Page 4 of Truce Of The Matter

“Then I’ll have those and a large lemonade.”

“Got it.” She totals my bill and I pay as she grabs two red acrylic cups and fills them with our lemonade.

“Enjoy your meal and good night, Michelle,” Truce says before walking her sexy ass back through the swinging door.

Michelle places a plastic tray on the counter then adds our drinks, dining ware, napkins, straws, and the wait number on the tray. I grab it and Aryel and I find a table. The walls of the restaurant are filled with pictures of local celebrities, the founders, and local athletes. Aryel likes to sit as close as we can to the picture of me when I was a heavyweight boxer. The photo is ten years old but feels like a lifetime ago.

In it, I was at the height of my career and living out my dream. I was the reigning champion, looking to defend my title in three months. My personal life seemed as wonderful as my professional one. I was married and my pregnant wife and I were living the dream in Miami, Florida. However, six months afterthat picture, my life spiraled to hell. A drunk driver barreling down I-95 totaled my SUV and crushed my left arm and hand.

My bones healed but my nerve and tissue damage took me out of the ring. Three months after that, my wife, who I believed loved me, left me with our newborn baby girl. She married a heavyweight boxing champion, not a retired one. We divorced and I got full custody of Aryel. I toughed it out for about three years but I knew I needed my family. I needed mother figures in Aryel’s life, so I moved back home, bought the old furniture store, rebranded and renamed it, and restarted our lives.

Aryel removes her sanitizing wipes from her purse and we both thoroughly clean our hands before she unravels our silverware from the thick cloth napkins. She lays my spoon, knife, and fork on mine then duplicates her actions for herself. Then she takes the drinks off the tray, places them on the table, and walks the tray to the used tray stack. When she returns to the table, she has a bottle of hot sauce for me and grated parmesan cheese for her. This is her little routine; she loves to help. When she’s back in her seat, I thank her and her entire pretty face beams. She is my baby sister’s twin and as Aryel gets older, she looks more and more like Lyra did before the scars.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, baby?”

“We get the cookies Saturday,” she reminds me, although I unfortunately remember.

My little Girl Scout will be selling cookies. Actually, I’ll be selling them. Between my furniture store and my older brother Dax’s auto shop, she usually sells the most in her troop. She’s won Cookie Diva the last two years and this year she wants the Top Cookie Seller patch. Stakes are high.

“I think we are only getting three boxes,” I tease.

“Daddy!” she exclaims with a scowl on her pretty little round face.

“Calm down. I got you.”

Our food arrives, we say grace, and enjoy our food. While I finish mine, we take the rest of Aryel’s to-go. My angel is knocked out by the time we make it home. I carry her into the house upstairs to her room. She starts to wake when I lay her on her bed. Groggily, she ambles to the bathroom to shower. She always showers before bed time.

As she showers, I head back downstairs, clean out her lunchbox, then restock it. She typically eats the school lunch but I always make sure she has options. After placing her lunch bag into the fridge, I trek back up to her room. She’s in her PJs, her bonnet is covering her braids, and she’s in bed. I turn on her TV, find the Disney channel, then turn the volume down to three; she can’t sleep without a little white noise in the background. She’s back to sleep before I walk out of her room.

I’m about as exhausted as she is so I take a long hot shower as soon as I enter my room. I turn my TV to the sports network then get comfortable on my bed. About fifteen minutes into game highlights, I hear Aryel’s iPad. It’s ringing and it’s almost ten. No one should be calling her this late so I ease off my bed then journey to her room. I grab her iPad and see it’s Aria, my ex-wife.

“It’s late,” I answer when I’m out in the hall.

“Hello to you too, Rex. Where’s Aryel?”

“In bed and asleep. She’s seven and it’s after ten,” I snap.

“I’m her mother. Wake her up,” she says with too much damn audacity.

It’s almost laughable that she even calls herself a mother especially since she’s never been that to my daughter. She left our baby, she barely calls, and she visits even less. A mother is the last thing she is. I’m getting tired of her on and off relationship with our daughter. It’s doing more harm than good. When Aria first showed back up when Aryel was three, I wasn’t going to let her see Aryel, but my mom encouraged me to. Shewould come around, and when I moved back home, she even came here to visit every few months. The months between visits increased then turned into a year. Aryel barely knows her.

“I’m not doing that and you know it. If you want to talk to her, call at a decent time. I’m not interrupting her sleep just because you decided to be her mother at ten-fifteen at night.”

“You know what, nigga, I’m not arguing with you tonight,” she huffs then ends the call before I can respond.

“Fuck,” I grit lowly. In case she tries some dumb shit and calls again, I take Aryel’s iPad with me back to my room.

Chapter 3

“Momma, try to eat. They said you have to eat and use the bathroom before they will release you for transport.”

“Truce, I’m eating,” she lies.

Her bed is raised and she’s sitting up. Her primary doctor and neurologist just left. They are in agreement that she needs three weeks in rehab. Of course, my mom tried to argue and insist she could go home and just hire a home help aide. She even tried to hire Raejean since she did home healthcare for years. The doctors shut her down expeditiously and me and my dad backed them up.

We both ultimately want what’s best for her and right now that’s rehab and care at Golden Age. It’s going to be an adjustment for all of us, especially him. There hasn’t been one night that I can remember them sleeping apart. Hopefully, I can convince Daija to stay for a while once she gets here. Having her in the house will make it less lonely for him.

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