Millionaire Wives Club (29 page)

“And if we don’t give it?” Evan asked, hating the scent of Milan’s perfume.

“She will die,” Milan said.

“Milan, you can’t let my daughter die,” Kendu said. “Not my baby.”

Evan turned to Kendu and began crying on his shoulder.

Mixed emotions raced through Milan’s head, but this was not the time to analyze how she needed to detox from this relationship. There was no way she could continuously deal with all of this. “I need you to help me help you,” Milan said.

“Look,” Evan said in a panic, “I keep trying to make the doctors understand that I believe Aiyanna has Addison’s disease, and I keep trying to have her tested, and nobody is listening to me.” She looked Milan in the eyes. “I need someone to see that I need help.”

Milan felt nauseated. This was too much weight to carry. “Do you know how rare Addison’s disease is? And how painful those tests are? Do you have a family history of that?” Milan looked at Evan strangely.

“Don’t fuckin’ tell me about my baby!” Evan started to scream. “I know what is wrong with my baby!”

“Wait a minute.” Milan attempted to get things under control. “This isn’t about you, this is about Aiyanna! She needs help, and we are trying here. Now, you need to get it together. Your daughter will die if she doesn’t get a blood transfusion, and then what will you have to argue over? Now, I need you two”—she pointed to Evan and Kendu—“to get it together and be strong for your daughter. We are trying to assist you, not battle with you. Now, you need to be tested so we can see what your blood type is and make sure you’re not carrying any diseases. Or would you rather stand out here and argue than give your daughter blood?” She paused. “Now let’s go,” Milan said as she gave a heavy sigh and led them to an examination room, where the phlebotomist took their blood and sent the samples to the lab. “As soon as the results come in, I will be back,” Milan said as she walked Evan and Kendu back to the patients’ lounge.

A half hour later the lab technician delivered the results. “Thank God,” Milan said as she opened the chart and compared it to Aiyanna’s. Milan stared blankly at the pages. She knew for sure she’d seen wrong or maybe she didn’t understand. Hell, it had been a while since she had practiced nursing, so maybe she had this whole deal wrong.

“What are the results?” One of the doctors walked over. “We need this immediately.”

Milan didn’t answer.

“Nurse Starks, do you hear me talking to you?” the doctor asked.

“Oh yes … yes, doctor.”

“So what are they?”

“They don’t match.” Milan swallowed.

“What do you mean they don’t match?” the doctor asked.

“They don’t. The father has type B blood.”

“And the mother?”

“A.”

“The child has O positive. That’s not possible.” The doctor took the chart. “Well, it’s here in black-and-white. Are they the natural parents or is she adopted?”

“She’s not adopted, I can assure you of that,” Milan said. “Besides, she’s the spitting image of her mother.”

“It’s clear, then,” the doctor continued, “he’s not the father.” The doctor handed the chart back to Milan. “And quite frankly I don’t give a damn who is. I have a little girl in there who will die if we don’t get this transfusion going. Now, if I need to I will have the social worker call the judge and we will have an emergency hearing allowing us to give her blood from the hospital’s bank.”

“Can I just talk to them before you do that?” Milan said.

“Yes,” the doctor said, “and hurry.”

Milan walked over to Kendu and Evan and they both stood up. “Listen”—she cleared her throat—“we ran the test.”

“Get to the point,” Kendu said in a panic.

“I am, and we have the results, but Aiyanna … can’t receive blood from either of you.”

“What?” Evan said, put off.

“What the hell does that mean?” Kendu spat. “Of course my baby can have my blood.”

“No, she can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because it doesn’t match.” She looked Kendu dead in his eyes,
but seeing that her words hadn’t registered she continued on. “Aiyanna has O positive blood, and unless you have another donor we will need to pull from the hospital’s supply. We screen the blood carefully, so it will be okay.”

“Wait a minute,” Kendu said as if he were still pondering what Milan was saying. “What are you saying to me about our blood not matching our baby? Is that normal?”

Milan attempted to brush him off. “It happens, Kendu, but that’s not important.”

Kendu stared at Milan and she averted her eyes. “I asked you a question,” he said, “and you’re bullshittin’ me?”

“Listen, I will explain it to you later, but right now this is what you need to deal with: Your daughter needs you to sign this consent. I’m begging you to please do it, because she can’t wait much longer.” Milan shoved the papers in front of them and they scribbled their signatures on them. Afterward she quickly left the room and headed to the operating room, where they were prepping Aiyanna and awaiting the consent.

