by Risqué
“Calm down,” he said sternly. “You think I’ma let something happen to you? I promised you I would always take care of you. Now,” he consoled as he wrapped his coat around her, “let’s go.”
Jeff hated the emergency-room waiting area. He hated the sterile smell, the nurses, doctors, interns and orderlies all buzzing back and forth, as if they were happy to live in a world of others’ misfortunes. He hated those hard-ass orange plastic chairs that suctioned his ass when he sat down and made a popping sound when he got up. He hated the flashing exit signs, the ambulance entrance and the signs that read: PEOPLE WILL BE SEEN IN THE ORDER OF THEIR EMERGENCIES.
Besides, every time he’d been in an emergency room he always felt doomed: his brother was shot, his father had died, and he had his skiing accident.
For hours Jeff paced the waiting area. He called Yuri’s mother in Chicago to let her know what happened and she asked him to please call her back as soon as he found out anything. He called his own mother, who said a prayer over the phone with him. Then he called Nae-Nae and Drae to tell them Yuri was in the hospital. He replayed their wedding day in his mind, laughed at their first corny joke, remembered the first time she gave him some pussy and reconsidered the thought that their marriage was due to end.
“Mr. McMillan?” A doctor in a white overcoat with a tag that read DR. JOHNSON, walked over to Jeff and extended his hand.
“Yes.” Jeff stood still, never noticing the doctor’s extended hand; Jeff cupped his chin and waited for the doctor to begin speaking.
“Listen”—the doctor led Jeff to a more secluded waiting area—“the good news is your wife’s fine.”
Jeff took a deep breath and wiped the sweat from his brow.
“She’s resting,” the doctor continued, “and within the hour you two can go home. The unfortunate news…is she miscarried the baby.”
“Come again?” Jeff could’ve sworn this was beyond hearing wrong. For a moment he wondered if he had just been spat on. “Yo,” he said, momentarily releasing the ghetto in him, “what you say, son?”
The doctor stepped back. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, but your wife lost the baby.”
“What…” Jeff fumbled over his words, trying to make out if his throat had been sliced and was making him speechless.
Misunderstanding Jeff’s confusion, the doctor explained, “Mr. McMillan, your wife was expecting.”
Jeff plopped down in one of the orange chairs he hated. Every time he went to speak, his tongue burned as if he had piss in his mouth. Truth be told, Jeff felt like slapping the doctor for GP sake; after all, he could’ve sworn this niggah said Yuri lost a baby. Whose baby? Yuri? Yuri lost a baby? Somebody somewhere had to be playing, because they had Jefferson McMillan fucked up. Just because he went from the projects to the Ivy League didn’t mean he was a punk. He could push a motherfucker to sleep if need be, and perhaps this was one of those times. After all, who didn’t know he was sterile? Who didn’t know he spent a weekend with his mistress, had a skiing accident and split his nuts open? Yuri never let that shit die, so how could the doctor not know? “How…” He cleared his throat and stood back up. “How far along was she?”
“Six weeks.”
It’s not mine, it’s not mine, it’s not mine…it’s not mine…it’s not mine… He massaged the sides of his forehead; suddenly he had a migraine. The reality he swore he wanted to face had suddenly showed up and kicked his ass. Now either he had to deal with it or be done with it. “She was what? Are you sure?”
“She was six weeks pregnant. I apologize, Mr. McMillan. I’m really sorry to be the one to tell you…but your wife was so upset that I didn’t think she would be up to explaining it to you.”
“She knows already?”
“Yes.”
“Did she tell you to tell me?”
“We never discussed it. I just assumed since you were her husband…”
Hell, Jeff being her husband didn’t mean shit, the baby wasn’t his. “Thank you, Doctor.” Jeff nodded his head in dismissal. “Can I see her now?”
“Right this way.”
Jeff walked into Yuri’s room feeling numb. Looking at her he imagined some niggah, any niggah, the mailman, the cable man, a lil’ young niggah flippin’ burgers or an old niggah flippin’ real estate, barge up in her raw dawg, as if she’d told them all about his dick not being able to shoot shit. He imagined them laughing at him and purposely planning to have this baby. A baby that everyone would consider the ultimate get-back-at-him-for-fucking-a-white-bitch scheme.
