Nighttime Run

Shad

Today is a great day.

I finalized my setlist for my upcoming tour.

A platinum plaque for my single “Sawed Off” got delivered to the studio.

Sadé took her nap in her playpen instead of in my arms.

A great day, indeed.

Mace has been putting the finishing touches on her pieces before her showcase, and since she’s scared my perfect baby will abuse a nanny, Nut and I have been taking turns keeping her during the day. Usually when it’s my day, she’s glued to me, demanding my attention and babbling nonstop in a mixture of baby talk and English. But today, she knew Da-da had some deadlines, and she behaved.

That earns her a treat.

I set my baby down to close and lock the door behind us, and she takes off, running and screaming toward Mace’s studio.

“Is that my munchkin?” I hear Macy squeal, and by the time I make it through our new crib, Mace has Beanie in her arms, raining down kisses on her cheeks.

“I missed you, Bean. Were you good for Daddy?”

“Yes!” Sadé yells, and my heart thumps. Who knows when I’ll be over her speaking actual words.

Of course her first one was Dada.

“Yeah, she was good. She’s earned a popsicle after dinner.”

Mace’s eyes snap to me and I see the love multiply in them. 

She’s got paint on her cheeks and some in her hair. One of my shirts stretches over her growing belly. Mace wouldn’t talk to me for two days when she found out she was pregnant again. At the forty-ninth hour, she came into the room and jumped on me, kissing me as nasty as she could. Apparently, she was only mad about having two under two, since our daughter is by all accounts a little devil, and believed another child would make her hair white.

I’ve found that trying to understand Mace’s logic will give me a headache. I don’t even think she gets it most of the time.

“Okay, let’s feed you so you can get your popsicle, huh? Mommy made dinner tonight.” Mace skips out of her studio with Beanie on her hip, while I mentally prepare myself.

Mace can do a lot of things. Cooking isn’t one of them.

“Bae, y-you cooked?” I ask when I finally make it to the kitchen.

Beanie’s in her high chair looking around confused while Mace is plating… something… in the counter.

She turns to me, brows furrowed. “Yes. Is that a problem, Rahshad?” She arches one, daring me to say something.

I round the counter, wrapping my arms around her from behind and kissing her temple. “Not at all. What you make?” I take a peek over her head, palming our second-born.

My eyes narrow at the same time that delectable aromas begin to caress my nose, making my mouth water.

“I made grilled chicken, rice and beans, and a salad.”

I let go of her and take a step back, barely holding in my laughter. My foot taps the trash can but when I cut my eyes, there’s no takeout containers in it.

“This smells fire, Mace. You had time to prep and cook all this? And wash the dishes?”

She cuts up a chicken breast for Bean and scoops some rice on her plate. “I’m a superwoman, Shaddy. What can I say?” She winks at me, pulling her lips into her mouth. “Wanna plate?”

I sit at the island, trying to control myself. “You know I do. This shit smells so good… to be honest, it smells just like El Pollo Loco.”

She cuts her eyes to me, her lips barely holding back a smile before she straightens out her face. “It tastes just like it, too.”

We make it five seconds before we both start dying laughing. She plates me some food before taking a bite out of a leg herself.

“I threw the trash into the big bin but I should have known you’d clock me,” she says in between bites.

“You be burning rice, bae. I was never gone think you made this. It’s all good though, I told you we can hire a private chef.”

Mace rolls her eyes and throws the chicken bone away. “We are not gonna be those ‘new money’ Blacks who have an army of staff! Bad enough we got this big ass house and a housekeeper and landscaper. First it’s the chef, then a trainer, then nannies and a pool boy. Next thing we know Sadé don’t know she black and we both fucking the pool boy! Then he blackmails you because you don’t want people to know, and then you’re going to jail for murder–”

“Why in your dystopian nightmare am I bisexual?” I snort as I inhale more beans and rice.

Mace shrugs. “I mean, are you? Statistically speaking, at least one of you Foe Dub niggas gotta be at least bi, if not fully gay.”

“And you think it’s me?”

“Well, are you?” she folds her arms like I’m the one being unreasonable.

“I don’t have to be bisexual for you to have your two-on-one fantasy, Mace. Soon as you heal from having our baby, we can hit Dionsysus and you can get DPed like you want.” I stand, taking Beanie’s empty plate to go rinse it out.

“Are you ever gonna stop snooping through my browsing history?” she grits, pulling a popsicle out of our freezer and unwrapping it.

