Your Struggle is Just Like Mine

A/N: The Final Thanksgiving story! I hope everyone enjoyed this. One Christmas story is done, but I’m still thinking about who to write for. The individuals who made this cut will be excluded from Christmas!
veiland

Mack‘s POV

I head out to Rikers to schedule a Thanksgiving visit for the boys to visit Yala. I checked the schedule online. Black Friday and the Wednesday before. Thanksgiving is A-L. I sign us up for both days and head back to the SUV. Jorge’s with me this time and we head back to Brooklyn. We just signed a new contract but we’re not celebrating.

I’m not sure about continuing to do this. The boys are angry and unhappy after every visit. I know it’s important, not just to Yala, but to them to have contact with their mamí, but I’m not sure how to handle it. I finally called Candy and asked for some help. So did Jorge. His ex is making his life miserable, accusing him of sexually harassing his daughter. The ex hates him. She don’t want him to have any contact with his daughter. Jorge’s in and out of court right now fighting the charges.

We gotta be the most miserable daddies in all of NYC. We fucked the wrong women.

Candy’s a boss. She did some research then came up to NYC. She got psychologists and experts to interview Jorge, his ex Tatiana, and Annelise. She got Children and Family Services involved and Jorge’s got a woman living in to watch his interactions with his daughter. She told Jorge to hold on for six months. Tatiana will slip at some point and really show how she feels.

Two weeks earlier

“What do you want from this, Jorge?” Candy asks, looking at him.

Jorge slumps in the seat. I don’t see this man looking tired and defeated often, but Tatiana will do it. I know the feeling.

“I want her to stop making me out to be some kind of asshole and animal—”

“Do you want to leave Annelise in her mother’s custody?”

Jorge blinks. So do I. Candy is looking at us coolly.

“Granted, I’m only hearing your side right now, but if your ex is as bad as you say, do you really want to leave your daughter there? OK, so she stops badmouthing you now. What about next week? Next month? Next year? As long as you never marry her and never pay her back all the money she lost, she’ll never forgive you. She’ll keep after you until all you are is a check.”

Jorge is quiet. “Are you suggesting I take full custody?”

“Why not?” Candy leans forward. “What you want is a safe environment for your daughter. That means safe emotionally, physically, and mentally. What your ex is doing right now isn’t emotionally or mentally safe. You originally got joint custody because you were able to prove that. Now if you go back to court with more evidence showing that she’s still bad-mouthing you, you might win full custody.” She sits back. “You don’t have to take this, Jorge,” she says quietly. “You want to see and have a relationship with your daughter. Don’t let her mother stop you from doing that.”

“Yeah, but. . .” Jorge’s face looks confused and miserable. I know what he wants to say. I look at Candy.

“Yo, can we rap private?”

“Sure.” She leaves the room and I turn to him.

“Not ready to be full-time daddy, right?”

“Yeah,” he says, slumping in the seat. “I don’t have the first idea of what to do.”

“Got no love for you there, homie,” I answer. He looks at me. “Ain’t no half-time with being Daddy. You either Daddy or you ain’t. Step up. The ladies do it every single day. They figure out the childcare and the shopping and the cooking for the kids. I’m holding it down for my boys right now.”

I sit back in the seat. “Where do you start? One day at a time. You figure out how to make dinner that’s healthy and nutritious. Thanks to RangeMan standards, you know whatever you feed baby girl is gonna be nutritious. Then you get her bathed and in the bed. You read the bedtime story and say goodnight. Next morning, you get her dressed and off to school. It gets easier. You get a routine.”

He’s still staring at the table top. “You make it sound easy.”

“Yeah, well, the basic shit’s easy. Trying to help my boys understand the concept of jail?” I snort. “That shit’s hard.”

—oOo—

Jorge‘s POV

Mack leaves the room in search of Candy and I stand and walk over to the window.

What do I want?

A fucking miracle, that’s what.

I want Tatiana to quit acting as if this country’s financial crisis was my damn fault. Quit acting as if she was the only person whose dreams were shattered, who lost money, who was publicly humiliated and lied to. Quit acting as if our daughter is all my fault, like she didn’t enjoy fucking me and wasn’t thrilled when we got pregnant.

Quit acting as if the lavish wedding that never was was because I didn’t want to get married. I wanted to get married. We just couldn’t afford to blow $50,000 on it anymore but the idea of something smaller and private was humiliating to her. I promised her the big wedding and I didn’t deliver.

Quit acting like everything bad in her life is my fault.

I know what it’s really about. It’s about the fact that Tatiana chose to date me, a Latino from the hood, instead of the WASP her parents had picked out. Her parents wanted her to lift them up to the next ring of NYC society and my Latino hood background wasn’t good enough, despite the Ivy degree and my hard work. The alcoholic WASP with the pedigree who got into Harvard on ‘affirmative action’ was what they wanted.

Thanks to the government bailout, he sailed through the crisis just fine. I lost everything. Tatiana was humiliated because her family threw me in her face. If she’d just done what they’d wanted her to . . . and every time he and his family eat at her family’s restaurant she feels he’s throwing his perfect life in her face.

Her narrative: ‘I’m a poor, struggling single mom working in my parents’ restaurant and trying to make something of my life. I want to show my daughter how to succeed.’

That’s what she told the courts, anyway.

My response: ‘She’s a manipulative, spoiled, angry brat who refuses to allow me to see my daughter until I pay her all the money she lost on the deposits for our wedding. Her parents bankroll her lifestyle because they have three very successful restaurants and she’s not a waitress, not really. She’s on the paperwork as the accountant because, guess what, she has a degree! I want visitation with my daughter and she and her family are refusing me access to my child.’

The judge in Family Court believed me.

My big win? Joint physical and legal since I had emails, returned certified letters, and actual videotape showing I attempted to show up for Annelise’s first birthday party and her family turned me away. Her family objected and submitted a DVD of Annelise’s first birthday party. The judge in my custody case was not amused watching Tatiana’s family laugh at me once I left. She threw the book at them, which meant that the child support was drastically reduced and, in order to ensure I got my time with my daughter, I get all weekends and holidays and any time she’s not in school, meaning I’ll get the entire summer once she starts first grade.

Tatiana was pissed and her family declared that they would see me back in court ASAP.

It wasn’t an idle threat. I’ve been in court four times since that determination and, each time, Tatiana’s lost. Family Court is irritated by her now, so since she can’t win any other way, I’m a possible sexual predator. Annelise is on tape answering questions like “Does your Daddy touch you when you’re naked?”

“Yes.”

“Where does he touch you?” (Inaudible)

“Does he undress you? Does he tell you you’re his good little girl?”

I literally want to scream over this shit! I’m her father. I bathe her! Of course I see her naked! And yes, I do take her clothes off, before she gets in the tub! I help her put them on after she gets out of the tub! I make sure she washes everything because she’s four and I’ve learned that four year olds get in the tub, play in the water and get out without supervision. If you don’t check to see if they actually wiped themselves, they won’t!

My hands curl into fists, involuntarily. Just thinking about it pisses me off! I want a relationship with my daughter and now Annelise doesn’t know what to think. Her mother tells her I’m a horrible horrible man that she should never be alone with, especially not naked. She’s scared of me now unless we’re doing something fun so I’m the man who plays dolls with her and helps with her homework (when did Pre-K starting getting homework?). I take her to the park, I let her pet horses in Central Park, and I take her wherever they have something cheap and fun to play.

Thanks to me, she’s finally trying Dominican cuisine, a change from her mother’s Russian/Georgian cuisine (and reliance on takeout). I take lots of pictures and send them to her mother, who posts them on Flickr and Instagram for family to see, as if she’s the one spending all this fun time with Annelise.

I’m the weekend Dad and, right now, a weekend dad who is a liar and possibly a sexual predator. Every time I get ready to throw in the towel, Mack shows up with his boys and I see the way they love him. Daddy is their hero and Yala did not make it easy for him to stay in their lives. I envy that. I envy him his connection with his sons. Doobie has pics of his daughter all over his cubicle and if she calls Daddy in the middle of the day, he takes the call.

The men around me, they take fatherhood seriously.

Mack’s clear with every man here: You want my respect? Get in your kids’ lives. They didn’t ask to be born. Some of you woulda killed to have your Daddy around, so do that for yours. Don’t like your ex? She ain’t got shit to do with it. Those are your kids. Don’t let her stop you.

There isn’t a man here who disagrees and that’s pretty much what’s keeping me in the fight. That and the fact that the RangeMan lawyer I’m working with, Terrance, has taken this on as a personal mission. He’s just as irritated as I am by Tatiana’s attitude.

I’m trying to make it right. I slashed my expenses to the bone. I’m paying my back child support and my child support is never late. I’m paying all my debts and trying to save money for the future. I’m trying to do everything I can to make RangeMan NYC a success and keep my job.

Candy walks back in and stands next to me. No snow yet in NYC, just bitterly cold and wet. Everyone’s bundled up against the wind. I’m trying to figure out how to put the six pack on display (what magical step am I missing to take my abs from a weak six pack to a ‘Damn!’ six pack? Mack and Javi won’t tell me!) and pimp Mack for as long as I have him.

Fucking Miami, although I congratulated Diggy on his promotion. Everyone says he’s earned it.