An hour later Milan sat at the nurse’s station, distressed. Maybe she was mistaken; maybe Aiyanna was Kendu’s child. She looked down at Aiyanna’s chart …
Blood types don’t lie
, she thought.

A voice interrupted Milan’s thoughts. “Can I speak to you for a minute?”

She looked up and it was Evan. “What is it?” Milan asked. “Can we speak someplace private?”

Milan led Evan to an empty room and closed the door. “I’m listening.”

“Thank you for what you did earlier, with Kendu. I didn’t know the blood wouldn’t be a match.”

“You didn’t know,” Milan snapped. “How didn’t you know?”

“I didn’t.” She paused. “I just thought that Kendu was the—”

“Was the what?” Milan squinted her eyes. “The right choice, the right man, or he had the right money? You aren’t shit, you
know that?!” Milan spat. “Nothing. I had fuckin’ regarded you as higher than a mole, but I see you’re lower than that.”

“I didn’t come here to argue with you.”

“No, you came to feel me out and see if I would be willing to keep some bogus-ass secret of yours, but make no mistake, I’m not. So you can keep your goddamn thank you.”

“You know how much he loves his daughter?”

“She’s not his daughter.” Milan pointed into Evan’s face.

“You hate me that much?” Evan batted her extended lashes.

“If you don’t tell him I will.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“You got twenty-four fuckin’ hours to figure out if it’s a threat or not.”

“Milan!”

“Get the fuck out my face,” she said, tight-lipped.

The doctor walked into the room. “Ladies, is everything okay? We can hear you down the hall. Why are you back here?”

“Doctor,” Milan said, “everything is fine. Mrs. Malik was upset and confused, and I just wanted to explain some things to her.”

“Okay, well”—he tapped Evan on the shoulder—“come and let me speak to you and your husband.”

“My baby is out of surgery?” Evan wiped tears from her eyes.

“Yes, she is,” the doctor said as they walked to the family waiting area where Kendu was.

“Everything looks great,” the doctor said. “We need to run some more tests, but at least we were able to stop the bleeding.”

“Can she come home?” Kendu asked.

“Not tonight, but I hope in a couple of days.”

“Thank you.” Evan smiled. “Can we see her now?”

“Of course, but she needs to get some rest.”

“We’ll only stay for a few minutes and then we’ll leave.”

“I’m not leaving,” Kendu said. “I’ll be spending the night.”

“That’s not necessary,” Evan said. “You need your rest.”

“Don’t,” he said to her and then looked at the doctor. “What room is she is in?”

Milan stood back and watched them walk down the hall toward Aiyanna’s room. She knew she needed to tell Kendu, but then again, maybe she didn’t. Hell, she didn’t need to get involved, and the whole thing was too damn confusing and complicated anyway. And what exactly would she say, “Aiyanna isn’t your baby?” And then what?

She looked at the clock and saw that her shift had ended. She grabbed her coat and started down the corridor toward the elevator.

“You need a ride?” one of her coworkers yelled. “No,” she said, “I need a good train ride to help me clear my head.”

“All right, good-night.”

“Good-night.” She stepped on the elevator and the doors closed behind her.

J
aise tried to act as if the cameras weren’t following her around as she thought about how Jabril had been creeping through the house all week, stuttering, starting sentences and not finishing them, half eating his dinner, and when he didn’t have to work at the afterschool job he had started at McDonald’s, such as tonight, he was going to bed around eight.

“Jabril is into something he has no business being in,” Jaise said to Bilal, who had just come in from work. He looked at the food Jaise had prepared for him and smiled, as he shifted his gun holster to unload his service revolver. Bilal was around all the time now. “What makes you say that?” he asked, placing his gun in the closet’s safe.

“Because I know this little boy. Acting depressed. I swear if he has an STD I’m getting his jimmy cut off. Period.”

“Oh, that’s real motherly of you. Why don’t you just ask him what the problem is?”

“I did. The other night I said, ‘Jabril, don’t let no li’l tramp cause you and me to have problems.’”

“Jaise, you have to chill with spazzin’ like that,” Bilal said kissing
her on the lips. “He’s not going to tell you anything if you’re making comments like that.”

Jaise didn’t respond. She simply rolled her eyes.

“Where is he now?” Bilal asked.

“In the bed.”

“It’s eight o’clock,” Bilal said as the bell rang.

“Exactly.” Jaise rose from the couch.

