by Tia Sirrah
"Likewise." To the unsuspecting person, Aunt Helena appeared polite and charming. But for those who really knew her, knew that her smile was forced. Uncle Norris furrowed his brow at her.
"Riveting speech today. What are your plans after graduation?" Uncle Norris asked.
"I'm heading to Brown this fall. Pre-law." No mention of his internship next week.
Uncle Norris nodded his approval.
"The resemblance to your father, Senator James, is uncanny," Aunt Helena chimed in.
"Yes, ma'am." Quentin smiled easily, not giving away any apprehension. "I hear that often."
A spark of recognition flashed on Uncle Norris's face, followed by a subtle nod. "So, are you two…"
"We're just friends," I filled in.
Quentin responded with a curt nod.
"Great," Aunt Helena said with just a little too much enthusiasm for my comfort. "It was lovely to meet you, Quentin. Norris, hun, why don't you keep Quentin company while I steal Fatima away for a bit."
Aunt Helena locked our arms and guided us away. I stole a glance back at Quentin, who smiled at me before turning to Uncle Norris.
"He's a delight." We took a seat under one of the large linen-draped pergolas. "A whole snack. I can see why you're crazy about him."
"He's really good to me," I felt the need to say because Quentin was more than a nice face. This was deeper than physical attraction.
She turned to me and offered a sympathetic smile.
"Is my dad going to freak?"
She winced. "Yes."
I palmed my face and groaned. "It's been ten years."
"I know. And my brother shouldn't blame that boy for his father's mistakes. But," she said, bursting the bubble of hope I had. "There are things you don't know. Things you were much too young to understand. Your father has his reasons." She looked off in the distance toward the house, where my dad headed before Quentin's arrival.
"What things?"
Aunt Helena shook her head. "Quincy only wants to protect you."
"I don't need dad's protection from Quentin."
She cupped the side of my jaw with her hand. "That may be, Babygirl. But his family is powerful and ruthless, and they will stop at nothing to keep their image and reputation squeaky clean. Just be careful."
I searched her eyes for more, but she gave nothing away. "Well, it's all a moot point because Quentin is leaving for D.C. in a week." I shrugged, feigning indifference. "So, it's whatever."
Aunt Helena took my hands and gave them a little squeeze. "There's your father."
I followed her line of sight and saw my dad, who had stepped out of the double doors and onto the deck. Dad froze in place as his eyes immediately locked in on Quentin.
Aunt Helena linked our arms and offered me a hopeful smile. "Whatever happens, know that I'm here for you. Love you, Babygirl."
"Love you too, Auntie."
∞∞∞
I HEADED STRAIGHT TO Quentin, who was still talking to my uncle. I politely excused Quentin from their conversation and pulled him aside. I turned my back to my father, who was now approaching us.
"You see my dad over there? Tall guy. Blue shirt. Light skin."
Quentin's eyes roamed the crowd over my head before looking back at me. "He looks pissed," he said, amusement in his voice. "Your aunt just pulled him aside."
"Great," I drawled.
"It'll be fine. Go big or go home, right?"
"That's easy for you to say. Your dad gets to hate me from afar."
"You asked me to come. And I'm tired of hiding like we're doing something wrong. I want to meet your folks, and I want you to meet mine."
"I know." I stole a glance over my shoulder. My aunt still had my dad hemmed up. "I told him we were just friends."
Quentin tsked, seeming amused. "So, you lied to him."
"What are we, Q? Huh? Lovers. Homie-lover-friends?" I sighed out of frustration and put my hands on my hips. I was on the verge of a panic attack, and yet he seemed so unbothered.
"Boyfriend and girlfriend. Duh."
"Oh, really? I don't recall you asking. And let's not forget, you're going to D.C. in six days."
"Fuck D.C. I’m not going."
"Quentin, you can't not go."
"Watch me." He smirked.
"You're insane. There is no way your dad's going to be okay with that."
"He'll get over it." He shrugged.
Now was not the time to discuss this, but I couldn't help myself. "He's gonna be so pissed."
