Kismet (Beyond the Bedroom Series) (12 page)

Since I agreed to move to California, my job gave me more decision making privileges now that I had made partner. The company name isn’t going to change, but everything else did. I also promoted Stephanie. She is moving to California three months after me because of her graduation.

She will be my new lead accountant, grossing 70k in her first year out of college. Now that isn’t bad at all! With Mr. Nguyen paying for my relocation, it freed my money to help Stephanie with her move. I would aim to keep her somewhere close by my new home as long as her money permitted.

The video conferencing was going well. There were four couples that caught my attention the most when it came to fostering my daughter. I had rules, strict rules, and most of the applicants didn’t meet my criteria. Some of the applicants shouldn’t be allowed to tend to children, in my opinion.

Rule one, I would name the child and the name could not be changed.

Rule two, I wanted my child to know she was in foster care as soon as she reached the age to understand it.

Rule three, the fostering parents would have to send updates, including pictures of my daughter, to the PO Box I will setup.

The final rule was if I ever decided to come for my child, there couldn’t be hassle about me getting her back.

I reminded all the parents that I am a wealthy woman who is highly educated and stable. My only flaw is that I am missing the natural mothering gene. I know I’m no better than my mother, but now I knew what my father meant when he quoted my mother, “Some things you will never understand.”

The only difference between what I’m doing to my child compared to what my mother did to us is that I won’t make the mistake twice. This will be the only child I ever give up and that’s a promise.

Chapter 8: Baby No Name

I had also composed a list of mandatory questions that had to be answered. It was my own application. I didn’t give a fuck about them already being questioned by the agency; it was shit I needed to know.

One of the questions I had on my application was; do both parents work and if so, where? I needed to know this because I don’t want anyone taking her in as a foster child because of the money.

Another question was where was your last vacation? I needed to make sure my baby saw the world. I didn’t want her closed-minded or unaware of what was out there.

The most important question on my list was what their reason was for becoming a foster parent. I asked this question to see their facial expression, fuck the words. I wanted to see who had it in their hearts.

My list was 30 questions long and, out of 25 couples from all over the United States, there was only four who answered all 30 to my liking.

The first couple was the Peters in Denver, CO. Both husband and wife were multiracial. Mrs. Peters was Asian and black, a junior high school history teacher and Mr. Peters was black and white and worked construction for the state. I loved that they would teach my child diversity and the blindness of love. Love sees no color, race or creed. I believe in this even if I personally don’t believe in falling in love.

When Margie asked the couple about their last vacation, both of their faces lit up like Christmas trees and they began fumbling through their wallets pulling out pictures. Mrs. Peters beat her husband to the punch.

“Our last vacation was to Disney World in Florida. We took our nieces to be princesses for the day.” She held the picture up to the video camera and there were two little girls; one dressed as Snow White the other as Cinderella with the castle behind them.

“We took the girls with us to Mt. Rushmore; they were bored clueless. This was our way of making up for it,” Mr. Peters added, still smiling ear to ear.

My major concern with them was where they lived. I was from California and Dre was from the south. We were both from warm areas; I didn’t want my child to be uncomfortable in Colorado’s cold weather.

The next couple was the Jeffersons in Tacoma, Washington. This was an African American couple who owned a family restaurant that had been passed down three generations.

What made them one of my top four was their answer to my question; what is your reason for becoming a foster parent? It wasn’t Mr. Jefferson’s teary eyes that touched me. It was his answer.

“I’m the third generation of Jeffersons to keep the family’s restaurant alive. I’m almost 45 years old and the love of my life cannot carry my children. We have tried and tried and I will not let my wife be hurt again by another miscarriage. I want to give her someone we can love as ours and be able to leave the family restaurant to. I don’t care if it’s a boy or girl. I want to leave it with my child. I do understand that you may decide to come back and take the child away from us; which would be heartbreaking and devastating, but I just want to see my wife in a motherly role. You will make my prayers and dreams come true.”

They seemed like down to earth people that had been through a lot of heartbreak when it comes to a child and that was my concern with them. What if I did want my daughter back? I couldn’t take another child away from them.

The other two couples I picked lived in the south; she Greens from Baton Rouge, Louisiana and the Hutchings from Savannah, Georgia. There wasn’t anything spectacular about either couple; they just seemed like good hearted people who knew there was more to the world than the south. They traveled frequently to those places, but they wouldn’t call anywhere else home.

I had a hard decision to make and had less than a week to make it so whomever I choose could prepare for their new baby.

I was leaving $5,000 at the hospital for the couple on a prepaid card that I would load with money every now and then. On my daughter’s tenth birthday, the card would become hers to use at her will.

I was now nine and a half months pregnant, two weeks away from my C-section, and still hadn’t picked a couple. I would re-watch all the videos and go over all the answers and background checks again tonight then make my decision tomorrow.

I was waiting on the pizza man to deliver my pizzas when I opened the door. Standing on the other side of my door was a skinny little white boy with an Atlanta Braves fitted hat on who looked like a hip hop video dancer. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had broken out into a dance routine from one of Usher’s videos. “I got a certified letter for you.” He looked down at my stomach. “Damn, you’re due any day now, ain't cha? Yeah, you about nine months.” Then he giggled like a geek.

I didn’t know if he was asking or telling me. I snatched the letter out of his hand. There wasn’t anything written on the envelope. “Who is this from?”