“What do you want?”

I look at her. Candy’s face is calm and sympathetic, but her eyes say she’s ready to battle.

Ain‘t no half-time with being Daddy. You either Daddy or you ain’t.

I’ve wanted my time with Annelise since the moment she was born. I’m ready. If I’m not, Mack’ll do for me what he does for every father in this building: kick me in the ass, then help me figure it out.

“Custody. Full custody. Let her have supervised visitation until she can stop bad-mouthing me.”

—oOo—

The Monday before Thanksgiving

Mack‘s POV

“Sup!”

“Pimpin!” Thomas is a fucking fool. He’s thrilled. The Boss Lady is headed to Miami on a permanent and Les is joining her. Diego’s going to San Antonio at some point.

I’m the only one up in the air right now. I’m fuckin’ up everyone’s plans.

“You still coming?”

He laughs. “You ask every week, son.”

“I need to know. I gotta get the boys and pick you up—”

“I could take a taxi.”

“You could pay out the nose when the fucker doesn’t know where to go.”

He snorts. “You think I forgot?”

“Which way you go off the bridge?”

“What bridge?”

I sigh. “Exactly. Yo’ ass’ll get lost, son.”

“I won’t as long as you’re not asking trick questions. I’m flying into LaGuardia. I don’t need to cross a bridge. I get on the Belt.”

“You’re looking at a map?” He’s quiet. “Lemme know what time you get here, son.”

“Fuck you. I’m a RangeMan. I’ll figure out how to get there.”

We’re quiet.

“You want directions?”

“Can’t hurt.”

—oOo—

“Daddy?”

Time for the daily question. No matter what, every day I pick the boys up from school, I get asked. “Hmm?”

“When’s Mommy coming home?”

I hate this question. There’s no right answer to it and Midi asks every fucking day. Midi doesn’t like having his routine busted. My son doesn’t remember all the time I was locked up. Med does, kinda, but only because he remembers visiting me at the weird place where I wore the ugly Dickie suit.

Weird what your kids remember about you being locked up.

“I don’t know, son.”

“Why not? Daddy, you know everything!”

I’m glad you think so, son, but Daddy don’t know shit. Daddy’s just trying to make it to tomorrow.

“Shut up, Midi,” Med says, turning around to glare at him.

“You—”

“No.” The boys stop the moment I speak. I look at Med, who got to ride shotgun this time. “Who’s Daddy?”

“You are,” he mumbles.

“And who tells everyone to shut up?”

“You do.”

“Right. Now sit forward before 5-0 decides to pull my ass over.”

Med turns around and stares out of the window. I’m feelin’ bad for what I said.

“Med?”

“Yes, Daddy?”

“Don’t call Midi stupid. He wants to know. Don’t you?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “But asking everyday won’t bring Mommy home.”

I hold my hand out and he grabs it. I squeeze. “I know, son. I know.”

He sits back against the seat then starts kicking his legs. Med can’t sit still. The teachers want to medicate him, put him on Ritalin. I said hell no. No one’s drugging my son. He’s a boy, an active little boy. He’s doing what an eight year old does. He wants to run and play and be active.

Yala had him on that shit and Med was a zombie. He did worse in second grade than first because he was sleepy and unhappy. When I took custody I refused to give it to him. Hard for me to make him take that pill when his face is looking at me, miserable.

“Daddy, don’t make me take the pill. Please don’t make me take the pill.”

“Why?”

“I hate it. It makes me feel slow and it hurts my tummy.”

I looked at the pill, and at my son’s face, and said fuck it. If it makes him feel bad, it can’t be good for him.

He’s been off it for two weeks. The teachers started complaining that he wouldn’t sit still in class and threatened to give him his Ritalin at school. I told them they’d be looking at lawyers if they did that, so they tried to move Med to the special ed classes except my boy is smart. His grades are picking up. He ain’t a dummy, so that didn’t fly.

Me and his teacher were gonna have it out last week, but Monica called.

“Yo, Mack?”

I love Javi’s woman. I hope she likes the ring Javi bought. “Sup?”

“Just a theory here, but what did Yala feed the boys?”

No idea. I called Med over and told him to tell Monica what Mommy fed him. He told her and handed the phone back.

“The latest research says there may be a link between diet and ADHD. Nothing firm, but Med’s diet is full of processed foods and unhealthy stuff. Try putting him on the RangeMan diet, everything you eat, and let him play basketball with you. He’ll run off the energy playing sports. See if that makes a difference. I’ll see what I can dig up on increasing his concentration without the drugs.”

Not a problem. He’d been on the diet since I picked them up because that’s all I have in my cabinets. I asked Lucia for some tips. She was thrilled.

“Finally! I’m happy to hear it.”

I stared at her. “What?”

She started with her lists. Lucia will kill a homie with her lists. “I hate seeing children on ADHD medicine. ADHD.” She snorts. “In my day, you were active and teachers knew how to deal with that. You didn’t have to be pumped up on drugs. Where in the hell did ADHD come from anyway?”

“Your day was ten years ago.”

She laughed. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Mack”—I grinned—”but I’m making a list. Come back before you leave to pick up the boys. I’ll have menus ready.”

Lucia came through. I put both boys on the diet and Med’s calming down. Started behaving in class and that extra energy was gone. I’m not saying diet is the answer.

I’m just saying I’m not a drug dealer. Not anymore.

—oOo—

I sit back on the bench and watch Yala and the boys talk. They tell their mamí everything they’re doing and she’s smiling and happy.

Good. Everyone’s happy.

Yala’s case is moving slow. She was denied bail and she’s looking rough. She’s pissed and not hiding it well. Only people she don’t argue with are the boys. I haven’t missed a visitation yet, but she argues about what time I get the boys here and what time we leave. She argues with the lawyer about the case. She argues with her momma and her family. She argues with me about getting her out. I told her I’m doing what I can but she’s still pissed about bein’ in there. They’re looking at a possession charge for her. Mandatory minimums mean fifteen.

Shit ain’t looking good and I’m not seeing a way to help.

Leon’s tryna plead through his lawyer. He’s looking at twenty five years, so he’s willing to snitch and turn in the boys on the block. Fucker. No loyalty. Yala’s got no info so she’s got no power.

I’m mentally checking things off. My men are on it, schedules are done, and I’m ready to pack it in for a few days. Abuela‘s doing Thanksgiving in Washington Heights, so it’s gonna be packed in that tiny apartment. Thomas lands in an hour and traffic from Rikers to LaGuardia is gonna be hell.

I stand and watch the boys get quiet. They know when Daddy stands that’s the five minute warning. Yala glances at the clock.

“You’re leaving early today?”

I nod. “I gotta pick up Thomas at the airport.”

“So I lose time with the boys?”

I flick my eyes at Med and Midi. They hug their mamí tight and back over to the door. The tears start streaming down Yala’s face.

“I brought the boys here two hours early and we’ve been here for four hours. I know you want more, but I need to get them fed and I need to get Thomas. We’re coming back Friday.”

She flushes. “I’m not spending my Thanksgiving with my boys! That’s not fair—”

“Life’s not fair, Yala!” I yell, exasperated. The room gets quiet as people look at me and I feel my face get hot. I sit and Yala, after glaring at me, sits. I check; the boys are still by the door, staring.

“I checked the schedule online. Thanksgiving is A-L, so I’m bringing the boys back Friday. It’s the best I can do.”

Yala stares at me, nostrils flaring. “Have your mamí bring ’em. Her last name starts with G.”

“Nah, the visitation schedule goes off your last name. You know that.” She flushes. “Look, I didn’t get two years of Thanksgivings and Christmases. I didn’t get the birthday parties and New Years. I missed a lot. I’m bringing the boys every visitation day for at least two hours.”

Which is more than I got. I got 45 minutes because Med was barely three and Midi was an infant.

“Except you want to move the boys to Florida!” Yala sits back and crosses her arms, nostrils flaring. “Yeah, well, I looked into my rights. I still got rights and you aren’t taking the boys from me. You want to move to Florida? Move. Leave the boys with your mamí. I talked to her; she’ll take care of ’em.”

I’m quiet. I don’t want to turn this shit into a court battle with her.

“I’m not leaving the boys with my mamí. I love her, but they’ll run the streets just like I did cuz she’s hustlin’ trying to keep food on the table and a roof over their heads. No.” I sigh. “Yala, I’m not tryna make this hard. I’m trying to do what’s right for everyone—”

“No, you’re trying to do what’s easy for you.” She stands and stares at me coldly. “Since you’ve made it clear you intend to move my boys from me, I’m filing to have your mother take custody. I’m not falling for this. I didn’t do it to you. You won’t do it to me.”

I stand and nod at her before turning and motioning for the boys to step through the door. I take their hands and we leave, the boys looking back to get a glimpse of their mamí, me looking forward to getting them safe and warm in the car.

—oOo—

“Uncle Thomas!”

Thomas turns around in the seat and bumps fists with the boys. “Sup, lil’ homies. What’s good?”

“Sup, son. Chillin’,” Med says, grinning. I laugh. Thomas and Med have a bond I’ll never understand. Midi and my cousin Dero have that relationship.