Now he knew for sure that she had to have known she was pregnant. That’s why she’d been so sick, that’s why she’d been gaining weight, sleeping, cussing him out, couldn’t stand to smell anything. That’s why she’d been treating him like there was nothing he could do for her other than get the fuck out of her face…all because she’d served his ass up some serious fuckin’ payback.
“You gave me quite a scare, girl.” He leaned against the side of the bed she lay in.
“You? I scared the hell outta myself. But the doctor said I’ll be okay, that I can go home now.”
“I was hoping to find the doctor so he could explain to us what was wrong.” Jeff searched her eyes for any sign of fear, but what he spotted wasn’t enough. “I wanted to be there when he told you. In case there were any special instructions. Matter fact, let me go and find him, so I can be sure of what you need to do.” He started walking toward the door.
“Jeff!” she called.
He could hear her trying to get off the bed. He turned around. “Where you going? Take it easy.”
“Why are you looking for the doctor?” she said anxiously. “I’ll get the discharge instructions. It was just fibroids anyway. Something very common in black women.”
“Why are you so anxious?”
“I’m sorry.” She took a deep breath. “I’m still in shock, I guess.”
“I understand.” He handed her her clothes. He could tell she didn’t want to keep talking. “Are you in a lot of pain?”
“No, not anymore.” She slipped her clothes back on. “I’ve had two Motrin.”
“The bleeding?”
“Still bleeding heavy, but nothing like before.”
“So what did the doctor tell you?” Jeff asked.
“Fibroids,” she spat out a little too quickly. “He said I have fibroids. It’s common…African American women.”
“You said that already.”
“Well, I mean African American and Native American women.”
“Yeah,” he said distantly. “African American and Native American, huh? Interesting combination.”
The room was silent as they both stared at each other just long enough to know the other knew the truth. Jeff thought about telling Yuri he knew about her get-back scheme, but he couldn’t bear to spit out the words “pregnant” and “Yuri” in the same sentence. After all, she was his wife and how would he say—let alone accept—she was carrying another man’s seed. That would mean she opened her legs, showed the face of her pussy and had another man’s dick kiss it, while he nutted inside of her as if she were his own. As if she didn’t have a husband, at least one they regarded as being worth anything.
On the drive home Yuri wondered how she could’ve been pregnant and not have known. Suppose she didn’t have a miscarriage, then what? She’d be stuck nursing Britt’s baby and convincing Jeff his sterilized dick had actually done something.
Once they arrived at the apartment building, they were both quiet until they got inside.
“Yuri,” Jeff called from behind her, as she headed toward their bedroom. “Where are you going?”
“To bed.”
“It’s early. Come talk to me. I’ll put some tea on for you.”
Being that the guilt from her miscarriage was eating her up, she didn’t put up too much of a fuss. Instead she sat down on the couch.
“Sugar?” Jeff yelled from the kitchen.
“What?”
“Do you w
ant sugar in your tea?”
“Yes, sugar and lemon.”
Jeff returned from the kitchen and handed her a cup of tea. The cup shook on the saucer, causing some of the hot tea to splash on the sides.
Jeff did what he could not to black out and whip her ass off the couch. Initially, he thought he could attempt to be diplomatic and handle this like an adult, but this shit here had put his manhood to the test. All the times she floated her fat ass in here, two, three, and four o’clock in the morning. All the times he asked, begged and pleaded with her to please tell him the truth, who was the niggah. He thought about how she answered her cell phone sleepy, when she was supposed to have been at the club. Was she in bed with the niggah then? Had his dick just literally come out of her mouth? And what about the time she said Nae-Nae and Raphael had a fight and her clothes were different when she came back home? What was she doing that night? Had she had a bath in the niggah’s sperm? Hell, Jeff wondered, where was he when all of this baby makin’ was going on? At home watchin’ American Idol or jerking his dick to sleep?
After Jeff served her the tea, he pulled up one of their black leather Pier One dining-room chairs and sat directly in front of her. He sat so close that his breath made her eyes blink. “I love you, you know that, right?”