“After I eat I’ll go and talk to him.” He watched Jaise walk to the door. “Damn, girl,” he said flirtatiously, “look at that ass. Who is your man?”

“Don’t you worry about him. All I need to know is your name.” She laughed while opening the door.

“Well, I’m glad motherfuckers is laughin’ over here!” A mahogany brown woman with streaked honey blond hair, wearing a cropped denim jacket, a tight wife beater that showcased her cleavage tattoo of
ME AND RAFIQUE
, a pair of silver jeans with rhinestones going down the side of each leg, and a pair of Thin Mints high-top Pastry sneakers on pushed her way through Jaise’s front door.

The woman shoved a crying girl ahead of her into the living room, the same girl Jaise had caught in Jabril’s room over a month ago and made leave through the window. “Is this where the li’l negro live?” the woman spat at the girl.

“Who are you?” Jaise said, confused. She looked at the girl. “And why are you in my house?”

“Tell her.” The woman pushed the young girl on her shoulder again. “Tell her who you are and then call his ass in here.” When the girl didn’t respond quick enough the woman said, “I said tell her who you are!”

“Chris…” the girl cried, “Chris … tina.”

“You ain’t no goddamn Christina,” the angry woman spat. “You ass is baby mama. Tell her your name is M.C. Brilly Bril’s baby mama.”

“Brilly Bril?” Bilal said, confused.

“What?!” Jaise screamed in disbelief. “Come again? Baby mama?!”

“Oh, you ain’t know?” the woman screeched. “Well, seems your li’l thug don’t know how to keep his thing in his pants.”

“My li’l thug,” Jaise snapped. “Who the fuck are you? Am I being punk’d?” Jaise asked.

“Not at all, dear,” Bridget said. “This is all your life.”

“And this right here,” the angry woman said, pointing to her daughter’s stomach, “is all him!”

“Are you trying to say that my son got your daughter pregnant?”

“Ah hell, nawl,” Christina’s mama spat. “Did you follow this li’l fool home to see if his family was slow? Why is she asking me the obvious? I sure hope this li’l boy ain’t retarded.”

“He ain’t retarded,” Christina cried.

“He is retarded,” her mother snapped. “His mama’s crazy. Look at her. She don’t know shit. Is she high? You better not be pregnant by no damn crackhead’s baby!”

“Bilal,” Jaise turned to him, “if you don’t lock these motherfuckers up now—”

“My name ain’t motherfucker, it’s Al-Taniesha.” She swerved her neck.

“What kinda shit is this?” Jaise said in stunned disbelief.

“Jabril!” Bilal yelled up the stairs. “Come here.”

“Yeah,” Jaise screamed, “get your ass down here! Right now!”

“What, Ma?” He opened the door of his room and peeked out. When he saw Christina and her mother he looked as if he’d seen a ghost.

“Oh yeah,” Jaise said. “Bring yo’ ass down these stairs right now.”

“That’s him?” Al-Taniesha snapped at her daughter. “Look at this skinny motherfucker here, lookin’ like T. I.”

“Listen,” Jaise said to Al-Taniesha, “you need to calm down all of what you’re saying about my son!”

“And what you gon’ do?”

“Ma,” Jabril interrupted, “chill. That’s my girl. I got her as the screen saver on my iPhone. She’s my number one friend on My-Space.”

Christina whined, “I knew you was the truth, Bril.”

Jaise smacked Jabril so hard that he fell onto the couch. “What I tell you about these li’l hoochies, huh? And of all the tramps on Easy Street you go knock up Keyshia Cole’s goddamn sister.”

“I swear,” Bridget said, “Junior should’ve been the reality star. He’s a natural.”

“My daughter is not a hoochie, tramp. And I ain’t Frankie. You the one over here raising Young Jeezy. All I know,” Al-Taniesha said, looking around the living room, “is that you got cameras up in here makin’ videos, y’all livin’ in the Grand Arbor section while we over there in Lafayette Garden, and you don’t even have plastic on yo’ shit. So it seems to me that Jabril gon’ do the right thing because he has more than enough to share.”

“Share?!” Jaise completely lost it. “Share what? He just turned seventeen years old. He ain’t got shit. You wanna know what Jabril has? A pair of fuckin’ jeans he paid for and some sneakers he bought last week. These are my things. I live in Grand Arbor. Jabril just has a room here. This, all of this is my shit.” She turned to Jabril. “Just when I think you are improving you pull a stunt like this. Well, I tell you what, if this child is having your baby—”