“Cool. So I hear Tía‘s been on that mondongo. Yum! Big bowl of mondongo!”

EWWW!” Me, Med, and Midi all stick our tongues out in disgust as Thomas laughs. He’s the only one in the family who eats tripe and I’m sure Abuela made it for him.

“You on your own there, son.” I hit the streets back to my place and park. Thomas hauls his duffel up to my place and the boys change out of their school clothes into their street stuff. Thomas hits the shower and walks back into my bedroom butt naked.

“Yo! Put the sausage away.” I’m grinning. This fucker’s been in Miami too long. I get flipped a finger but he gets dressed quick.

“You still snore?”

“That’s a nasty rumor.”

“I hear you got the hooves shaved.”

“Fuck you. Take that Gas-Ex before eating any beans.”

“Ouch!” he grins. “Trying to cover your funk with mine.”

“Son, I know your bean fart a mile away. Shit’s major. Gas warfare.”

He flips me off and I flop back on my bed laughing. We had this exact same convo when I was in Miami with the Boss Lady. He’s hanging clothes and moving my shit like he’s movin’ in. I point to my ironing board and he starts pressing.

I knew he would. Only the Miami guys and the military men believe in pressing everything the moment they get it out of the suitcase. Homie was disturbed I didn’t iron my stuff immediately, so he did it for me. Had to admit, it was nice having fresh threads the moment I got out the shower.

I’m kicked back on my bed, the boys on both sides of me, grinning. I can’t remember much of my childhood without Thomas. Our parents immigrated over, met, fell in love, and while my pops got locked up, his moved the family to Miami the first chance he got. Tío wanted me to join them after my pops got locked up but mamí refused to hear it. Nobody was taking her boy away from her.

Sometimes, I wish she’d let me go with them. I love her but I missed Thomas and it wasn’t like I saw much of her. She was hustlin, I started hustlin’, and Pops was locked up.

I wanna make sure the boys see better. I hustle legit shit now.

Thomas and I talk shit for the next hour as he gets his stuff pressed and hung up in the space I made for him in my closet. He critiques my wardrobe and shakes his head.

“This is sad. We’re going shopping. You need some new kicks and some suits to hustle in Miami.”

“Whatever.” I look at the boys. “The boys need kicks.”

“Hood.” Thomas nods. “I finally got a reason to make your ass go shopping.” He climbs in the bed and pulls Med between us. Midi’s in my lap. “Well, I’m here for a week, Med-man. Whatcha got planned for me?”

Med looks like he’s seriously considering it. “Well, I think some pimpin’ is definitely in order.”

I grin. “For who?”

“You, Daddy! You need to get some.”

Thomas laughs his ass off. I’m staring at my son. Get some? I’d ask, but I don’t want to know if Med knows what that means and I don’t wanna explain if he doesn’t. Not right now. “Says who?”

Mamí.”

I try to keep the smile on my face. Thomas looks furious for half a second before he puts the grin back on his. “Oh yeah. What’s your mamí think?”

“She thinks you’re doin’ half of Brooklyn. I told her we haven’t met any ladies and she said that you were getting it someplace. So since we haven’t seen you with any ladies, we need to find you a lady.”

I’m pissed. Midi shifts and looks at me. I guess he feels my tension because he whispers, “Daddy?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you have another lady?”

“No, son.”

He relaxes. “I know. You love mamí.”

Thomas looks at me and I groan mentally. He’s been after me for years to allow the boys to see me date. “You want them to see how to treat women? Show them! This ‘sacrifice’ shit you got going right now is not doing them any good. Handle this now before it becomes a bigger problem.”

I guess this is the bigger problem.

“Midi, I love your mamí. I always will because she gave me you, but Med’s right. Might be time for Daddy to put that swerve on with the ladies.” I look at Med. “So who you sharing the milk with?”

He scrunches his face. “No one.”

“Uh huh. Who is Zoe?”

“How do you know Zoe?” he breathes. I raise a brow.

“Daddy knows everything,” Midi says.

Med nods. “True dat. Zoe’s a girl.”

I glance at Thomas. Yeah, he’s gonna joke.

“A girl? When did you start liking girls? Boy, get some hair on your chest before you start tryna pimp!”

I’m laughing and Med’s red and pouting. Thomas tickles him and Midi laughs.

I’m glad Thomas is here. I get the feeling Imma need him around in order to get through Thanksgiving.

—oOo—

Jorge‘s POV

“Daddy?”

“Yes, Princesa?”

She smiles. I’m sitting on the floor watching her bathe. She’s got all her bath toys and a tub full of bubbles but shampooing my hair is her game of choice tonight. “What are we doing for Thanksgiving?”

“Well, we’re going to the Bronx to visit my family. They can’t wait to meet you.”

She plays with the bubbles. “Mommy says you come from the hood. Do you come from the hood, Daddy?”

I flick a glance over at Cheryl, the court appointed guardian assigned to watch my interactions with Annelise. Her face is carefully blank.

“Yes, I do.” Annelise sits up, her smile falling. “The word ‘hood’ is short for neighborhood. You come from the hood too. Your hood is Brooklyn, right?” I smile and she smiles back.

“Right! I’m from Seep-said.”

Sheepshead. The way she says it is adorable.

“Right!” I high five her. “Daddy’s from Tremont, in the Bronx, but my hood now is Windsor Terrace in Brooklyn.”

“So we’re neighbors!”

“Right.” I love child logic. Everything’s so simple. I hold her hand as she stands up and I take the washcloth and quickly wipe her. She didn’t get too messy today, so it doesn’t take long. I take the showerhead and wet her hair and shampoo it. She’s shivering. I rinse her off and she laughs as I use the handheld to tickle her with it.

“Daddy!”

I laugh and hold her hand as she climbs out. I give her a big towel and let her trudge off to her corner of my bedroom to dress while I rinse my hair. I have a one bedroom and I gave her her own corner.

I’m still trying to figure out what to do about the bed situation. I have a queen size bed, so she sleeps with me, but this is the crux of the problem with Annelise.

I’m a sexual predator because Annie sleeps with me. Fucking impossible! I measured the space for a twin bed for her but there’s nowhere to put it unless I get rid of my bed, get a full bed, and jam her in. I don’t want to put her in the living room because most of her toys and things are in there. I really need a two-bedroom but I can’t afford it unless I move to Westchester or Jersey.

I’m thinking about Westchester. If my little girl needs a room of her own, I’ll have to make that happen, but again, it’s the principle of the thing. I’ll bet that if we’d had a son, no one would blink twice if our son slept in the bed with his mother, but since my daughter sleeps in the bed with me, I’m a possible sexual predator.

Annie comes back in her jammies and I dry her hair. It’s incredibly thick and it takes a while. I keep putting a hair dryer on my list of things to buy but I never remember to pick one up.

And hair stuff. Bows, ties, all those things. Boys don’t need that stuff, so I never remember!

I comb her hair carefully and make my latest sad attempt at braiding her hair. I hear a snicker and look around. Cheryl’s smiling.

“You’re terrible with hair.”

I hang my head and Annie laughs. “Daddy tries but I always have sticky up hair.”

Cheryl motions for me to move, dismantles my terrible braid, and redoes Annie’s hair beautifully as they tease me over my terrible hair braiding skills.

I’m trying to think of something to tell Candy how much I appreciate her help. Cheryl’s been a godsend. With her in the house, there’s a woman and my relationship with my daughter is much easier. Plus, we haven’t told Annie who Cheryl is other than ‘friend’, allowing her to make her own mind up. Cheryl wants to see what Annie comes up with.

I’ve already told her that Tatiana will spin it the worst way possible. Cheryl will be my girlfriend or lover before this is all over with. Cheryl’s looking forward to it. “I need to hear what Annie says she says about you,” she said. “You allege she defames you to your daughter, causing emotional and mental stress and harming your attempts to create a nurturing bond with Annie. She alleges that she doesn’t. We’ll see.”

I like Cheryl. She’s a 45 year old brunette with blue eyes who dresses like an ‘earth mother’ and does yoga and Pilates in my living room with Annie. She’s also lesbian with a ‘wife’, two kids, and a dog. Cheryl made it clear the day we met that she had zero interest in me and I replied I had zero interest in her beyond how she could help me prove I was a good father who loved his daughter.

We haven’t had a single problem since.

So I try to play and interact with my daughter as I normally do. We went shopping for pie ingredients today because I’m making the custard pie for Thanksgiving. We hit the kitchen and I walk Annelise through making two pies. While they’re baking, we sit on the couch and watch cartoons. Annelise falls asleep on the couch and I tuck her in my bed and kiss her forehead.

She’s so adorable. I sit next to the bed and push her hair back off her forehead. She looks peaceful and happy, smiling in her sleep. I make sure she’s tucked in tight and leave the bedroom. Cheryl’s standing in the hallway.

“I pulled your pies out of the oven.”

“Thank you.” I sigh and rub my eyes. “Headed out?”

“Yes. Goodnight, Jorge.”

“I’ll walk you to your car.” I walk Cheryl down and make sure she’s safely in her car. “Night, Cheryl. Stay safe,” I whisper as she pulls off.

—oOo—

“Daddy!”

I sit up, groggy. “Sup?”

“Come on! We’re going to the hood today!”

