I just look at him. “Fool, you do it!” For real, he got some nerve lecturing me.
“I’m smart with mine, unlike you,” Dre says. “You probably careless enough to lead the cops right to you. You honestly need to leave this dealing shit alone, period. Weed, rocks, pills, powder, whatever. Let it all go.”
“What? See, now you tripping.”
“I’m serious, Mav. You got a son to think about now—”
“You got a daughter.”
“Yeah, and I want you to learn from my mistakes and be a better father than me,” Dre says. “I hate that this how I gotta provide for Andreanna, but I’m too caught up to get out. You not.” He poke my chest. “We could get you a regular job like Wal-Mart or Mickey D’s—”
“That ain’t no kinda money!”
“It’s clean money,” Dre says. “I can talk to Shawn ’bout letting you out the set, too.”
“Oh, you tripping for real,” I say. “Shawn can’t just ‘let me out.’ You know that. You saw what happened to Kenny.”
Kenny is this King Lord who once played football for Garden High. He got a full scholarship offer to one of them big universities and decided he wanted out. Guess he didn’t want the school discovering his gang ties. There’s only a few ways to get out the King Lords—you either put in some major work like taking a charge for somebody, or you get jumped out. Kenny got jumped. The big homies beat him so bad he ended up in a coma. When he woke up, he was too banged up to take that football scholarship anyway. Getting out ain’t worth it.
“Maybe we could figure out a different way for you,” Dre says.
I shake my head. “Quit lying to yourself, man. Why should I get out anyway? Kinging in our blood, remember?”
“You could break the cycle,” Dre says. “Be better than me, Unc, all of us. Do things the right way.”
“Yeah, that’s easy to say when you driving around in a Beamer,” I say. “You a hypocrite, dawg. You also a damn fool if you think I’m walking away from this money, especially now that I got a kid.”
“It’s like that? A’ight,” Dre says, nodding. “Either you give it up or I tell Auntie and Uncle Don.”
“Then you’d have to admit to them that you let me sell weed.”
“I’m willing to own up to mine like a man. I’ll also tell Shawn what King doing.”
“I told you, King not involved.”
“Yeah right,” Dre says. “This got his name all on it. You don’t have to admit it. Me and Shawn will look into it and handle him ourselves.”
“You said you wouldn’t bring Shawn in this!”
“No, I said I wouldn’t rat you out to him. I didn’t say I wouldn’t rat out King. So what’s it gon’ be, cuz? Let drug dealing go completely or let you and your boy both get in trouble?”
“This blackmail!”
“It’s your choice to see it that way,” Dre says.
“It is that way! How I know you still won’t rat King out?” I ask.
“I trust you to talk to him and remind him of the consequences that come with doing shit like this,” Dre says. “I promise if I think you back at it, I’m snitching on him and you.”
“Dre, c’mon. Please?”
“This on you, Mav. Your call.”
I fold my hands on top of my head. Goddamn! This ’bout the worst way this could go. I wanna keep making money, but I don’t wanna get in trouble with my folks. I don’t want King to get hurt either.
I ain’t got much of a choice. “A’ight,” I say. “I’ll stop selling drugs.”
Do Dre tell me he proud of my decision? Do he give me props for looking out for my boy? Nah, he sit back on the couch and go, “That’s what I thought. Now go get me a soda. I’m thirsty from dealing with your li’l hardheaded behind.”
Four
I finally got Iesha on the phone Saturday night.
“I need a break, Maverick,” she said, and her voice was real rough. “I been crying all the time, and my head get in these real dark places. He don’t need to be around me.”
It sounded like what Keisha went through after she had Andreanna. I think Ma called it “postpartum depression.”
“You seen a doctor?” I asked Iesha.
“I don’t need a doctor.”
“Nah, for real. Dre’s girl dealt with that and—”
“I said I don’t need a doctor, Maverick! I’m handling it myself.”
“Fine.” Wasn’t no point in arguing. “How long you think you need?”
The phone line got real quiet. Next thing I knew, I got the dial tone.
I told Ma what happened.
“That poor child. Postpartum is rough,” she said. “Yolanda’s probably not getting her any help either. Jesus. We may need to prepare to have the baby for a while, Maverick. Might need to call Cousin Gary and discuss some options.”
Maaaan, that fool is the worst. He a lawyer and live in the suburbs with his white wife and their kids. Ask me when he come around the fam? Never. He think we ghetto and want his money. Cornball ass. Don’t nobody want his money.
I don’t want his help either. Iesha need a little break, that’s all. I pray to God I’m right, ’cause it’s only been two days, and this boy putting me through it. That first night was hell. He wanted to be held most of the time or else he’d cry, so I basically kept him in my arms. When I put him in his crib, he woke up every hour. That meant I had to wake up and feed him or change his diaper. I never seen so much poop in my life.
Saturday and Sunday, it was the same thing. Crying, pooping, peeing. Crying, pooping, peeing. I’m exhausted after one weekend.
Today finna be real interesting. It’s Monday, and Ma going back to work, meaning I gotta take care of my son by myself. At least this weekend Ma was here if I messed up. I told her that and she was like, “Being a parent usually means there’s nobody who can come fix things. That’s now your job.”
That’s scary as hell.
Ma run around the kitchen, checking the cabinets and refrigerator as she jot down a list. Dre gotta make some runs for Aunt ’Nita later and offered to take me to the grocery store. We need all kinds of stuff for my son. Of course, Ma thinking of fifty-leven other things she want.
“I’m adding cornmeal to the list, Maverick,” Ma says. “Make sure you get the big bag. Moe wants to fry some catfish this weekend. Oh, and get some of that creole seasoning. You know she’ll have a fit if there’s no creole seasoning.”
Ma’s best friend, Moe, come over and cook for us sometimes. She can throw down on some catfish. “Yes, ma’am,” I say, through a yawn. Li’l Man kept waking up last night. Surprised he asleep now.
“Now, if something comes up today, call me at work,” Ma says. “Also Mrs. Wyatt is next door, and your aunt ’Nita is only a phone call away. Your granny told me to tell you she’s a call away.” Ma shake her head. “That woman’s a fool for you.”
Granny live out in the country on the family land, thirty minutes away. She’d probably make that a fifteen-minute drive if I called.