Page 87 of Own It
“Raquel, what the fuck is going on?”
“Just come, please, because she looks like it is an emergency. Other than that, everything is running smoothly, per usual.”
“Aight.” I hung up, pondering for a minute or two.
Standing because it would make better use of my time to see who the fuck this girl was than to sit and try to conjure up my own theories, I immediately got dressed.
Once in my gray joggers, socks, slides, wife beater, and T-shirt, I removed my do-rag and dipped.
It took me a little minute to arrive to the Godfrey Baking Co. warehouse since I was out the fucking way at the ranch house instead of my actual residence.
Parking in the back, I climbed out, entering through the side door that required a code. The front of Godfrey Baking Co. could be accessed by the general public, mainly for when store owners would come down to talk about or sign off on a partnership. I didn’t want them entering in through the operations unit.
“Hey, so sorry I had to call. She is in the front waiting room,” Raquel informed, placing a hand over the phone to prevent whomever she was speaking to from hearing.
“Aight.” I mobbed toward the front and entered the waiting room off to the left to see a girl that was unfamiliar to a nigga, pacing. “Can I help you?”
“Who are you?” She froze, eyes wide as saucers as she took me in.
“Rakim. Ain’t you ask for me?” I frowned, already annoyed. Stopping by GBC hadn’t been on my fucking agenda for the day, and now she was playing fucking stupid.
“No, I asked for Zaire. Where is he? I’ve been calling, but it keeps going straight to voicemail.” She grunted out of frustration, tilting her head back and shutting her eyes.
Nearing her, I asked, “Why you looking for Zaire?”
It suddenly hit me why Raquel was seemingly speaking in code over the phone. Old girl hadn’t asked for me in particular, but Raquel wasn’t trying to divulge Zaire’s passing to a random.
“Um . . .” She licked her dry lips, eyes darting to the floor before regaining eye contact with me. I was growing impatient as fuck but tried to remain cool since I could sense her nervousness. I preferred intimidating bitch ass niggas, not women. “I met Zaire at my job—Perry’s—one night, and we um, hit it off and had sex a few times.” Her eyes couldn’t stay on me for shit.
“Calm down and talk,” I instructed.
Expelling a heavy breath, she continued. “We had unprotected intercourse because he ran out of condoms after we went two rounds.”
“Okay.”
I could see where this shit was heading, and I didn’t know if this bitch was bullshitting because she knew Zaire and his peoples had bread or if this was a blessing, my brother leaving behind an offspring.
“I’m pregnant and it’s his. I don’t have family, at least not family I talk to, but he mentioned how he had brothers he was close with, so I want my child to have some semblance of a familial unit.” She fidgeted.
“You high?”
“No. No.” She shook her head animatedly.
Moving closer, I gripped her chin and surveyed her for a moment.
“You are. You telling me you pregnant with my muthafuckin’ niece or nephew and getting high?” I let her face go.
“No. I got high and then I found out. I’m still coming down from it,” she instantly started explaining, eyes brimming with terror.
“What’s ya name?”
“Téa . . . Téa McGee.”
Sighing, I confessed, “Look, my brother died from an overdose. I can assume you knew he got high ’cause it seems like something y’all would’ve bonded over.”
“Oh.” She blinked rapidly, her eyes mistier with every flutter. “I . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t know he . . . oh my gosh.” She sat down, a few tears cascading down her ashen light cheeks. “I wouldn’t have come . . . I shouldn’t have come. My bad.” She wiped her face and tried to dart around me, but I caught her.
“Aye, look, I’m glad you did come, and I’m willing to help you out, get you cleaned up especially, so long as that baby in ya stomach is actually my blood.”