I flop back on my pillow and laugh. Annelise jumps on top of me and I jackknife. “Woof!”

“Sorry, Daddy,” she says, still smiling. “Come on! Get up.”

“OK! Change clothes and let’s get going.”

I leave the room after checking her sartorial choice of the day. Jeans, a sparkly pink tutu, a pink t-shirt, and a pink headband. Lots of pink with little girls. I throw on my jeans, we brush our teeth, and I grab her booster seat. She has the small cooler with the pies. We climb in my car and head to the Bronx.

I pull up outside my old brownstone and take a quick look. Looks OK, so I get out and open Annie’s door. We grab the pies and Annie’s bag and head up the stairs. Nothing’s changed. It still smells like piss and despair in this building. I see Annie’s nose wrinkle and I feel ashamed until I remember that I escaped this. I got an education. I have a legitimate job. I’m not condemned to live here my entire life. I use my key to unlock the door and guide Annie in ahead of me.

“Jorge!”

My mother kisses my cheeks and takes my pies. Everyone is staring at and saying hello to Annelise. This is her first Thanksgiving with our family and most have never seen or met her.

“So you’re my nieta,” Leni says, dropping to her knees to look at Annie. She smooths Annie’s hair back from her face. “Such a beauty!” Leni looks up at me. “Half Russian, half Dominican?” I nod. “Breathtaking doesn’t begin to cover how beautiful she’ll be as an adult. Stock up on guns now.” I roll my eyes and Saulo laughs. Leni looks at Annie. “Hello, Annie.”

“Hi,” Annie says shyly, hiding behind me.

“This is your tía Arlenis, Leni,” I tell Annie. “This is your tío Saulo and your tía Amiris.”

Tía?”

“Auntie. Tío is uncle.”

“Oh.”

She‘s beautiful, Jorge. Does she speak Spanish?” Amiris asks.

I shake my head and everyone looks at Annie sadly. Annie speaks a little Russian, but no Spanish.

Not yet. I plan to get started. She needs to be able to speak to Daddy in his language.

My Abuela bats everyone out of the way and peers at Annie. “Annie, huh? Well, I’m Abuela. That means Granny. You come with me.”

I start to translate and Abuela shakes her head. “Nope. We don’t need translation. She understands me perfectly.” She motions for Annie to follow her, a ‘hurry up’ motion, and Annie, after looking at me, follows. Abuela sits her at the counter with a bowl of cake mix and within minutes Annie’s beating cake mix and laughing.

I smile. Amiris stands next to me, smiling. “She is a beautiful little girl, Jorge. God, she’s gonna be a heartbreaker.”

“She’s not that pretty,” Yesenia sniffs. I lift my niece up and she laughs. Nia was my baby for the longest and all the frustration I felt with not being able to see Annie I poured into spending time with Nia. She knows she’s tío‘s favorite.

“You aren’t jealous, are you?” I tickle her and she laughs. “Annie is half your age.” I put her down and smile. “I’d really appreciate it if you helped her feel welcome, Nia. This is her first time with us.”

“OK.” Nia heads off to the kitchen and takes a seat at the counter next to Annie. I watch for a moment but it looks like Nia’s translating for Annie, to my Abuela‘s annoyance.

My brothers and sisters set the table, laughing and joking. Only lately have they stopped being mad at me about the financial crisis and started speaking to me again. I’m almost sure it’s because I got a new job. When I got the new job, Mom called everyone together for dinner. I went, still hurt and unwilling to commit to anything, so to hear what Dad said was gratifying. He told my siblings that the anger at me for what happened needed to end. When I’d been flush, I’d used that money to get everyone out of Tremont. I paid for Nia’s Catholic school education. I’d helped my parents and my sister buy homes. I’d been a dutiful son but, like everyone in this country, shit happened that was beyond my control.

Time for everyone to stop blaming me.

I won’t say that everyone forgave me right away, but I will say that we’re trying. My family has watched the financial news like hawks since then and my sisters were big in the ‘Occupy’ movement.

I sweep and vacuum the living and dining rooms. There are going to be about 50 people in this apartment which is meant for, at most, 20. Amiris offered to host Thanksgiving at her apartment in Harlem, but that went in one of Abuela‘s ears and out the other.

Thanksgiving belongs to the matriarch. No one was moving the holiday away from her.

Everything moves on Caribbean time, so we munch on pastelitos and arepas. People start arriving, slowly, and by three o’clock we’re finally ready to sit and eat. There are at least sixty people in this house and I stopped being hungry two hours ago. I’ve snacked my way full.

A Dominican Thanksgiving is not that Norman Rockwell setting. It’s every food you can think of from the homeland all at once, so we have rice and beans, plantains, yucca, baked chicken, ceviches, you name it, we’ve got it.

What’s sickening is I see more stuff I want to eat. I kiss goodbye to my six-pack and send a quick text to Teo, our in-house medic. He assures me that Bobby decreed no surprise checkups between Thanksgiving and Christmas.

Rumor goes, he nearly failed one. After that, he decided to go easy on everyone but you better be back in fighting shape by January 5th.

“Daddy?”

“Hmmm?” I wonder if I should take a bowl of mondongo to Drake. He’s never tried it, but he loves chitlins so there’s a chance. Mack hates mondongo and he’s vocal about it. I put some aside for Javi. He loves my Abuela‘s mondongo and he ate it during every visit to our house as a kid.

“Where’s the turkey?”

I put a small amount of stuffing on her plate. “No turkey, baby. Lots of other food, though.” I eye the mondongo. I wonder if she’ll like that.

Her bottom lip quivers. “But it’s not Thanksgiving without turkey!”

How do little girls do that? How do they make big fat tears appear on command? Annie’s crying silently and I’m wondering if turkey lunch meat will do. I don’t know how to fix this. The table is getting quiet but Yesenia snorts. “Hold on, primo.” She leaves the table and comes back with two slices of turkey breast. I’m impressed. “Abuela baked a turkey breast just for you.”

Annie smiles and wipes her eyes. I look at Abuela. “Thank you.

She nods. “You gotta make sure baby girl feels comfortable. So I made some Russian stuff for her. She like cabbage rolls?

I gape. “That’s a lot of work!”

Pshaw! I was making pastelitos. It’s pastelito filling mixed with rice and rolled up in cabbage leaves. I had cabbage, I had meat filling, I could make a few dishes to make the baby feel at home.”

I laugh and I laugh until I’m coughing. I kiss the top of Annie’s head, take her plate, and head to the kitchen. I find a small pot with two cabbage rolls in it and I put one on Annie’s plate. I take the plate back to her and watch her face scrunch.

“Daddy! I hate cabbage!”

I grin. “I know but Abuela wanted to make sure you felt right at home. She made you some turkey, so you have to eat the cabbage roll.”

Annie slumps, pouting at the cabbage roll, and everyone around the table laughs.

My phone beeps. Javi. I know your Abuela made mondongo. Hook me up!

I grin. Already set you some aside.

That’s what’s up!

—oOo—

“Uncle Jorge?”

“Whaaa?” Nia’s poking me. The nap was great.

“We’re gonna go play outside.”

I’m wide awake now. “Wait! I’ll come with you.”

No, you won’t,” Saulo says quietly. “The kids are all going outside to play as a group. They’ll watch out for each other. You will sit here and gnaw your fingernails to the quick and worry and when she comes back all flushed and happy, you’ll listen to her stories about how much she loves her cousins and how much fun she had playing. Got it?”

I open my mouth and Leni makes an angry motion. “Don’t. One, you want her to remember this holiday as one of the best. Two, you need her to have this good memory for the court case. Three, you want to show that your family is behind you 100% and we are. Your daughter has a big supportive family with lots of aunts and uncles and cousins who love her. Let her go have fun and don’t hover. Go back to sleep.”

I sigh and turn to Annie. “Come here.” I help her into her coat and make sure she has her mittens on. “Stick close to Nia. Don’t go off by yourself. Which apartment is this?”

“1013.”

“Right. If anything happens, come back. OK?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

I stand and smile, pushing her to Nia and giving Nia a look. Nia rolls her eyes and nods, taking Annie’s hand, and they disappear from view.

I watch the clock for the next two hours and wish I’d thought to grab a GPS tracking unit to put on Annie. Kids bustle in and out of the house, Annie among them, for Kool-Aid and snacks. On her first trip back, she hops in my lap and smiles.

“I’m having fun, Daddy! How many more cousins do I have?”

I feel the gnawing fear in my gut loosen just a bit. “A few more that you haven’t met yet.”

She smiles. “Mommy said I won’t get to meet her cousins. They’re all bratwurst.”

“Bratwurst?”

She nods happily. “Bratvast.”

She waves and leaves with Nia. I frown.

Bratvast?

—oOo—

Mack‘s POV

“Thomas!” Abuela pinches his cheeks and gives him a big hug. “There’s my boy! You came here for Thanksgiving, huh? Not waving it about at the nude beach?”

He grins. “That’s a nasty rumor,” he says cutting his eyes at me. I’m trying to hide my laugh. “Yo, Mack’s been on that mondongo in Miami. Ate the hell out of it.”

I glare at him as Abuela turns to me and frowns. “Whose mondongo are you eating and you won’t eat mine?”