He moved over as the pizza man approached and headed back up the driveway. “Just read it. Bet you ordered everything on them pizzas, too, ha-ha.”

I went up the walkway to see what kind of car he came in. By the time I wobbled up the walkway, he was nowhere in sight. He must have run to the car just in case I came looking. I asked the pizza man if he had seen what kind of car the guy was in.

“He was standing by the big tree out front when I got out the car, ma’am. He told me to follow him and he would show me where you were. He started walking this way before I could catch up.”

I paid the pizza man, thanked him for the little information he had given me and walked back into the house. I had lost my appetite or, should I say, put it on hold until after I read the letter. I threw the pizzas on the counter and then made my way to the couch.

He wasn’t a UPS or USPS worker. No one knew where I lived but a selective few, which were Sandy, Stephanie and her sister, Tracey. Marcus had delivered weed here before, but not to my door.

I paid my bills on time and wasn’t in debt to anyone and if there was someone out there I did owe, it wasn’t bad enough for them to send a goon to my door. I made myself comfortable on the couch and then damn near had a heart attack; it was a letter from Dre.

Ms. Savannah James,

You’re a hard women to track down. Did you really think I wouldn’t keep up with you? I ran your license plate before I came by your house that Friday night. You rolled up on my boy at the gas station in a brand new car, asked for some green like you knew him, pulled up with out of state plates, bought an ounce then called me to deliver another one somewhere in Bellevue that same night! Hell yeah I had you checked out. I thought you would have known better. I told you I graduated with a Master’s degree in criminal justice (sorry I left the “Masters” part off originally) , I know my shit and what I don’t know I have detectives for friends to teach me. You’re probably thinking if I know so many people why am I in jail? Let’s just say I was warned they was coming but disappearing would have made shit worse for me and drawn attention to my friends. I had given up on you when I found out you changed your number to get rid of me. Yeah, the police told me you didn’t want to be bothered with me and turned in my last letter. For some reason I don’t think you’re going to turn this one in though. I couldn’t get yo’ ass off my mind for shit, so I sent my nigga by your spot in Atlanta. When he got there you were dressed up all sexy and shit. I got jealous and told him to follow you. Yo ass went to a niggas house and again I was done with you. You know what’s funny? I started feeling sick over you so I thought I’d give it one more try cause I knew then I really was in love with you but my boy said you don’t ever leave the house, your car is parked dirty as hell and your mail box is full. You know how to play gone good! Let me tell you how I found out you were home or where you fucked up your game of hide and go seek. Every time my boy would fall through you was ordering pizza and shit. You can’t deliver food to a house where no one is home can you? So he paid the delivery boy to deliver your chicken pizza with everything on it last month and guess what he told me? Savannah is pregnant! I asked him was he sure and he said positive unless you swallowed a whole watermelon. My only question for you is when are you having my baby? I know you think your smart and will probably lie and say it ain’t mines and that’s cool, more power to you. I know I ain’t the kind of nigga you planned on having a baby by with your exquisite life style and all but you still should have let a nigga know! So what do you and your rich friends do? Travel through the hood looking for some thug dick cause all them tight shirt, tie wearing ass niggas ain’t fucking you right? I can’t do shit while I’m in here but count these eighteen months down to my freedom. I guess we will have to talk later about it huh?

Dre-

P.S Chicken pizza with all the toppings is the only way I eat my pizza, I don’t eat pork! You see, Savannah, no matter how hard you’re trying to keep me out my child’s life; it’s still a daddy’s baby!

I put the letter down and let the water fall down my legs; I was in labor. I called Dr. Davis and told her to meet me at hospital. It was time. I grabbed the bag I had packed, put Dre’s letter in it and drove all the way to the hospital in the worst pain I had ever felt in my life.

I turned on the radio to try and comfort myself and Sade’s new song about being a soldier was playing. I toughened up and made the drive.

Dr. Davis and two men were waiting on me when I pulled up at the emergency room with a wheelchair. Once I sat in the chair, everything else went quickly. I was pushed in a room, put on a table, Dr. Davis stuck her hand between my thighs, her gloves came out red, she hit a button on my bed and said STAT, and the nurses ran in. I laid back and after two pushes, the baby was out and screaming.

She was eight pounds, two ounces, 19 inches long and was the prettiest little girl I had ever laid eyes on. “She looks just like you,” Dr. Davis said, while bringing her over to me. I thought to myself, she has never seen Dre.

She looked like her father and me combined. Her skin was lighter than the both of ours; I guess her color would come with time.

“Would you like to hold her, Savannah?” Previously I had said I didn’t want to see or touch the baby once she was born, but I shook my head yes.

The baby was crying when the doctor handed her to me. She soon stopped as if she knew who I was. I had read online that babies had a sense of knowing things and it was good to talk to them while they were in your stomach so they could get familiar with your voice and I did just that.

There was no one around me for three months; I had to find a way to hear my own voice so I talked to her and read her a book of my choice. I tried reading her children’s stories, but they were too fictional. I wanted my daughter to know what was really on the other side of my stomach; we ended up reading The Coldest Winter Ever by Sister Souljah.

I know there is a lot of adult content in the book, but there were so many lessons she could learn to help her become a better woman; that’s why it was my first choice. I packed the book in my hospital bag and wrote her a message in it that I would give to her new parents to give to her, once she was old enough.

Like I said earlier, I didn’t have anyone positive in my life while growing up. I wish someone would have handed me Sister Souljah's book, I might have made better life choices.