"Yeah," he agreed. "But he'll have time to cool off. I'll deal with him when we get back. Well, that is, if I can convince you to go to New York with me for a few weeks."
My jaw went slack. "Boy, don't play with me."
"I think it'll be fun. No parents. No rules. Time square. Manhattan. Brooklyn. You naked, like every day."
"Q," I playfully punched him in his arm and stole another glance over my shoulder. If he were any other boy, I would have asked him what he was smokin'. But this was Quentin. The boy I'd loved since I was fourteen years old. My first kiss. My first lover. The owner of my heart. But first things first. "I know you're used to getting your way, oh Golden Boy. But that's not how you ask a girl to go steady."
Quentin wrapped his arm around me and pulled me close. His brows pinched together like he was utterly confused. "Oh…you're serious. You didn't know you were mine? Well, fuck me sideways."
"I'm waiting." I pressed my hands against his pecs.
He sighed, feigning exasperation. "For you, Fatima. Anything for you." I was lost in his eyes, forgetting everything and everyone else around us. "Be my girl. Please. Because you're it for me. So. Fucking. It."
There was my grin again, making my cheeks hurt. "Hell yeah. I'll be your girl." We would figure everything out. The distance. The family drama. None of it mattered as long as we had each other.
"And New York? Will you come with me?"
I slowly nodded. "Let's do it."
He smiled so brightly; it was infectious. "I love you, Princess." And then time stood still.
"Hey, Babygirl." I stiffened at my dad's voice before turning around and facing him. He spoke to me, but his eyes were on Quentin.
Worst timing ever. Quentin's hands fell from my waist, and he stood beside me, taking my hand. Our fingers laced together.
I introduced the two men in my life to one another, studying dad for any sign of disapproval. They shook hands. Quentin was courteous, as always, and dad was quiet, only giving a curt nod to Quentin's greeting.
My dad was a man of few words. But when he spoke, he rarely ever minced words. "You're the Senator's son."
"Yes, sir," Quentin responded cooly.
"Exactly what are you to my daughter?"
"He's my boyfriend," I blurted.
Dad's eyes darted to me for a moment. What looked like surprise, turned disappointment, shone through his eyes, before focusing back on Quentin. "Walk with me, Quentin. Let's have a chat."
"Sure." Quentin gave my hand a reassuring squeeze.
"Dad, be nice."
Dad's lips tilted into a slight smile. "We won't be long, Babygirl." Slapping Quentin's shoulder, he ushered him forward, leaving me standing in the grass, staring off at their retreating backs.
Chapter 14
QUENTIN
MR. MCKAY AND I walked around the side yard of the house, away from the rest of the guests. Neither of us uttered a single word as we walked. Not gonna lie, he was an intense motherfucker, but I had lots of practice with men like him. I assumed he wanted to talk to me in private, to tell me to stay the fuck away from his daughter, and to threaten bodily harm if I didn't. I didn't blame him. After all, I was defiling his daughter in every way imaginable, every chance I got, probably the same way my dad did with his wife, at one point in time. I was a younger, cockier version of my dad, who had taken his precious daughter and was not giving her up. Not for him or anyone else.
Mr. McKay led me to the edge of the fenced property,
which overlooked the Woodland hillside. "Where are you heading to college, son." We both faced the mountain terrain with our hands in our pockets.
Son. Okay, that's better than asshole, dick, or son of satan. "I'm heading to Brown, sir."
"Like your father."
It seemed strange that he would know that. But I guess it was public record. "Yes, sir. My mother and father are both alumni."
"Fatima's mother went to Brown. Did you know that?"
I unglued my eyes from the view and looked over at him. "No, sir. I didn't."
"Are you going to follow in your father's footsteps?" He turned completely and stared at me. His eyes were hard.
I knew what this was, but decided not to take the bait. This conversation was going downhill, real fucking fast. Luckily for me, I was still the tin man. The only person who could make me feel, was his daughter. Unfortunately for me, when it came to matters concerning her, I had a very short fucking fuse.
"Yes, sir. Politics are in my future."
"That's not what I'm referring to."
