The sight of those things when she walked in felt obscene. She took the banner down first. Amara watched from the foyer. “Mommy, why?”
“Because we’re done with the surprise tonight.” “But Daddy likes green.” Nia closed her eyes briefly. “I know, baby.”
She folded the banner instead of tearing it because Amara was watching. At 7:26 p.m., Andre called. Nia let it ring. At 7:29, he called again.
At 7:34, he texted: Please let me explain before you make any decisions. Nia stared at the message and felt something almost like calm. The arrogance of the wording helped. Before you make any decisions.
As if her decisions were the dangerous part. As if the five years of deception remained unfinished business subject to clarification. She blocked his number for the night. Then she called his mother.
Denise Carter answered on the second ring, cheerful and expectant. “He home?” Nia said, “Yes.” Something in her tone changed Denise immediately.
“What happened?” Nia sat at the kitchen table while Amara colored silently in the living room. She told Denise the airport story in six sentences. On the other end of the phone, Andre’s mother said nothing for several seconds.
Then: “A boy?” “Five years old.” “His boy?” “He called Andre Dad.
Andre did not deny it.” Denise breathed out slowly. “Lord.” Nia expected defense.
She expected a mother’s reflexive attempt to soften her son. Instead Denise said, “Do you want me to come get Amara tonight?” Nia’s eyes filled again. “No.
I need her with me.” “Then I’m coming to you.” “You don’t have to.” “I know I don’t.”
Denise arrived forty minutes later with no breakfast food, no welcome-home smile, and no patience for ambiguity. She hugged Nia first and then Amara. She helped Nia remove the rest of the decorations, packed the bourbon into a cabinet, and sat at the kitchen table while Nia searched through five years of bank statements with the focus of someone trying to understand a crime scene. Denise did not interrupt.