Page 57 of It's Love I'm After

“Did you not want to have dinner with me? It’s been a while since we’ve seen one another, so I didn’t think you would have a problem connecting,” I inquire, staring intently into the eyes similar to my own.

“I’m wondering why you had to go through Mama to ask me to dinner. My number is the same as it's been in the past two decades. What’s the purpose of a third party?”

Placing my palms flat on the table, I sigh before squaring my shoulders to jump into the conversation since she wants to act like I’m in the wrong.

“When did you start sharing your disdain for me with my child? When did your hostility over my conception require you to give me your ass to kiss?”

“Now, hold on, little girl?—”

“I won’t. For as long as I can remember, you’ve had something negative to say about what I do. Normally, it would be okay for a mother to share her thoughts on your decisions, but it's never okay to tear your child down. It’s never okay to make said child the recipient of your mistakes in life. It’s never okay to cause your child to question why you chose to not swallow thirty-two years ago.” I stop talking when my chest heaves up and down like a raging bull while my hands open and close, suppressing the urge to form fists.

“The funny thing about your spiel is that I did swallow that night. I just should have stayed sucking instead of allowing himto enter my pussy. While you think you have something to get off your chest, I’m fighting the urge to vomit, staring at you.”

“You know what . . .? Get up, Cha-Cha. This meeting is done.” Germayne interjects, appearing out of thin air.

“Oh, I see he’s the protective type. Hopefully, you and that loose pussy can do a better job at keeping him than I ever did,” Mom adds with a sinister grin that pinches my chest because, at this moment, I realize that there will be no reconciliation between us.

I refuse to deal with the vile likes of Vernise O’Neal, regardless of her legal position in my life. I love me more than to allow her bitterness to penetrate my life any further.

“Unlike whatever nigga you’re pissed with, I’ve always been after love with Chaniya,” Germayne continues.

My tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth, preventing me from doing anything but stare at my mother, who stands with a calmness that contradicts the fire in her eyes.

“We’ll see how long?—”

“Oh no. That’s where you’re mistaken. This is the last day you will breathe the same air as my family. Don’t let the door hit you, but I hope the good Lord splits you.” With that, Germayne takes my hand, helping me to my feet, and we move wordlessly toward Jarrod’s office in the back.

After the pointless and botched conversation with Mom, I find myself wondering if Caleb will one day feel like I should have done more to determine his birth father. I know he and Germayne are developing their relationship and Caleb has expressed acceptance of Germayne assuming the role. However, I feel like I should at least attempt to make things right forCaleb’s benefit. So here I am, putting myself on the chopping block while searching Facebook for the men I slept with. After getting pregnant, I did the same search, and it was fruitless, but it's been nearly six years, and everybody has Facebook these days.

“Oh shit!” I stop scrolling when I come across Spencer’s profile.

Thanks to his public account, I start going through his page before seeing a recent picture of Spencer, Wally, and Jeff.

“Hm. Well, ain’t this cute. The careless trio are still in contact with one another,” I grumble, rolling my eyes.

All three men are smiling wide while holding beers in what looks like a lavish backyard party or something like it. A sinking feeling in my stomach has me closing my eyes to gather my bearings because contacting these men is the last thing I want to do. Yet, I’m willing to become a lamb being led to the slaughter house if it means Caleb won’t have any future questions about where he comes from.

Girl, bye. Your man has already stepped up to let Caleb know that real men exist, so you really don’t have to do this. Sometimes, it's best to let sleeping dogs lie.

Ignoring the statements in my mind, I pull up my inbox and begin typing a message to Spencer. He seems less likely to respond negatively, despite who his friends are.

Me: Hello Spencer. I’m not sure if you remember the night we shared nearly six years ago, and this probably isn’t the best way to handle the situation. However, it’s all I have. Anyway, the night we were together resulted in my getting pregnant. I would like for you to get a paternity test to determine if you’re the father of my child.

Biting my bottom lip, I reread the message after sending it before shrugging and moving to the two other men in question. My message to Wally and Jeff is identical to what I sent to Spencer. I’ll wait until I receive responses to determine how much information I want to share about Caleb. Closing out of my inbox, I take a couple cleansing breaths, hoping to erase my limbs' shakiness. For now, being vague is appropriate and protective, just in case this thing blows up in my face. Unlike the three men I slept with, my page is private, and I don’t share pictures of Caleb on any of my social media platforms, so I should be okay. Simultaneous notification alerts hit my phone, causing heat to fill my neck, and my hands tremble slightly.

Fortunately, work has been extremely light today, so I have time to do personal matters on the clock. My boss thinks I’m tending to our overnight animals, and I did, but now I’m handling my own affairs. Looking at the recently spayed dog, I smile weakly because her sad eyes somehow give me the courage to open my phone to check the messages waiting for me.

Spencerthegreat: I think you need to keep searching for your baby’s father because I ain’t it. With your quick acceptance that night, I’m pretty sure I’m one of twenty. Get out of my inbox, whore.

“Wow,” I mumble, shaking my head and moving to the next message.

WallyIINice: Who are you? I’ve never slept with you. I don’t even know you. Wrong nigga, sis.

“Oh, this nigga got jokes.” A humorless laugh escapes my mouth at the response from Wally outright denying any involvement with me. “Maybe I sh—” My statement ends when a message pops up from Jeff, and it’s the one I’ve been dreading the most, especially after what happened between us not long ago.

JeffNotThatOne: I guess ole boy ain’t handling you right despite throwing his weight around not too long ago. It’s cool. I’m a forgiving man. In fact, I can even entertain meeting you for a paternity test, but first, I need you to play a role too. If I’m offering some of my blood to determine if your bastard kid is mine, you need to serve that pussy up on a silver platter. My old lady ain’t letting me fuck, so you might as well be her stand-in. I’m thinking you can be my little slut for the next five years. I mean, it’s the least your ho ass can do. So, what do you say? Are you willing to let me beat that pussy out of the frame again? Or are you cool with your kid being a bastard? I’m good either way.

“This mothafucka is out of his mind.” My fingers trip over themselves to delete all three messages before blocking the men.

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