Page 28 of Good As Hell

This table easily accommodates my family of five, as well as Hassan’s family, with room to spare.

Tilting my head at the inane question because she knows exactly how it came about, I meet her stare until hers falters. She has four daughters despite acting like as if we were the result of immaculate conceptions.

Sometimes I wonder what happened to the woman my father loved and the mom I remember from so long ago before Rob came into our lives. Then I remember she made her choices and I let it go. I’m more than happy with mine — all of them. Like Tupac said, “Only God can judge me,” and I’ll be damned if I let a hypocrite and her degenerate wastrel of a husband make me feel bad.

“I guess how most things come about.” I give her a sweet smile. One I’ve cultivated since I was nine years old. Nothing sassy that will get the taste slapped out your mouth but also giving them no ammunition.

“We are all happy about our little miracle, Ayaan. We look forward to having Lyric as a member of the family officially as well.” Smiling warmly in my direction, the queen turns her gaze to my family. “And you all as well.”

Seeing my sisters blossom under the shine of the queen’s regard is worth any discomfort having their father here. I can see him salivating at the prospect of how he can use his association with the royal family to his benefit.

“Yes, well, be that as it may we feel me must apologize for all the upset our daughter has caused your family.” Rob smoothlysays, his voiced filled with the gravitas of the chairman of the deacon board that so many in our church community find impressive. “We are proud of her. However, her wild ways are well known. Ensnaring your beloved son — well, let us just say, we are glad that it’s all working out as the Lord has planned—or rather Allah.” He’s a smooth one, I’ll give him that. I almost choke on him referring to me as his daughter, when he’s been so adamant up till this point that we are not blood related.

The smarminess isn’t lost on me, though. I can tell the Al Rasheeds don’t quite know how to parse in insults mixed with praise wrapped in a deep southern drawl. They probably don’t think he knows any better. Probably thinking he’s some country bumpkin, not realizing he’s disparaging his own child with his religiosity. I’ve seen this Fog Horn Long Horn act a million times from him. He knows exactly what he’s doing when he feigns wide eyed innocence as he lets some embarrassing detail from my past slip. Like the time he told the press I didn’t graduate high school. Never saying I later got my diploma through a correspondence course, I had to pay for myself because I had no help from them. Never mentioned why I had to quit school in the first place. No, it was me seeking fame and fortune, a greedy, grasping girl who cares for no one but herself. At least, that’s what he wanted the people at our church to believe.

Ignoring the statement, I spoon the delicious hirara soup, purposely not looking at Hassan, who is sitting across from me. I can feel his eyes boring into me, demanding, beseeching, I say something in my defense.

“Ayaan is a blessing, just as his name implies, and his mother is the bestower of that gift,” Hassan bites out. The air in the room pulsates with violent energy. From my periphery, I see the king stiffen. The queen sits higher, her demeanor morphing from welcoming hostess to haughty royal as she stares down at the despicable man.

Where is the diva? Where is the baddie who acts first and claps back second? Who is this woman who doesn’t rise to the bait? Who seems to impervious to the disdain of those who are supposed to love and champion her most.

I would tell him she has to care. I don’t. Their opinion matters little to me. After twenty years of betrayal.

My sisters are all I care about. Correction Ayaan, my sisters, Fi and despite my best effort to make it so, him. And on that thought, my gaze lifts to his, seeking his comfort. Immediately I curse myself knowing I gave myself away to the viper in our midst.

“Harrumph,” Rob clears his throat. He spears me with a sinister smile. My tummy drops, already knowing what’s coming. “At least she didn’t kill this one.”

He drops the bomb, then digs into his food with relish. Mother eyes me with stony animus rippling through every fiber of her being. My sisters are all flushed with embarrassment and shame.

“Papa, how could you?” Kadence hisses in his direction, as her eyes stray back to me, pleading.

Song, sweet gifted Song cheeks flush and tears well in her eyes and Harmony reaches over to grasp her twin’s hand over the knife she’s clutching fiercely.

“Excuse me, Your Majesties, Your Highness,” I manage to get out before I’m sick all over the table or take my knife and stab that bitch in front of everyone. The only thing stopping me is Ayaan.

Rising, I walk swiftly from the room, not caring if I’m breaking the protocol which I know I am. You don’t leave until the monarch’s leave, but I need to get out of that dining room before I scream and throw the biggest hissy fit of all time.

Aliah follows closely behind me in silence as I navigate my way back to my suites.

The lights are dim when I enter. I go straight into the adjacent rooms to check on my baby. I wanted him nowhere near my parents. I gave Hassan the excuse that he was tired and the dinner was way past his bedtime. All true. I told him I’d arranged for Ayaan to meet my family tomorrow, but that was a lie. It’s only my sisters I’m going to allow to see him. I know mother won’t see him unless Rob is there, and that’s a no for me. I have not been in the same room with that monster since I left home and promised myself I never would again.

My refusal to allow him anywhere near me has cost me a relationship with my sisters because, as mother says, they were all a package deal. If he couldn’t come, they couldn’t come to visit. She was more than willing to accept the money I sent along with retiring her from her job as a school cafeteria worker. Yet, allowing my sisters to some to visit me — the fallen one on their own was a bridge too far.

“I love you sweet heart,” I whisper, nearly choking on the words. Humiliation and anger swelling up inside me like a tsunami. Turning, I cover my mouth, trying to stifle the sob threatening to break through.

I nearly topple over when I see Hassan’s mountainous form filling the door frame. His face is a mask of darkness. As if a thunder storm decided to take up residence on his face.

I’m stepping back from the fury I see there. His big arms sweep out. “Come here, Lyric.”

Next, I’m flying into his outstretched arms, burrowing my face into his muscular neck.

Guttural sobs rip from me like I’m being gutted by a ravenous predator.

His hand spears into my hair, tugging my head back, making me face him. His face is hard, his eyes like flint. I watch his jaw work. “Don’t you ever let a motherfucker degrade you like that again.” He shakes me. “Do you fucking hear me?”

“Y-yes,” I hiccup, and nod, my face crumbling all the while.

“Never, again.” Tugging me close into the deep comfort of his arms,he lets me cry.

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