Suddenly Yuri didn’t feel like drinking the tea. “And I love you too,” she said with as much sincerity as she could muster. “And I really have to thank you for being there for me today. Not every man would take—”
Before she could continue, Jeff reared his hand back, squinted his eyes and hauled off and knocked the shit out of her. He smacked her so hard that her head moved back and forth like a Bobble Head doll that’d lost control. The hot tea splashed everywhere, specks of it hitting her eyes, burning her thighs and running down her legs. Immediately she jumped up to defend herself. He pushed her back down. “I wanna fuckin’ talk,” he spat, yoking her neck with one hand. “Can we do that?”
Yuri couldn’t believe what had just happened. It took her a few seconds before she could open her mouth enough to scream.
WHAPP!!!! He smacked her again. “I’ll kick yo’ fuckin’ ass you scream in here again. Now, whose fuckin’ baby was that?!”
Silence. Instead of answering she sat there wondering how she could either kill him or get away; it was obvious that it had to be one extreme or the other.
“You want me to slap the shit outta you again?” He raised his hand. “Now, whose goddamn, rotten-ass dead baby was that?!”
“What are you talking about?!” she managed to scream. “Don’t fuckin’ hit me no more!”
“You still lying?!” He grabbed her by the neck and lifted her up off the couch. “I will kill you,” he said through gritted teeth. “You still wanna lie, Yuri? You still lying?”
“No!” she screamed. “Let me go!”
“Bitch, please. Lettin’ you go is the least of your fuckin’ worries! Now I’ma ask you this one…last…time…. Whose…fuckin’…baby…was that?”
“Jeff—”
“That wasn’t my baby, so what the fuck you calling my name for?! Are you trying to get yo’ ass killed?! I swear to God that the next word better be this niggah’s name”—he turned toward their picture window—“or I will toss you through that motherfuckin’ glass!”
Yuri tried desperately to speak, but she was shaking so badly no words would come out.
“Let me help you out.” He began walking her around the living room. Although she was fighting and screaming, he overpowered her, and when she managed to squirm to the floor, he slapped her again, wrapped her hair around his hand and began dragging her around the living room. “You fuckin’ wit’ Blake?”
Instead of answering she tried to dig her nails into his hand. Once she drew blood, he reached over with his free hand and smacked her so hard she could’ve sworn he broke her face. “You’se a hardheaded motherfucker. Now…we gon’ try this again. You fuckin’ Blake?”
“Who is Blake?” Tears and snot poured down her face and all she could see were the helicopter lights from the neighboring high-rise. “Jeff, please…”
Ignoring her plea he went on, “Bitch, is it Blake’s?”
“Who is Blake?” She shook.
“The fuckin’ mailman, bitch.” He started dragging her around the living room again. “Raheem,” he said more to himself than to her. “It’s Raheem’s?”
“Raheem?”
“Oh, you know Raheem, bitch.”
“Jeff, please stop!” If she could get on her knees and beg him she would.
“You fuckin’ Raheem?” He started dragging her again.
“Who is he?!”
“Radio Raheem, bitch. Who the fuck you think it is?! You know that niggah is the cable man, he’s in here all the goddamn time!”
Yuri couldn’t believe this was happening. Everything seemed to be spinning. As Jeff went to lift her off the floor by her neck, he heard her cell phone ringing. Robin Thicke was singing “Lost Without U,” causing Jeff to stop dead in his tracks. He held Yuri by her neck and for a moment that felt like it went on into infinity, they were both silent. Both of them knowing that the shit had finally clicked. “That’s that niggah. There he go right there.” He let her go and went for her cell phone, which rested on the coffee table. “Britt…” Jeff read the caller ID. “Britt?” He chuckled in disbelief as he answered the phone. “So tell me dawg, you fuckin’ Yuri?”
“What?” Britt was obviously caught off guard.
“Man-up, niggah.”
“Jeff…” Yuri said in the background. “Give me the phone.”
“You crazy, Yuri? Give you the phone? Bitch, do you get it? I’m two seconds from killing you.”
“Bitch?” Britt said calmly, yet in disbelief. “You called her a bitch?”
