and I are separated. We headed to divorce court.”
“What?”
“Yeah, Beeva.”
“I know we only see each other about once or twice a year, but that’s no excuse not to tell me news like this, son.” She turned to Nicole. “I’m sorry for thinking you were the other woman—”
“Beeva!” Rashad said. “Wow, awkward. She’s tripping,” he said, referring to his mother. “You and I know you look nothing like Kiara,” he said to Nicole.
“Mmm mmm, my son.” Beeva gave a spirited laugh. “It’s been so long I barely remember what Kiara looks like. But what I do remember is that little woman of yours could cook her ass off. Remember that one Christmas a few years ago when y’all had me over? Ooo wee. I ate the shit out of those greens.”
Rashad winced. “Glad you enjoyed her cooking.”
“So who is this new lady?” Beeva looked Nicole up and down. “Is she any good in the kitchen? Or is she like most twenty-year-old women these days that eat fast food every day and can’t fry eggs?”
Nicole, who quietly observed the happenings between Rashad and his mother, stood up.
“Ma’am, my name is Nicole Greene. I’m a southern woman and I can cook pretty well if I say so myself. Your son likes to eat whatever I make for him. And he and I are . . . together.”
Beeva finally noticed Nicole’s bulge. “I can see that. Shit!” She eyed Rashad. “Is that why Kiara filed on you?”
“Why would you assume she filed on me, Beeva?”
“Excuse me, may I ask you something?” Nicole butted in. “Why do you call your mama by her first name? Why can’t you just call her ‘mama’?”
“She’s sitting right in front of you,” Rashad replied. “Why don’t you ask her yourself?” Before Nicole could do just that, Rashad kept talking. “You probably can tell that I come from a slightly dysfunctional family.”
“Oh, hell, not that shit again,” Beeva roared. “Your family was like most other black American families. We niggas through and through. Niggas with money, but still niggas.”
“I guess if you gonna be one, at least have some money,” Nicole said, amused.
“That ‘dysfunctional’ shit is a fancy-sounding made-up word that some psychiatrist invented just to take people’s money. Everybody and they mama running around thinking something’s wrong with themselves, and before they commit suicide, they go and jump on some strange old man’s couch. They open up, put their business on the street in an attempt to feel better about themselves, just because of that fucked-up word that is supposed to describe their family. And that doctor gone end up writing a book about all his clients’ cases and make even more money off these fools. Ha! Now that is dysfunctional.”
“Beeva, you may have your little theories about families and what not, but Nicky needs to know that about me. Our family situation wasn’t The Cosby Show,” Rashad said. “Life was kind of rough for me in spite of the money.”
It was rare for Rashad to want to admit weakness and vulnerability, but he felt if he was going to be with her, he might as well let her see the good and the bad of his kinfolk. He continued, “She’s already finding out shit left and right. And Kiara, man, I think I really turned her into a whole other woman—” He stopped talking.
Nicole came over to him and held his arm. “Go ahead, babe, get out your feelings.”
“I’m cool. I’ll be all right.” He walked over to the refrigerator and opened it. “What y’all got good to drink in here?” He grabbed a tiny bottle of beer. “Is this all? Where’s the hard liquor? I know you hiding it somewhere in this house. It’s almost New Year, too?”
Beeva released a spirited laugh. “That’s my son for sure. II have missed you, Rashad. And you know you’re free to call me besides on my birthday and Mother’s Day. Sometimes I think you hate me or something, the way you avoid me.”
“Beeva, I do not hate you. I just . . . I dunno. I-I. Been real busy.”
Nicole watched mother and son. His excuse for not seeing his mom sounded so lame. She knew his mother fussed because she needed him.
Rashad awkwardly patted his mother’s red hair.
Nicole felt like crying. The man whom she loved and cared about was incredibly human. She was seeing another side of him, a vulnerable side that she didn’t know existed.
Nicole puckered her lips and gave Rashad a kiss as he came and sat beside her. “It’s gonna be all right, babe. Take your time. You can say whatever you need to say when the time is right.”
