With big eyes, Jordan nods.
“Well, that means sometimes—no, lots of times—we’re going to sleep in each other’s beds. This way we can spend as much time together and with you as we can. So, from now on, you may see Mommy coming out of my room or me coming out of hers in the morning, but what you won’t get to do is just walk in the room without being invited in, okay?”
He nods again. “Okay, Daddy.”
“Good. And another thing, when you wake up in the morning, you don’t need to wake us up. You can go pee, wash your hands good, grab yourself a snack, and watch TV until we get up, got that?”
“Yes, Daddy.” Jordan’s eyes divert behind me. “You okay, Mommy? You look scared.”
“I—I’m…” Zoey clears her throat. “I’m okay, pumpkin. Go do what your father said and I’ll be right there with you.”
Jordan takes off to his room. I know my son. As I observe his gait, I know he’s confused. Jordan and I are tight, so tight that I occasionally have to check him about his mouth at times when he speaks to me like we’re the same age. He’s not by any means disrespectful, he just has a sharp wit like his mother’s that needs to be curbed. He’s also surprised, but in due time, he’ll understand.
Now, his mother on the other hand… I turn to Zoey as I close the door to find her shaking her head, seemingly exasperated.
“I don’t know why you did that. You should have consulted me before making that call. It’s something we should have planned together. I’m his mother, Stenton. It’s one thing to see his father with a woman, but it’s an entirely different thing to see his mother with a man in—”
“No! To see his mother with his father. I am his father! I am not a stranger here. I am his father. I am a part of this unit. No, he’s not accustomed to seeing me half dressed in this bedroom, but as he gets older he will appreciate that I’ve paid for this bedroom. He’ll know that I’ve loved his mother. I’ve taken care of her and this family. That even though I hurt her, manipulated her, I’ve been here. And I’m tired of feeling that a cloud is hovering over my head no matter my efforts of moving this family forward. I’m done with that, Zoey. I’m ready to move on!”
With hiked brows and a tucked chin, she calmly points out, “This seems to be about more than you spilling the beans to Jordan before I was ready.”
“You’re damn right it is!” I clap back and Zoey leaps. “I’m tired of tiptoeing around things. I’m tired of taking things slow.”
“Well, what do you want?”
I step closer to her. “I want marriage. I want to be official. I want my son to wake us up in our bed. Not just your bedroom, not just my bedroom, but our bedroom. Why is it taking so long?”
Why does something so elementary to a Christian woman sound so foreign to Zoey? You would think with her church background, she’d be dragging my ass to the altar.
“Well, I want things here, too! I want a baby—”
“You ain’t getting SHIT until I get marriage!” I’m even taken aback by my volume.
Zoey jumps even higher in place at that. I’ve passed the point of no control. I’m ready to take her on. I know Zoey stays on her toes and has some sharp shit to spit back. She never takes anything and rolls over. I’ll demolish anything she throws. I’m ready.