“What the fuck you gon’ do about it, niggah? You weren’t here when that fuckin’ dead-ass baby died in my bed! Did I call her a bitch? Who the fuck you think you talking to?”
“Jeff, please give me the phone,” Yuri begged.
“Bitch, what I tell you?”
“I’ma ask you nicely,” Britt said, doing his best to remain calm, yet letting Jeff know he wasn’t playing. “Don’t call her a bitch no more. Now put Yuri on the phone.”
“Put her on the phone? You think this is a game? I’ma kill this bitch!”
“You know what? You done went too motherfuckin’ far!” And he hung up.
“I’m sick of being treated like a fuckin’ joke!” Jeff threw the phone across the room, shattering it into pieces. “I done went too motherfuckin’ far, but he fuckin’ my wife? I’ma kill ’im!” Jeff started pacing back and forth across the room, snapping his neck from one side to the next. “Motherfuckers laughing at me,” he repeated. “Y’all think Jefferson McMillan is a joke, but y’all niggahs the joke. A baby? A baby, Yuri? You…got…to be fuckin’ kidding me. How was you gon’ come up in this motherfucker with a baby, Yuri?”
“The same way you came up in here with one!” Now that Jeff had started pacing the floor, Yuri had a moment to collect herself. She wondered if she had enough time to race in the kitchen, get a knife and stab this motherfucker for putting his hands on her.
“You talking, Yuri? You want me to beat the shit outta you again?!”
“I wish you fuckin’ would, and one of us will die up in here today!”
As Jeff raced toward Yuri, Drae flew through the door, practically twisting her ankle as she fell in. “Yuri!” she said as if she had run up all twenty-five flights of their stairs. “I heard you screaming!”
“You fat-ass filthy fuckin’ bitch!” Jeff rushed Yuri, knocking her to the floor.
Drae did what she could to break them up; and when she saw Jeff had taken a step back and seemed to be making his way so he could stomp Yuri, Drae pulled her out of the way, and jumped on top of her.
“Both y’all bitches is trash, so what the fuck I care about tossing you out with this bitch! This no-good tramp, who nobody liked except me i
s fuckin’ Britt behind all our backs. This bitch is fuckin’ Britt!” he said in a rage of disbelief. By the look on Drae’s face, Jeff could tell she already knew. He couldn’t believe everyone knew but him. It was official: They were all laughing at him. “You fuckin’ bitches! I should fuckin’ piss in both y’all’s faces! Y’all cunts think I’m some type of joke?! Get the fuck out, before I throw y’all out that window!” Jeff picked up the coffee table and threw it across the room. “Get the fuck out!” Feeling they weren’t moving fast enough, he grabbed Yuri by her waist and Drae grabbed on to her feet. She thought for sure he would be throwing her out the window.
Somehow Jeff had Yuri and Drae both lifted off the floor. And as if he were the bionic man playing football, he took them and threw them out the front door, their bodies making a thud as they hit the wall.
Jeff came out into the hallway, where building security, who’d received a complaint about someone fighting, blocked his path as he prepared to tackle the women.
Yuri had never seen Jeff like this; he had gone completely crazy.
Just as security thought they’d stopped Jeff dead in his tracks, he started coming in their direction again. Out of fear, Yuri and Drae took cover and the police who were coming out of the elevator now pulled out their guns. The security guards moved Drae and Yuri out of the way, causing them to fall to the floor, while the police were able to catch and handcuff Jeff before he attacked them again.
“Yo, my man” floated over Yuri’s shoulder. Britt walked over to her. “Can you stand up?”
“Yes.” She nodded her head as Britt lifted her from the floor. Looking at the bruises on her face, he stroked her cheek. “I can’t believe this motherfucker put his hands on you.”
“I swear to God I’ma see you, Britt!” Jeff screamed.
“You see me now, motherfucker,” he said, pushing Yuri to the side. “Now what you wanna do?!”
“Okay, time to break this up,” the police officer spat. One of the officers turned to Yuri. “Miss, I think you need to get some things and leave for a while.”
“I don’t want anything,” Yuri nervously responded as she grabbed Britt by the hand. “I just wanna go.”