Beeva burst out laughing. “Oh, shit, y’all enjoying the honeymoon before the honeymoon. Let me tell you something, sweetie. You look very young. This your first baby?”
Nicole nodded.
“All that supportive shit only lasts so long—”
“Beeva,” Rashad pleaded.
“No, she needs to face reality. Now, my son is a man. A hardworking man but still a man. And although I hate to hear that he and his wife busted up, I ain’t surprised. Rashad takes after his daddy. His papa was a rolling stone. Now, to my knowledge he didn’t have any stray kids running around, but he sure was acting like he was trying his best to make some, if you know what I mean.”
Beeva closely peered at Rashad to see if he was hiding any of his father’s secrets. “I wasn’t stupid. I knew that he’d step out on me here and there. I didn’t like it. I wanted to fuck him up quite a few times while he was in bed next to me in a deep sleep. But I chose to keep my hands to myself. And we stayed married till the bitter end. Marriage is good but it ain’t easy. Not assuming that y’all two gonna get hitched. ’Cause babies ain’t a good reason to get tied down.”
Rashad coughed and stared at Nicole. “We haven’t really talked about that yet. I’m not sure what’s going to happen. First things first.”
“How Kiara feel about you having a second baby on her?”
“What do you think, Beeva?”
“I think you’re more like your father than you ever realized. Hell, for all I know, he has a stray running around somewhere.”
“He does not, Beeva.”
“All right then, but one never knows now, do they?”
Beeva never minced words. It was one of the things that made Rashad nervous around his mother. On one hand, he remembered how much his father’s actions had hurt her when he was alive, but once he died, it was as though she transformed into a different woman.
After his daddy died, it seemed his mother started collecting husbands like welfare checks. It made him feel sad and sorry for her. Yet he understood how everyone needed to be loved. He knew he needed to be better at expressing love to her. How could he give affection to another woman if he had trouble loving his own mother?
“Well, Beeva, I need to apologize for taking so long to come see you and I must congratulate you on the new future husband and all that jazz.” He hugged his mom. Her skin was soft and warm and she smelled of mint. She scowled like she didn’t want to be bothered, but he knew Beeva. She thrived on his attention. She craved his love. Rashad vowed to try to do better. God knows he dreaded having every woman in his life angry at him for not meeting their simple expectations.
The ice had been broken and Rashad felt more at ease.
“This is starting off to be a good holiday. Let’s make a toast,” Rashad said. He went and found Winston, a quiet, humble man who enjoyed hiding in his room watching television. After Rashad coaxed him to come out, Beeva stood up and started singing a Motown song while she snapped her fingers.
Her smile looked sincere, and Rashad actually felt good that he managed to come and see her instead of changing his mind.
Beeva got some glasses and broke out the champagne that she’d been saving for months.
Rashad took the liberty of pouring everyone’s drink and they raised their glasses.
“To my mother, the only mother I know. The one I love and the one who I know loves me, too, even though she may not get a Mother of the Year award.”
“That’s the worst toast I’ve ever heard, and I’ve heard a lot,” Beeva said.
“I’m just playing. I know you love me in your own way.”
“Who can define love and say how love is supposed to act?” Beeva asked. “If I fed you, kept you clean, bought you what you needed, and taught you right from wrong, I loved you, son. I still do.”
“And I love you too, Ma—I love you, too, Beeva.”
She clicked glasses with Rashad and took a sip. A warm feeling that she hadn’t felt in ages flowed through her. Beeva coughed a few times, pretending like she had a cold. And if there’d been a box of tissues nearby, she would’ve discreetly wiped her eyes. She thought of Rashad every day and wondered how he was doing. She prayed for him and knew if he needed anything he’d call. But he rarely did. She figured either he was living his life or life was giving him hell. Whatever the case, it hardly mattered. Her prodigal son had found his way home and she couldn’t be happier.
The fact that he was an only child made her feel bad. Beeva always wanted to give him a sibling, but it just never happened. She felt guilty that he had no brother or sisters to play with and worried he’d grow up feeling lonely and isolated. Beeva Reese worried about Rashad more than he ever realized.
