A Thugs Baby Mama

.1

"Fredrick, would you hurry up? I got a doctor's appointment!" I hollered from the living room, checking the clock for the tenth time.

My six-year-old was upstairs, stuffing clothes into his overnight bag like he had all the time in the world. He was going to stay with his daddy tonight.

"I'm coming, Mommy—damn!"

I froze. Did this little boy just—? My blood boiled as I marched up the steps and pushed open his door. There he was, looking me dead in the eye like he was grown.

"What the fuck did you just say to me?" I asked, voice sharp enough to cut.

He shrugged like I was his equal. That was it.

"Lil' nigga, I don't know who you think you talking to, but I will bust your head wide open if you ever try me again."

I grabbed him by the arm, and he squirmed. "Ouch, Mama! I can't breathe—let me go!" His voice cracked into a cry.

I shouldn't have laughed, but I did. Wrong as hell, I knew it, but he had to learn—there was one parent in this house, and it damn sure wasn't him.

"Mama, please, you're hurting me!" he whined, tears wetting his cheeks.

Hearing him beg softened me. I sighed and let him go, shaking my head. "Get your stuff together," I muttered, finishing his bag myself. A minute later, I was on the phone with his daddy, setting up the drop-off.

By the time we pulled up to the doctor's office, I spotted Clinton leaning against the hood of his car like he owned the block. That big-ass grin spread across his face soon as he saw us.

"Daddy!" Fred hollered, bolting across the lot.

"Lil' man, what's good?" Clinton scooped him up, then set him down and gave me that look—the one where his eyes lingered a second too long, his tongue sliding over his lips like I was dessert.

"So, ma, what's good? Whatchu been up to?" he asked.

I crossed my arms, not giving him the satisfaction. "Nothing much. Just being me. Taking care of Fred. You know how I do."

"Yeah, I know how you do," he smirked. "Same ole, same ole for me—tryna stay outta jail, make shit right with Shalita." He sighed, like the weight of the world was on his chest.

"That's wassup," I said, though my tone was flat.

"Yeah. But for real—when can I take you out?"

I laughed once, dry. "I don't think so. You just said you tryna work things out with your other baby mama."

He leaned closer, eyes never leaving mine. "Yeah, but I also wanna work things out with us. I miss you."

Clinton always had jokes. Truth was, yeah, I loved him. But love didn't erase drama, and I had enough on my plate without fighting over a man who was gon' do what he wanted regardless.

"I don't know," I said finally. "I'll have to see."

"Alright, let me know wassup."

I nodded, kissed Fred on the forehead, and turned toward the doctor's office doors. My heart pulled one way, my head another. A part of me wanted Clinton back, but another part knew better. Especially when he was still caught up trying to make things right with Shalita.