I back up. Abuela looks fierce. “No one’s! Thomas is messing with you.”

She turns back to him, but he’s dishing up a big bowl of mondongo and rice. She shoos both of us out of her kitchen and we sit and chill in the living room. Everyone in the family shows up and I wonder how this apartment, meant to hold 20 people at most, is holding 50. Thomas is working through the mondongo and most of the family steps over to holla at him. The Miami side of the family don’t come up for holidays.

‘Too cold’, they complain.

We laugh at ’em for being so weak. The NYC folk got it like that. We can survive anywhere, like roaches! NYC is making the master race!

The boys meet up with their cousins and go outside to play. I’m not nervous. I know Washington Heights. I know all the places they could go. I’m sitting at the card table with Thomas, bones in front of me, when Mamí arrives.

“McKinley.”

I groan. Only Mamí.

Mamí.”

She plops down next to me and I rub her back as she takes off her sneakers. Nobody believes it, but there are people who clean the subways and my Mamí is one of ’em.

“I got a call from Yala’s lawyer. She wants me to take custody of the boys.” I open my mouth but she waves her hand to cut me off. “I already told her no.”

“She said you agreed!”

Mamí shakes her head. “Nah. I told her I’d think about it.”

“Why?”

“Yo, you in this game or not?” Pedro asks. My mamí gives him a look that promises death and he shuts up. I take a quick look, glance at Thomas, and make my move. Thomas grins; right bone to play.

She stares at me. “You want me to?”

“No, but I thought—”

She snorts. “Nah, son. I wanted to try again but ain’t shit changed. I’m still hustlin’. I wouldn’t be home to watch ’em and if they talk half as fast as you did, they’ll run circles around Abuela.”

I grin. Med would, in a heartbeat. Midi would be quick to turn on the waterworks. My sons are dangerous.

“So I told her no.” She sighs and sits back. “Still, are you really tryna move the babies from her?”

I’m about to answer when I realize the whole room is quiet. Most of my cousins are women, mamís, and they wanna hear the answer to that.

Imma get my eyes clawed out if I’m not careful. “Lemme finish this game and we’ll talk.”

“Why you puttin’ it off, Mack?” Pedro asks. “Simple question to me. You movin’ the boys or not?” He fiddles with his bone and stares at me.

“It’s a simple question, but it’s not everyone’s business,” Thomas says calmly. “Their daddy has the right to make moves for them and he don’t have to explain shit if he don’t wanna. Play your bones, P.”

“Still, you can’t move those boys away from family,” Chuy says, leaning forward. “You can’t move them from their momma.”

I hear the mutters behind me. Mis primas agree with that and it pisses me off. “What I plan to do is no one’s damn business, but I didn’t realize that you and Pedro cared so much about my boys. My bad. Next time I need a babysitter, or I need someone to pick ’em up at school, or I need $100 because I need to float some bills ’till payday, I’ll call you.”

Everyone shuts up. We finish the game and I step into Abuela‘s bedroom with Mamí.

“Look, I got a promotion. I don’t wanna move the boys away, but I got a chance to move up in the company—”

“Yala didn’t move those boys away from you when you got locked up! And believe me, she had the opportunity!” Mamí is furious.

“I know that, Mamí, and I’m grateful—”

“You don’t sound grateful! You sound spoiled as hell! Honor your wife’s sacrifice and make the same one for her. She didn’t move your boys away.” She frowns. “Besides, you move them to Miami and you won’t have any support down there. Who’s gonna help you? Who’s gonna watch the boys when you need ’em? Who’s—”

“My coworkers. Thomas. I’ll have Thomas’s help and Uncle Miguel already promised me that he’s behind me.”

She snorts. “Thomas and Miguel? What do they know about raising children? Thomas ended up in juvie, so Miguel crapped out. And Thomas don’t have any kids, so what does he know?”

I stare at my mamí. I don’t know what her deal is, but it’s pissing me off. “Yo, you saying men can’t raise kids?”

I hear the radio turn on loud in the living room. I know that’s Thomas, tryna drown us out.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying. You need a woman around to deal with kids, unless you got one and the boys don’t know.”

I sit on the end of Abuela‘s bed and think of how to say what I wanna say without cursing. Nah, it’s not gon’ happen. I hope God forgives me for cursing at my mamí.

“Yo, I know this. Right now, Yala’s looking at five to fifteen, so she ain’t raisin’ no goddamn body and for you to tell me I’m a shit parent just because I’m a man is bullshit.” I stand and stare down at my mamí. “I’m a man. I have sons. Can’t nobody teach boys how to be men except other men. That’s where I fucked up. I learned how to be a man from the dope boys on the streets and those were the wrong lessons. I’m tryna teach the boys better—”

The music stops.

“You sayin’ I’m a shit parent?” She looks furious.

The music starts. Prince Royce. That should keep mis primas from wanting to listen to my conversation with mi mamí.

“No, I’m saying you was hustlin’ tryna keep me fed and clothed and Mamí, I honor that! I’m doing the same thing. Don’t you see that?” The music stops. “I’m hustlin’ to keep the boys fed and clothed and give them what they need and I need help to do that—”

“Then what you need?”

The music starts again as I stare at her. “What I need? I need … I need … I need someone to babysit when I gotta work late. I need someone who can take the boys to go visit Yala when I’m running tight on time. I need someone to pick ’em up from school and feed ’em and watch ’em till I get there. That’s a start.”

The music stops.

She snorts. “You act like ain’t no one got jobs, son.”

“Then why ask me, Mamí? If you didn’t mean it, why ask me what I needed?”

“Cuz I thought you’d be sensible! Can’t nobody be your on-call, emergency babysitter! You gotta plan shit out. I gotta job and I gotta be at work by ten. You gotta get the boys before I go to work.”

I’m waiting but no music. Shit. Thanks anyway, primo.

I’m shaking my head. “The boys get out of school at 2:30. I always pick ’em up by 4, at the latest. Can you babysit or not?”

Mamí fidgets a little. “Lemme check my schedule. I gotta see if they got me down for any early shifts at work but yeah, I can babysit.”

I roll my eyes. I know what’s really up. “Yo, Pedro and Chuy talking that yak yak, but I don’t see ’em helping me. They got the nerve to tell me I can’t move my boys but where are they when I need em’? Matter of fact, where are you when I need help?”

Mamí looks like I slapped her, but my mouth keeps going.

“I leave the boys over here with Abuela sometimes because when I call for help, she answers. My RangeMan brothers pick the boys up from school when I need ’em to. My old partner, Doobie, babysat the boys whenever I needed him to and he and his wife didn’t need to be asked and ignore my thank yous because they know I would and have done the same for them.

You ask me what kind of support Imma have in Miami? Imma have Thomas, and Uncle Miguel and that whole side of the family. I’ll have the Miami RangeMen to back me and that’s almost 100 men to show the boys how to be men. How to be responsible, take care of your debts, do what’s right. I’ll have men behind me to teach the boys all kinds of lessons, the shit they need to know! Thomas has been looking for me an apartment and researching good schools to put the boys in and I know I can trust in Thomas ‘cuz Thomas paid for my lawyer. If he hadn’t, I might still be in prison now!

Everyone’s behind me to make this move easy and yeah, I get that Yala is the loser here but you know what? Shit happens, Mamí! I can’t help the fact that she was fuckin’ one of my dope boys and he left his shit in her house. You and her, y’all so concerned with who I‘m fucking, why weren’t you keeping an eye on who she was fucking—”

“You go too far, McKinley,” Mamí says icily.

“Really? Yo, you all up in my shit about how I must have a woman the boys don’t know about but who Yala’s fuckin’ is off-limits?”

“It’s not your business to determine who in her bed—”

“You’re right. You’re right, Mamí and you know why?” She cuts her eyes at me. “Because we’re divorced! Yala can fuck whoever she wants and I can’t say shit but you and her? Why y’all so interested in who I’m fucking?”

She slashes her hand through the air angrily. “I’m not. I want you to help your wife! Do for her what she did for you!”

My jaw drops. “Do for her? For her?! Mamí, she’s not my wife anymore, remember? She was running around on me, had homies in and outta my house while I’m working double shifts to hold it down for her. I did for her and she pissed on it.” Mamí nostrils flare and she sits. “So don’t tell me to hold it down for her.

Second, I am doin’ for her. I’m paying for her lawyer outta my pocket, not because I gotta but because she’s the mother of my sons! Again, doin what’s right for my boys, but you don’t see that or you see it and don’t care. Third, I take the boys to see her every visitation day, not once a week like she did for me. Every fucking visitation day, me and boys are there and we’re there for at least two hours but all she did for me was 45 minutes once a week.

So don’t tell me I don’t do for Yala cuz I’m doin’ for her. Don’t tell me I need a woman to raise my sons because you and Yala will start that yak yak about how I’m fucking half of Brooklyn again. Don’t tell me I’m not doin’ what’s right for my boys because they’re the only reason my ass still talks to Yala.

Why am I the dog? Why you so concerned about how I might be doin’ her wrong and not looking at what I’m tryna do right for Med and Midi? She’s not my wife anymore! She was the one fuckin’ other men and that’s why we divorced. That’s what’s put her in Rikers now!”