No shit. I stared at him, relaxed and unbothered. A look that I'd perfected when I was a little boy. What my dad did was pretty shitty, but he was still my dad. He'd always been there for me, even when my own mother couldn’t stand the sight of me because I reminded her too much of him.
"This thing with my daughter, it ends today."
"With all due respect, sir, that's not your decision."
He smiled at me for the first time, an eerie, thin-lipped, villain type of smile.
"You will let her go. My daughter has suffered enough by the hands of your family."
Okay, he had a point. But it wasn't like Mrs. McKay was blameless. It's not like she slipped and fell on my dad's dick. To blame my entire family for their fuck up—pun intended—wasn't fair. "My father left us, too, sir."
"That he did. And I'm sorry for you. I really am. But you're not my concern."
"I won't hurt her. I love her." It was about time he and everyone else knew it.
Mr. McKay was now in my personal space. "I will not have my daughter poisoned by the likes of your family." We glared at each other. His jaw ticked, and I ground my teeth, causing my jaw to flex. "I couldn't protect my wife. She was a two-bit whore who got exactly what she deserved."
"Sir?" I asked, cocking my head to the side. Mr. McKay was a ruthless bastard. Probably as vicious as my old man. She got exactly what she deserved? Don't get me wrong. Mrs. McKay wasn't one of my favorite people, but she gave birth to the girl I loved. I no longer despised her, because hating her would be like hating a part of Fatima.
"Your father did me a favor. It wasn't my baby anyway."
"Sir?" I took a deep, steady breath. As carefully and calmly as I could muster, I asked, "What the fuck are you talking about?"
"There you guys are." I heard the sound of Fatima's voice from afar, but I couldn't look away from her dad.
"If you truly love her, end it," Mr. McKay said, barely above a whisper. "It's nothing against you personally, but I can't let you have her. You," he paused, looking at me through slits, "are the son of a killer."
Chapter 15
FATIMA
I FOLLOWED THE SOUNDS of Donny Hathaway's Giving Up, playing on vinyl from my dad's bedroom. Dad was on his balcony, which overlooked my mom's garden. He never spent time in the garden after her death. Probably for the same reason that I spent so much time there. Her garden used to be her sanctuary. Her happy place. And when she died, so did her garden. It made losing her even more unbearable.
"Hey, dad."
"Hey, Babygirl." The air was thick with tension and sadness. Dad sat in a lounge chair, holding a glass of scotch in one hand.
I walked over to the edge of the balcony and peered out below at mom's garden. It was lush and beautiful. For my tenth birthday, my dad had her garden restored. He said he needed to see me smile again, even if just for a moment. And it worked. I got my smile back. I got a little piece of my mama back, too. After the restoration, I spent long hours wandering through her wildflower maze, strolling through the rose garden, or sitting in the gazebo, near the koi fish pond, just to feel her presence.
"Dad, will you give him a chance. For me?" The short, whimsical fabric of my skirt blew in the warm breeze, and my bare collarbone and shoulders prickled from the night air. It was a beautiful evening. One that I couldn't wait to spend with Quentin, but I needed to talk to my dad first.
Quentin seemed detached after his talk with my dad. Worry gnawed at me at the lack of affection and eye contact between us. Dad behaved oddly, as well. After joining the party again, Aunt Helena pulled my dad aside for what looked like a tense conversation. Afterward, dad left the party altogether.
My sky-high platform sandals clanked along the deck floor as I made my way to dad's lounge chair. I stood in front of him, hopeful and nervous.
"I don't have to know him. I know his people." Dad looked up at me with a stoic expression before taking a swallow of his scotch.
"Dad, I love him."
He studied me for a long moment before slowly nodding. "You'll get over him, and he'll get over you."
I shook my head adamantly. "No, I won't. He's it, dad. He's the one."
His shoulders shook from a silent chuckle. Scrubbing a hand over his close-cropped beard, he let out a sigh. "You're eighteen. Trust me, Babygirl. He's one, but he's not the one."