Rashad Quintell Eason was a part of Generation X. He was born in the late seventies. He was five years old when he first saw the Thriller video; he was scared to death of it at first, but he felt better after Beeva tried to teach him the dance moves of Michael Jackson. Ever since he was seven he had a keen interest both math and mechanics. He liked to tear apart his father’s radio. He wanted to know how the voices got in the radio and he wanted to see if little people were inside of it singing and making harmony. He could have become a computer whiz, but his father insisted that he use his hands more than his brain.
“You will always have a job if you know how to use your hands, son,” his dad told the little boy. “The computer industry sounds good now, but I don’t trust those things. They’re probably designed to destroy the world.” Little Rashad listened to his father. He played football in middle school and he even wanted to try out for the team when he was a high school freshman. But his father told him they could enjoy the sport by being a spectator, not a participator.
“You need to protect your hands and your body, son. They will make you money if you take care of them. Sports are too risky. The women, the potential injuries, aren’t worth it.”
So his father told Rashad everything he knew about the construction and renovation business. As he grew older, he became a quick learner, accompanying his dad all around the city to various jobs. They entered musty, smelly houses that looked like they were ready to be demolished and turned them into livable places where families could move in and start new lives.
As the years went on, Rashad knew he would follow in his father’s footsteps. By the time he graduated high school, he knew more about his father than he ever wanted to know. He saw the other women, the ladies his daddy flirted with at the job, the woman he often visited during lunch breaks. As a teen, Rashad would sit in the van with the AC running after his father pulled up in the driveway of his “lady friend.” Rashad would wait and occupy himself playing with his handheld video game. Thirty minutes later, his dad would return to the van, clothes disheveled, unable to look Rashad in the eye.
By the time his father passed away (his mother claimed that one of his girlfriends poisoned him when he told her he couldn’t take her on a day trip for her thirtieth birthday), Rashad was ready to assume the role he’d been prepared for concerning Eason & Son.
He knew he was now “Eason,” and that little Myles was “son.” He didn’t exactly care if Myles became part of the family business, but he still wanted to have a close relationship with the child, just like his father had with him. He yearned for Myles to know he was a good father who wanted to be involved. He wanted Myles to know who he was for himself, instead of the boy learning about his father based upon what his mother said about him.
“Beeva, yes. You are going to have a helluva year. You’re losing a daughter-in-law. But you’ll be gaining a new grandchild. Oh, and check this out. Kiara is about to have another baby, too. But that’s another damned story. So congrats on all the new life changes. I wish the best for you and Winston.”
Beeva stared at her son, quickly drained her drink, refilled her glass, and drained it again.
“You’re looking more and more like your dead daddy.”
“Damn, Mama.”
A hush fell over the room.
“I mean, Beeva.”
“My son. Thanks for the well wishes. Thanks for visiting us and telling us what’s going on. And I’m glad to meet your new baby mama, but what about that cute little grandson of mine? That’s who I really wish I could see.”
“Myles is with his mama.”
“Oh, so you’ll get him tomorrow?”
“No.”
“Not even for half a day?”
“No, Beeva.”
“No?”
“That’s what I keep telling you.”
“Let me get this right: You won’t see Myles for Christmas? What type of shit is that? She ain’t being fair to not let you spend time with him.”
“You right about that. And sometimes Kiara plays games with our son.”
“I never liked her that much anyway with her bougie ass.”
Nicole grinned; she wanted to high-five Beeva, but wasn’t sure how the woman would react.
“Ma’am, I could tell you some stuff about Kiara. She tries to pretend like she’s so cultured and reserved, but she can get dirty and ratchet just like the rest of us.”
“I know she can,” Beeva said and smiled knowingly in Nicole’s face.
Later, when Nicole excused herself and went to the powder room, Beeva pulled Rashad to the side. “I haven’t known her that long, but watch that one. I can just feel it.”
“Beeva, that’s where you’re wrong. This is my ride or die. She’s the realest chick I know.”
“If you say so, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”