Page 4 of When I Thug You Like That

“Yeah, you just got lucky this morning.”

I whipped up some chocolate chip pancakes, scrambled eggs, turkey sausage, and cut up some strawberries for a well-balanced meal. I made sure to be meticulous when plating up Baby Jay’s food. Sausage in one section, pancakes off to the side lightly coated in syrup, and not running into the eggs. I put his strawberries in a separate bowl to avoid a war. As for Justin, he didn’t give a damn if I put all his food in one pile. If it smelled good and he’d had it before, he’d tear that shit up.

I slid Justin’s plate over to him with the syrup and set Baby Jay’s plate down in front of him.

“Take your time, Jay. And you,” I pointed to Justin, “until we get some Pearl Milling stock, ease up on the pour, dawg.”

He glanced down at his plate, smiling. “This not a lot.”

“It’s more than you need for two pancakes.”

“I put it on my eggs too.”

“Mannn.” I slid the syrup back over to me. “Make do with that.” I chuckled inwardly because for a second, I sounded just like my father when he would get at me about overdoing it just because.

My phone chimed as I started to straighten up. It was a message from India doing exactly what I expected her to do, some flakey shit. That didn’t stop my jaw from tightening when I read her text.

India: I think you should just take him. I don’t think I’m gonna make it in time.

Unlocking the phone, I opened our thread and texted back quickly.

Me: You deadass? You’ve known about this shit for two weeks, and now you don’t know if you’re gonna make it in time? Fuck you got going on, India, ‘cause last I checked, you don’t clock in to nobody’s job.

Three dots appeared and disappeared just as quick before another message came through.

India: You knew I was out of town, Jamison. I’m still on the way back. I’m not gonna make it for ten. What is wrong with you taking him? It’s not like I’m missing his first day of school. You can just give me the info when I pick him up.

This was the shit that blew me. India’s participation in this co-parenting thing always seemed to falter when his autism required her to show up. She was there when it was time to throw big ass birthday parties for him, dress him up in fly shit to take pictures for the gram and highlight the parts of motherhood that she deemed to be the best. But anything that required her to sit in a room and hear somebody explain our son’s diagnosis to her and how to navigate it, all of a sudden, she became too busy to slow the fuck down.

I started typing exactly what I thought of her excuses then deleted it. Not only because today wasn’t about her but because I wasn’t a ho ass nigga. I’d leave the rest of what I had to say for when I saw her face to face. Right now, I had to focus on what was important, and that was making sure my son had every resource, service, and ounce of support he needed to thrive. Locking my phone, I set it on the counter and turned my attention back to the boys.

“It’s good?”

Justin nodded while chewing, and Baby Jay inspected a forkful of eggs intently, like he was making sure I hadn’t done anything funny to it, then ate it.

“Aight. Y’all got about thirty minutes before we need to head out.”

“Can I have more pancakes?” Justin asked, taking his last bite.

“I thought a nigga didn’t know how to cook?”

“I ain’t say that, Dad. I said experimenting wasn’t your thing. You the GOAT at the pancakes. These real good.” He held his plate up. “I just need two more, dassit.”

I shook my head. “Here, you can have my two.” I swapped his plate for mine, and he dug in.

“Thanks.”

I put the kitchen back together and got the hint from Jay that he was done. He’d eaten more than I expected. The bowl of strawberries was done, as well as the pancakes and eggs, leaving one sausage on the plate.

“You was hungry this morning, huh, Jay?”

He smiled and reached his hand out for his iPad. Justin went to pull it back, and I stopped him.

“I got him, Jus. Sneakers, car, then iPad, Jay,” I reminded.

He slid off the stool in response and sat on the floor to put his own shoes on.

“They on the wrong foot,” Justin pointed out, chuckling.