I sit on the edge on Abuela‘s bed and take a deep breath. Mamí looks stunned. “I’ve never told Pops how you were getting your swerve on while he was locked up,” I tell her quietly. Mamí reaches for the dresser to steady herself, looking pale. “I never considered that any of my business, but if you keep taking Yala’s side over mine, Pops might get a letter from me.”

“You wouldn’t!” she hisses.

I stand and kiss her forehead. “I’m prepared to be ruthless where my boys are concerned.”

—oOo—

I step back in the living room and it’s silent. Everyone’s staring at me. Thomas has a ‘Sorry, son. I tried,’ look on his face, but mis primas have a human shield around the radio. I nod. I know, cuz.

“Mack.” Abuela waves for me to follow her. I ignore everyone and join Abuela in the kitchen. She points to a yucca root and I start peeling.

I’m waiting to see what she’ll say, but she says nothing, just finishes plating dinner. Thomas walks in and is given a root to peel too.

Abuela? I’m—”

“Finish peeling.”

I shut my mouth and keep peeling. Yucca is hard as hell to peel and once I’m done, I take Abuela‘s cleaver and chop it into small pieces. She hands me a Ziploc and I put the yucca in there. I spot one more root and get on it, passing the Ziploc to Thomas. I finish the second shortly after he finishes his and we zip the Ziploc bags.

“Calm?”

I look in her eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Now, I know I said this once before. Hear me this time.” She knocks on the door and Mamí appears, looking at me resentfully. Abuela passes her some dishes and shoos her away. Abuela turns to me. “Your mamí will always see Yala’s point because you married your mamí. You married a hot-head who fell for a handsome, sensitive man.”

Thomas snickers. I flip him off; Abuela pops the back of his head.

“Yala truly loved you but she doesn’t know what it means to be there for the long haul. Your mamí? Same thing. Your mamí doesn’t see cheating on your daddy while he’s locked up as cheating. That’s”—she taps her chin, thinking—”a pause in their marriage.”

“In other words, Yala sees your divorce as temporary, son. That’s why the boys are her little spies to see who you fucking,” Thomas says. “She expects to get back with you, which is why I told you to let them see you date. They need to see that, but it would’ve helped Yala understand that you were over her.”

My mouth is gaping.

Abuela nods. “Exactly. I told you your mamí ain’t worried about your daddy fuckin’ anyone in the pen. Yala keeps an eye on who you fuckin’ through the boys. Long as you ain’t got nobody, you two can still get back together.”

I sit back, stunned. Fuck. I glance at Thomas. He’s raised an eyebrow, a clear Told you, son on his face.

“Your mamí is taking what’s happening to Yala personally because she sees what could have happened to her so many times,” she says quietly, sitting down at the table. “She sees you moving the boys away from all us here and that’s her all alone in Brooklyn after your daddy got arrested if she’d allowed Miguel to move you to Miami. Yala will be all alone and regretting every decision she ever made, realizing how she fucked up her life, regretting letting you get away.

If she’d done what was right, stayed faithful to you, and held you down, she’d be packing her shit to move to Miami with you. That’s what your mamí sees. She sees how her life coulda been if she’d done what was right and encouraged your father to do something besides slang after he did that first stint. Instead, her husband’s doin’ another stint in the pen cuz he never had the strength you did to walk away from the game. She’s working a back-breakin’ job and will for the rest of her life just to keep herself fed and warm. And you?”

Abuela grasps my hands tight. “You have the strength neither of your parents have. You had the strength to walk away. You walked away from your marriage. You’re walking away from Brooklyn and taking your boys with you. You’re ready to start over again and the only thing holding you here is Yala. I don’t know how, I’m praying for you, but I know you’ll find a way to break away from her and do what’s right for the boys.”

I’m not gonna front. I got tears in my eyes and Thomas passes me his handkerchief. He fixes me a glass of ice water and I gulp it down fast.

“I know, Abuela. It’s just . . .” I don’t know how to say it. “I … I … I’m used to having her support. I’m used to her holding me down and she’s not. Every time I think I’m doin’ the right thing for Med and Midi, she tells me I’m wrong and I’m used to having her behind me.”

Abuela clucks her tongue. “Then start ignoring her and listen to your heart. Are you doin’ what’s right for the boys? Then you’re doin’ fine. Move the boys to Miami, get them settled, and keep climbing at RangeMan. Find you a lady and move on from Yala. Don’t let her stop your life.

You cut your mamí to the knees a few minutes ago, but she needed to hear that because you were right. You need to show those boys how to be men and with Thomas and Miguel to help, you should be able to raise them right. Won’t be easy”—I snort. I’ve learned that—”but I think you’ll do a good job.”

I stand and kiss Abuela. “Thank you.”

She swats my behind twice. “And I always knew when you were up to something as a kid. I just didn’t know how your little schemes would turn out!”

I grin and walk out. Thomas motions for me to follow him and we walk out and stand on the stoop. He doesn’t say anything for a long time. Eventually, Mamí leans out the window and yells for us to get all the kids in the house. Time to eat. We find everyone on the playground and send ’em up. I’m waiting on what Thomas will say.

“Yo.”

I look over. He’s put his blank face in place, so I slide mine in place.

Tía was right, son. As long as you do what’s right for the boys, you’ll always do what’s right.”

I snort. Wish I felt that sure. “You sure about that?”

He smiles and drops the blank face. “What was your motivation to never go to prison again?”

My boys. I grin and we head up the stairs to Abuela’s apartment.

—oOo—

Dinner is awkward. Mamí‘s not speaking to me and since our family is more women than men (like, 4-1), the women have decided I’m shit.

I don’t give a fuck. Thomas and Abuela are behind me. I’m tryna figure out how to present my case in court to get that relocation order signed. That’s gonna be tough. Thomas and I head outside after dinner and light cigars. Pedro and Chuy join us.

No one says anything for a while. We just puff on our cigars and watch the traffic. I see the boys playing and nod at Med every time he waves at me.

“Yo.”

“Yeah?”

Pedro sighs. “My bad, son. I didn’t realize it was like that for you.”

I nod.

“I think we can all agree we need more daddies in this family,” Chuy says. “When you said only a man can teach a boy to be a man, I realized that’s why all us have records. Who was gonna teach us to be men, except the dope boys?”

Thomas and I snort. We can see the dope boys on the corner. The kids in the neighborhood that don’t have food or clothes, no family to watch ’em, they’re down there eatin’ dinner with ’em. The dope boys will show you love, feed you, make sure you got a jacket and your kicks aren’t talking to you. Once they feel you’re ready you’re acting as a lookout. You’re running messages. You start running drugs. At some point, you start shooting.

But it starts with dinner.

The soul of a hungry man, or a boy, can be bought for as little as a turkey sandwich and the appearance of care if he doesn’t have someone else to show how false that is.

My boys are ignorin’ ’em. I told ’em, you ignore the dope boys. They can’t promise you shit except a jail sentence. Now that Yala’s locked up, they really see what that means. I see Med’s taken over as a leader among his cousins. About half are watching the dope boys, envious. The other half are ignorin’ ’em.

I sigh. “It’s not just daddies. You wanna help?” I nod across the street. “Half of ’em are watching the dope boys, wondering if they should walk over. We know damn well they aren’t hungry cuz they just ate, but it’s about bein’ with men, feeling a father’s love. OK, so they don’t have daddy around. You’re their uncles, their cousins. Step up. Show ’em love. Show ’em they can get what they need without the dope boys.”

Pedro and Chuy nod and head over to play with the kids. Thomas and I kick back and watch. A few minutes later, every male cousin we have heads across the street to play futból with the kids.

“Son, that’s inspiring.” I look over at Thomas. He’s smiling. “No seriously.”

I sigh. “It’s what I wish I’d had at their ages. I wish it wouldn’t have taken thirty months behind bars for me to learn that.”

“I had it.” I look at him. His face is blank. “I had it and didn’t appreciate it until I did time.” He looks at me, his face open again. “Med and Midi? They’ll never not appreciate the fact that Daddy’s behind ’em. I did my time and never again gave Pops grief. Nothing harder than trying to show your sons how to be men.”

I grin. “Especially when your sons are as hard headed as me and you.”

We laugh and Thomas squeezes my hand. I squeeze back.

Thanks, cuz.

—oOo—

Jorge‘s POV

“And we went to the Bronx and we had lots of food and Abuela made me a cabbage roll and it was sooo yummy and she made me turkey but we had lots of other food and we played and we had so much fun Mommy!”

I’m smiling. Annie’s talking to her mother and telling her what a great time she had. I’m glad. I wanted it to go well.

“No, I don’t know what she put in it, but it was yummy. I can ask Daddy.” Annie is quiet then frowns. “Because he told me to call him Daddy. He’s my Daddy, right?”

I flick a glance at Cheryl, who told me she’d like to be present when Annie talks to her mother. Cheryl is on the extension and her blank face is in place.

“Uh huh. And my cousin Nia is sooo cool. She taught me how to play on the monkey bars and it wasn’t scary at all Mommy!” More silence. I want to listen but I don’t want to listen. “No, I didn’t hear any gunshots.” My smile falls. “No, no one came up to me.” I’m curious now. “No, Daddy didn’t come downstairs. Why?”