“Nope,” I say, popping the p for emphasis. “And to answer your question, the gay one out of our group was probably Fredo, Rico’s brother. Ty might be bi, though I think his hypersexuality is indicative of something different. But back to our original point, we got money, bae. It’s meant to be spent. You can’t cook, and I be busy, so we need a chef. You don’t clean, and I be busy, so we need a housekeeper. Ima be the only nigga working you out, and there’s companies that come to clean the pool; this ain’t the nineties. Sadé will know she’s black, as will our second-born. And unless we deep in the dungeons of the club, any nigga who even looks yo way will get his neck snapped.” I shrug, leaning against the island watching her narrow her eyes at me.

She removes her hands from Sadé’s ears, who smiles up at her mama before going back to her popsicle.

“I’ll believe it when I see it. We ran out of that dairy-free ice cream. Can you go get some? Your demon baby is making me crave it.”

“Baby! Baby!”

I shake my head, patting my pocket to make sure my keys and wallet are in them. “That’s gone take some time. You got her?”

Mace rolls her eyes. “Yes, Rahshad. You had her all day, I want some quality time with my baby. You gone be a good girl for mama?”

Sadé shakes her head, “No!”

“Good luck,” I chuckle, dodging her hand as I walk toward the front door.

The store that sells Mace’s pregnancy ice cream is a twenty minute drive from our crib. I say a silent prayer they don’t burn the house down as I climb into my car, and try to cut this hour-long mission in half.

*

I do a double take when I’m in line with three quarts of Mace’s ice cream. He’s got a beard, and lost maybe twenty pounds, but that’s Brandon Farlane in the next aisle, the nigga who called himself slutshaming Mace.

He’s checking out a couple single tv dinners and using coupons. I totally forgot about this nigga. I was supposed to have been killed him.

Better late than never.

I place my shit on the conveyor belt and take out my phone to call Bleach.

She picks up on the second ring. “Wassup, Shad.”

“You busy?”

“Nah. Wassup?”

“Come to the Organix Food Store on Colton Way.”

“Fasho.”

I hang up and pay for my stuff before following the nigga out. He parked in the back, away from everyone else, like he knew this was his last day breathing.

When he gets to his car, a busted Camry now instead of whatever he was driving before, I call out his name.

He turns, squinting, before his eyes balloon and he turns to try and get in his car.

I push my bag up onto my shoulder and grab his head with both hands. “Never turn yo back on an enemy, Foe,” I whisper, before snapping his shit. The sound is music to my ears.

His keys were in the door, so I open his door to unlock the back doors and push his body inside. His head sits at an unnatural angle, but whatever. He won’t be here long.

Not even two minutes later I see Bleach pull up in her work van.

She and her assistant hop out. Her all-black outfit contrasts against her albino skin like crazy, and her blonde cornrows almost glow under the fluorescent lights.

She notes the bag of ice cream in my hand before smirking. “Mace got you on craving runs and you out here being naughty.”

I give her a one-arm hug. “You wasn’t doing shit anyway.”

“Whatever. Instead of payment, let my little sister Miko do a write-up on you for her college newspaper.”

“Sister?” I ask, throwing the keys to her assistant, who gets into Brandon’s whip. “On yo daddy’s side?” Bleach grew up in Tower Six, and last I checked she was an only child.

“No, fool. Our moms dated when we were kids and you know how that goes. She’s a baby, but she’s my baby.”

“Well, you hate everyone, so if you fuck with her I know she solid. Give her my number and we can set it up before I go on tour.”

“Fasho. Thanks.” She walks around me to speak to her assistant and I make my way to my car. She’s been Foe Dub’s cleanup for a few years now, expanding her dad’s cleaning company to a successful business during the day, a million-dollar business of wiping crime scenes at night. 

What was once a lame-ass take on her given name because she’s albino, is now a calling card for making even the most gruesome mess disappear. Most of her clients don’t even know it’s her shit.

Not bad for a project baby.

By the time I get home, Mace’s ice cream is damn near melted. After placing it in the freezer, I pop in on Sadé, who’s laid out in her crib clutching her elephant. 

Steam billows out of the ensuite bathroom, enticing me.

Mace can carry a tune in the shower, and I smirk, pulling off my clothes as she hums the song I made for her.

She doesn’t jump when I open the shower door. In fact, when I wrap my arms around her and kiss her temple, she melts into me.

“I seen yo ex tonight,” I mutter, cupping her heavy breasts.

“I don’t have those,” she quips, before handing me her soapy washcloth. I start washing her back, chuckling to myself.

“Yeah, you really don’t now.”

She scoffs, twisting to face me. But before she can question me, I palm the back of her head and crash my lips to hers.

I pour everything into it. All my love and adoration for this woman who’s turned my life upside down in the best ways.

When I break the kiss, she’s breathless, leaning into me. 

“You know it’s whatever ‘bout you, right? I love you, Mace.”

She wraps her arms around me, kissing my chest. “I love you, too, Rahshad.”

“Good.” I squeeze her asscheek before slapping it. “Now bend over.”