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“Please shut the fuck up.”

The officer looked at me.

“Ms.—”

“My apologies.”

Xay sucked his teeth.

The officer continued.

“The obligation is not based solely on a list of individual purchases made for the child. The guideline calculation considers both parents’ incomes and applicable expenses.”

Xay leaned back.

“So she gets almost seven hundred dollars a month?”

“Approximately, depending on the number of weekly payments falling within a given month.”

I could see him doing the math in his head and getting madder.

Good.

The order also addressed medical coverage and unreimbursed health expenses, and because Xay had regular employment, the support was going through income withholding.

Meaning I wasn’t calling him.

Wasn’t texting him.

Wasn’t asking him.

Wasn’t hearing:

I’ll send it Friday.

Then Friday came and suddenly the nigga disappeared.

His employer would receive the withholding order, the payment would go through the New Jersey child-support system, and that was that.

When we walked back into the hallway, Xay was pissed.

“That’s some bullshit.”

I adjusted my purse on my shoulder.

“No. That’s child support.”

“You know damn well you don’t need no hundred and sixty-eight dollars from me every week.”

I stopped walking.

“And there go your problem.”

“What?”

“You still think this is about me.”

“It is about you.”