I slump back against the wall. I see. We’re collecting evidence for the smear campaign.

“Well, it was me and Nia …” She starts naming all her cousins and I count. Tatiana cuts her off at the 10th name. “No Mommy, it was lots of adults and we had lots of fun.”

“Mommy? Can I play with Nia? She and tía Leni are gonna go shopping tomorrow and Daddy said we’ll go shopping with them so he can buy me more clothes and —”

Annie listens. “Yes, Mommy,” she says quietly. I hear her little footsteps and she appears, handing me the phone. The tears have reappeared. “Mommy.”

“Hold on.” I put the phone down and pick up Annie. I take her to the bathroom and wet a washcloth to wipe her face.

“Everything OK?” She shakes her head. “Let me talk to Mommy and we’ll see if Daddy can make it OK.”

She gives me a small smile. “OK, Daddy.”

I lower her to the ground and she heads into the living room. I pick up the phone. “Tatiana.”

“Jorge. Did I understand Annelise right? Did you really leave her in a strange neighborhood without supervision?”

“No, that’s incorrect. She was surrounded by family and friends—”

“Who she just met that day! She doesn’t know them! She barely knows you—”

“And whose fault is that?”

She stops for a moment. “You left my daughter—”

“Our daughter, Tatiana. I’m her father and I don’t question your parenting decisions when she’s in your custody. I won’t allow you to question mine. Annie called you tonight to tell you how much she enjoyed her Thanksgiving and she ended her call with you in tears. Thanks for pissing on her good time. I didn’t have to encourage that call.”

I can hear her grinding her teeth. “Look, we have a new court date—”

“How much longer can you keep this up, Ana? Honestly? Wouldn’t be easier to meet me and work out a parenting plan? Let’s share custody amicably.”

“You want me to share custody?” She laughs disbelievingly. “And what do I tell Annie when her father bails on her like he did her mother? What do I tell my daughter when you don’t keep your promises?”

“You tell her whatever lie you want. You always do. When is the court date?”

“December 11th.”

“You’re really going to push that sexual predator crap, huh?”

“I have serious reservations about what’s going on under your roof.”

“Fine. Maybe I should start questioning what goes on under yours.”

“How dare you!”

“You’re doing it to me. That’s how.”

Click.

I hang up the phone and shake my head. I head into the living room, but Annie’s telling Cheryl about her holiday and Cheryl’s laughing.

“I didn’t know I had cousins and aunties and uncles and they all speak a different language and I don’t know the words but I learned Abuela means granny.”

“What about your mother’s cousins?”

“They’re all Bratwurst, according to Mommy.”

Cheryl is quiet for moment. “Bratva?”

“Yeah! Bratvas.”

“Ah. So, what do you want to buy tomorrow?”

Cheryl and Annie talk until Annie falls asleep. I get her dressed for bed and tucked in, kissing her forehead as I leave the room. I rejoin Cheryl, who looks nervous.

“You said you work for RangeMan?” I nod. “Off the record.”

I sober. “OK.”

“Have someone in your group do a full background on Tatiana.”

“Why?”

She picks up her purse and stares at me. “Bratva means brotherhood, Jorge. Russian Mob. One of the most feared mobs in the world. Brighton Beach, Sheepshead Bay, that’s their stomping grounds. If they deem you a problem, you’ll end up a floater.”

I think my balls and my stomach just dropped to the basement of this building.

Cheryl walks over and helps me sit on the couch. “I’ll see myself out. Call someone you trust, someone who knows what to do, for help.”

Cheryl leaves and I take deep breaths to keep myself from panicking. I reach for the phone. Who? Who do I call about this?

“Javi?”

“Sup?”

“What do you know about the Bratva?”

He whistles. “Russian Mob. Nasty. Makes the Italian Mob look like amateurs. Why?”

“Tatiana’s family. Annie keeps saying Tatiana’s family is Bratva.”

Javi’s quiet. “I think I just shit myself, son.”

I laugh, disbelieving. “Same here.”

“Hold on.” The line clicks and, two minutes later, I hear Javi again. “Jorge?”

“Yeah. Javi, what the fuck do I do?”

“You tell me everything.”

Les? “Sir?”

“Tell me everything.”

—oOo—

“Daddy?”

“Hmm?”

“What do you think?”

I think I never want to shop on Black Friday again. I look over at Annie’s outfit. Pink. I smile. “It’s very pink, Annie.”

“I know. I like it.” She goes back into the dressing room, yelling for Nia to look at her outfit.

Leni and Nia are using me as a clothes mule in this Macy’s. They have Annie and all three are trying on clothes. I gave Leni a $1000 budget for Annie’s clothes and Leni’s determined to spend every penny. So far, she’s used $300 and there are twelve bags in my car full of clothes just for Annie.

I’m going to have to give up my closets to my daughter.

Leni walks out and makes her final selections. I walk over to the register and pay for everything she chose for Annie and one outfit for Nia, my thank you at each store. Nia is happy I’m buying her a special outfit each time, usually the one her mother makes her put back because it would break their budget. I’m grateful Nia’s really taken Annie under her wing and treating her like they’ve known each other all their lives.

Besides, I like buying clothes. I’m hoping we get close to a Brooks Brothers at some point. I could use some ties.

I check the budget. “You have about $500 left.”

Leni drops into the chair. “You wanna give me that in cash? I’m done for the day and I guarantee you, now that I know Miss Annie’s sizes, I’ll find little things every day for her. I’ll give you the receipts just in case you need to take things back.”

I shrug. “Fine. Gotta hit an ATM, but that’s cool.” I take Annie’s hand and we head to the food court. Annie and Nia share a pretzel as Leni and I laugh over Black Fridays past.

“Remember the first year you were on Wall Street and you gave everyone $1000 to go shopping?”

I shake my head, barely believing I had that much chutzpah. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t know what to do! I remember the week before Christmas, scoring the best deals because I held onto the money for so long!”

I laugh. God, those were good times.

“Jorge, I’m so sorry.” I look up and Leni’s smiling sadly at me.

“Why?”

“Because we treated you like it was all your fault. When you hit Wall Street, it was like the rest of us hit the Lotto because you were never selfish. You used that money to help everyone. You didn’t forget to help the family and when you fell, we took it out on you.”

I nod, my throat tight. “Yeah. You did.”

She sighs. “I’m sorry. I was just so proud of the fact that Nia was in a good school and I was buying my first home. I never realized that I was only doing that because my little brother had cleared a way for me.”

I smile. “What are you getting at, Leni?”

“I’m buying a house.” I raise a brow. “A small one, in Westchester, but it’ll be mine. I’d like you to look at the paperwork for me, if you could.”

“Sure.”

Leni freezes. “Damn! Now that’s sexy … and he’s coming this way! Ooohhhh …” She reaches in her purse and I turn around, curious.

“Yo, son! We thought it was you.”

I laugh. “Mack! Thomas! ‘Sup?” I look down. “Ahmed. Hamid. What’s up?”

“Chillin’, Mr. Jorge,” Med says, smiling. “Uncle Thomas said Dad’s fashion taste is wack, so we’re on the hunt for new threads and new kicks. See?” I look; Med and Midi have on new Nikes.

“Nice.” I nod approvingly. “Guys, this is my sister, Arlenis, Leni, and my niece Yesenia, Nia, and you know Annie, well, Thomas, you don’t. Annie, this is one of Daddy’s coworkers, Thomas.”

“Hi,” she says shyly. Nia waves. My sister is staring at Mack, fresh lipstick on her lips. I groan mentally. Fuck Mack! What pheromones do you put off? Not my sister, man!

Mack merely nods at her before crouching down in front of Annie. “Miss Annie, you look super fly today. What’s up? Daddy tryna make sure you’re fly to go back to school?”

She giggles. “Daddy’s buying me all kinds of clothes and shoes. See?” She digs into her bag and pulls out a pair of black Mary Janes.

“Classic,” Mack says. “Well, trust your daddy. When my cousin Thomas here isn’t around, your Daddy drags me from store to store to make sure I look fly.”

“Really?”

“Yup.” He looks over. “Nia? You the baby girl that was in Catholic school, right?”

“Yeah. Uncle Jorge mentioned me?” Nia looks happy at the thought.

“All the time. You and Annie are his babies, his princesses.” Mack grins and I mentally thank him for being who he is. If there was any tension between Nia and Annie, he just killed it. Nia grins at me and I know that she and Annie will probably be best friends for life.

“Well, since I know Mack’s impossible to outfit, how goes it?” I ask Thomas.

He rolls his eyes. “Jeans? Fine. Polos? Fine. Sneakers? Cool. Suits? Nightmare.” I laugh. “Dress shirts?”

“He’s picky.” Mack flips us both off and we grin. “Nice to see you’re not having much better luck.”

Thomas snorts. “I’ll dress Med in a heartbeat. He got his fashion taste from me.” Med preens. “Mack and Midi? Freakin’ nightmare.”

“Am not,” Midi mumbles.

“Son, you are just like your Daddy.” Midi smiles at that. “You know blue, black, and green. I’m determined to get Mack into some different colors.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Leni says, standing.

I stare at her. “I thought you were tired.”