I lifted my chin in defiance. "He's asked me to go to New York with him." Dad's eyes flared with unrestrained anger, and his jaw ticked. "I said yes." I could hear the tremble in my voice. "Don't worry. I'll be back in time for UCLA."
Dad swallowed the rest of his scotch before slamming the glass down on the wooden armrest of his chair.
"We're going to be together, dad. Even after New York."
"Fatima," he said on a breath. His voice was laced with disappointment. Not Babygirl, but Fatima. "You're just like your mother."
My eyes burned with unshed tears. "Dad—"
"Enough," he bit out. "You're not going to New York. I'm not letting you run off with that boy."
"Why can't you let me go? You let mom go," I quipped.
A silence fell between us. Dad's eyes were cold. "You were eight. You have no idea what the hell happened."
"You didn't even fight for her, dad! You just let her go!" I fisted my hands at my sides. "You let her go, and she died!"
Dad's brows pulled together. "Let her go?" he asked in disbelief. He slumped forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his thighs and lacing his fingers behind his neck. "Babygirl," he said on a sigh. Rising from his chair, he paced a few steps away from me—his gaze on mom's garden. "I loved her—more than I loved myself. We were seventeen when we met. I knew from the moment I laid eyes on her, that she would one day be my wife." Dad turned to face me. His expression twisted in what looked like anger and grief. "I loved her, and she loved him." Bitterness dripped from his tongue. "It's always been him. Since they were kids."
"They grew up together?" I asked, pressing my hand to my abdomen. Were they cheating during my parents' entire marriage?
Dad looked at me warily, hesitated, then continued. "A few years into our marriage, I found a letter that Quentin wrote to Faye. In the letter, he told her that he would always love her and that he'd never contact her again, per her wishes. He said he would respect our marriage, and that he would give it an honest shot with Adeline since she was pregnant with his child." Dad shook his head before massaging the back of his neck. "He congratulated Faye on her pregnancy but admitted to wishing that it was his baby growing inside of her, instead of mine. I didn't even know your mother was pregnant with you. That son of a bitch knew before me."
I didn't trust my legs to keep me upright, so I slumped down into the nearest chair. "Daddy," I croaked. He crouched down before me and clasped my hands.
"When I confronted Faye about the letter, she swore to me that they never had an affair. She said they were best friends once, and eventually, they fell in
love, but they never slept together. I believed her. She was a virgin when we met. And even though they both went to Brown, while I was at NYU, other things in the letter confirmed her honesty."
"When did the affair start?" I'd never told him about that night, about what I saw them doing in our home.
"I felt her pulling away from me about a year before she confessed to the affair. On that last day before she left us, she admitted to sleeping with him for a whole goddamn year. She said they were in love and that she couldn't live a lie any longer. She told me that he had her heart, and she was having his baby."
Tears fell freely from my eyes, and my dad wiped them away with the pads of his thumbs. "Babygirl…I didn't let her go. She just….left. No matter how hard I fucking tried."
Tears blurred my vision. "I'm so sorry, daddy."
"I love you, Babygirl. But I can't give you my blessing to be with that boy. Not now. Not ever."
"He's not his father."
"He'll only use you." I quickly looked away from my dad, but he hooked his fingers under my chin and turned me back to him. "…and he'll spit you out once he's done with you." Dad closed his eyes on a heavy sigh. When he opened them, his honey-colored eyes—that all the McKays had—bore into me with resolute. "I will not let them hurt you."
"Dad, we're in love. And that's not going to change. No matter what."
Dad gave a somber smile. "We'll see, Babygirl."
Chapter 16
QUENTIN
"HEY, YOU. I DIDN'T hear you come in," Mom shouted over Sheryl Crow's If It Makes You Happy, while dancing around the kitchen. My baby sister, Stella, sat in her highchair, mushing applesauce into her plump hands, before smearing it on her chubby cheeks, missing her mouth by a long shot.
"Dad in his study?" I ruffled Stella's blond locks before kissing her on the head. She greeted me with a toothless smile, stretching her chubby applesauce-covered hands towards me, which I pretended to nibble on, causing her to giggle.
"No. He's in the library. You heading out tonight?"