“I got a second wind.” She turns to Mack and bats her lashes. “Where have you guys been already?” She takes Mack’s arm and guides/tugs him out of the food court. I hang back with Thomas, mentally laughing my ass off. Mack looks like a deer in headlights.

“How long have you been here?” Thomas asks.

I stare at him. “I’m shopping with a woman.”

He nods. “Pedicure after this?” I stare at him and he smiles. “Yo, the Miami boys are pretty, son. Tan, wax, mani/pedi. Gotta be clean to hit the Miami clubs.” I laugh. “Make an appointment. We’ll drag Mack’s difficult ass with us and leave all the kids at RangeMan.”

“Sounds like a plan.” I take my phone out and call Elements. “Mack tell you about his facial?”

-oOo-

Mack‘s POV

“Daddy?”

Time for the daily question. “Hmm?”

“When’s Mommy coming home?”

“I don’t know, son.”

Midi stares out of the window of my office, trying not to cry. I flick a glance at Med and he’s got the same face on.

“Come ‘ere.” They look at me. I’m on the floor, sitting Indian-style, and they walk over and sit next to me. I pull both of ’em close to me and squeeze tight. Med smiles.

Midi starts crying.

I pull him into my lap and rock him. He’s taking Yala’s arrest and lock-up hard. He’s the baby and Mommy’s not here for him. There’s been too many changes in his life.

I’m turning down my promotion.

I have to. I don’t really have a choice here. The boys need their mom. I need to help Yala get out. This situation is just fucked up all around, but yo, Daddy sacrifices.

It’s not about me. It’s about what’s right for them.

“I know, Midi, I know. I miss Mommy too—”

“No you don’t! Daddy, you can do anything! If you missed Mommy, you’d get her home! You’d make her come home!”

His spindly arms are wrapped around me and he’s squeezing me tight, his face buried in my chest. I keep rocking him and patting his back. I see my door open slightly and Thomas sticks his head in.

“Med?” he calls quietly. Med looks over, wiping the tears dropping down his face. “Yo, Lucia has ice cream.”

He nods and leaves quietly. I toss my suit jacket in my chair, pull Midi into my lap fully and let him howl. This shit is breakin’ my heart.

I can’t help. I can’t fix this. Daddy can’t make this better. I’m sorry, Midi. You deserve better than Mommy and Daddy. You deserve better than two parents who gotta go to jail to get their shit together. I’m sorry, son. I wish I had an answer. I wish I could make this better for you. I’m sorry.

“Daddy?” He sniffs. “You’re crying.”

I know, son. I know.

—oOo—

The boys are in bed. They did their homework and ate ice cream while I finished making notes on my contracts and made some calls.

Now to make the hard call.

“This is the wrong move, son.”

I sigh. “What are my other choices, Thomas? The boys need their mom. I need to stay here and help her. If she doesn’t get out, they need that contact with her.”

Thomas exhales loudly. “I’m not saying I don’t see your point. I’m saying this ain’t the way to handle this.”

“Then give me an option, son! I’ve been thinking about this for days! I don’t know how to solve this one …help me!”

We stare at each other. Finally, Thomas shakes his head. “Fine. Call him.”

I dial.

“Sir?” The music in the background disappears.

“Mack. What’s up?”

“Sir, I need to turn my promotion down.”

Les is quiet for a long time. “I refuse to accept that.”

“Sir—”

“I know. The boys come first. You’re turning it down because you don’t want move them, right?”

“Right.”

He sighs loudly. “I’ve been on the phone with lawyers. Yala will be presented with a deal next Friday. You listening?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ve found Leon’s contact. Well, the brotherhood found his contact.”

I sit back. What the fuck? “OK . . .”

“Magic, right?”

My mouth drops. “I thought Magic was out the game!”

“Nah, he’s been controlling shit quiet. Anyway, Leon will be ‘encouraged’ to cop to everything so the charges against Yala get dropped down to an offense charge. The lawyers tell me that it’s probably the best she’ll get offered and if she takes it she’ll get five. If she doesn’t she’s looking at the full fifteen. Anyway, Leon’s gonna get a visitor tomorrow that will help him make that decision.”

His momma. Les got to Leon’s momma cuz that fucker’s momma owned his nuts. Fuck! I stare at Thomas. He’s got a hint of a smile on his face. I put the phone on speaker.

“His momma got that much pull?”

Les snorts. “The boys on the block filled her in.”

I’m thinkin’. No one pulls shit like that for nothing. “What’s this costing you, son?”

“Does that matter?”

“I like to know my debts.”

He’s quiet. “I’m calling in a favor.”

“Sir—”

“Let’s not fight about this. Chalk it up to RangeMan brotherhood. You report directly to me now. I watch my strategists closely. I need you to have your head in the game. Besides, you had the CO’s back when we needed you.”

I slide to the floor. Les’s pulling off a fucking miracle and his reason is bullshit. This is costing him big so it’s gonna cost me big at some point. Thomas is partying.

“Yo, I need to do anything?” he asks Les.

“Remain on standby. I may need your help. Hopefully, I won’t.”

“OK.”

“Mack, you need to see her, first of January … let the holidays pass first. I should have been able to make some things happen. Anyway, go see her and ‘convince’ her to sign that relocation order. Otherwise, you’re prepared to put her through the custody battle from hell.”

“Sir, I don’t even want to threaten her with that.”

“I know, Mack, but do it anyway. Trust in me.”

I do, boss, but that’s a low blow. “Sir, nothing means more than our sons,” I tell him quietly.

“I hear you, Mack, but if she wants to help her sons, she’ll get some anger management. She’ll get rid of the revolving door in and out of your sons’ lives.” Thomas makes a face and I flip him off. I know, I know. Les got a point there. “She needs to get her shit together like you did the moment you went in.”

“And me leaving her is how to do it? Les, son, I’m telling you, if you’d taken my boys from me—”

“You would have moved heaven and earth to jump through whatever hoops were put in front of you to get your access back. You’d have learned to speak Chinese if that was necessary.” I snort. Got that right.

“That’s exactly what she’s yelling now, Les. That’s she’s takin’ me to court—”

“Bluff.” He exhales. “Listen to me, Mack. She knows you’ll do anything for your sons. You’ll put up with all kinds of shit for those boys and that’s your weakness. Your boys. She’s not going to take you to court. The threat is enough.” Thomas is nodding solemnly. “She’s insecure and she was scared you’d leave her if she was ‘difficult’. You did. You left when she proved she didn’t believe in you and was unfaithful. You made a success of your life because the shit she put you through wasn’t worth it, no matter how much you loved her, right?”

“Right,” I whisper. How did Les know? How does Les know every-fucking-thing? I look up. Thomas wrote a note: Tía! She said the same thing, son! I shake my head. “OK. What do I need to do?”

“She knows you, Mack. The only leverage she has left are your sons and she’s going to use that as long as she can. You have to show her that you won’t be manipulated using them. That’s the only way you’ll get free of her.”

I snort. Good point. My son is worried about Daddy ‘getting some’. That’s fucked up … and a problem. Damn. Everyone’s right; I can’t get my swerve on because Yala would find out (and I don’t want the boys to see a ‘revolving door’ in and out of Daddy’s house), but Yala was fuckin’ anybody she wanted. Why the fuck was I putting up with that?

“You’re Daddy. Take them to Miami for Christmas and let them meet your family. Show them RangeMan Miami. Take them to the beach. Let them get away from NYC for a while and while you’re there, encourage them to write letters to their mommy. Send photos. Start training Yala and the boys for this separation. First of December, start limiting the visits to once a week. Got it?”

“Yeah, son. Got it.”

“Good. Yala needs anger management and she needs to get her shit together like you did. She’s got maybe five years to get it together and she can either work with you now or have her parental rights suspended until she gets out.”

“What!?”

“Normally, an incarcerated parent loses legal custody rights during the period of incarceration. After all, if she’s locked up she’s unavailable to make decisions on behalf of her kids. You’re available, as their biological father, to assume custody and make decisions on their behalf so sole legal and physical custody falls to you.”

“Fuck!”

“Yeah. That order you got? Those are your rights. The boys are yours.”

I point to my filing cabinet and Thomas opens it and hands me the folding file. I sift through and find the order. Imma read this again, closer.

I’m quiet. Les has been pulling all kinda strings in the background. He knows shit I had no clue about.

“There’s a bigger plan here.”

“And I need you in place, but what’s more important to me is that you have what you need. You and your sons don’t need this drama.” His voice drops an octave. “Get them out of New York.”

My blood runs cold. I still know a shot-caller’s order when I hear it. Shit’s about to go down and Les is trying to move me out without making me an accessory to shit. As long as I don’t know, I don’t have to lie. I look; Thomas is frozen. We both nod. Yeah, Les knows some shit’s about to go down.

“How much time I got?”

“Before February. The sooner the better.”

“My boys in danger?”

“Their Daddy is, so they are.”

OK. “I’ll make it happen.”

He breathes deep. “Don’t let her drag you back down, Mack,” he says quietly. “Get your boys and run. They enjoy the ice cream?”

“I won’t even ask.”

He laughs. “I don’t know everything. I just know that some patterns repeat themselves, no matter how many times we think and hope they don’t.”

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