Page 38 of Hold 'Em Tight

“Hi, baby.”

“Hi, Mom. How's the beach?”

“It's nice. You should join me. Get away from that wench.”

“Yeah, maybe in a few weeks. Classes start back up soon, and Missi won't be able to watch me as much.”

“Watch you?!”She huffs.“You are a grown man, Lennox. You're going to be a father. You don't need a babysitter.”

This isn't the first time we have had this talk, so I just hem and haw at the appropriate times as she continues her rant.

“I just want you to be happy, Lennox. I want you to have a good life. That’s all a mother wishes for her son.”

Sighing, I stand and walk over to the fridge, grabbing a drink. “I know, Mom. I know, but it doesn’t look like that’s happening any time soon, so we just need to deal with it. I miss you.”

Opening the cap, I take a sip, waiting for her to say something else.

“Maybe I should come home. If I’m there, it might distract Missi and give you some more space.”

I’m immediately shaking my head, even though she can’t see me. “No. Stay where you are. Dad is supposedly coming back. I don’t need anything happening to you. You’re free, Mom.”

I listen to her growl before she rants about how my father is a worthless asshole. The doorbell rings, so I end the call after saying, “Mom, listen, I have to go, but I love you.”

I walk toward the front door, but Missi is already there, flirting with the young delivery driver. He has a pallet of packages and a tablet for her to sign.

“What’s all this?”

Missi turns and gives me a grin. “I just bought a few essentials for the baby.”

I grunt, fighting not to roll my eyes. Our child already has a stacked nursery, a play room, and a spot in my bedroom for the first few months.

I look at the labels on the packages and scoff.

“Yeah, looks like it. I wonder what Sephora, Chanel, Gucci, and Prada would have for a fetus.”

Missi fake giggles, putting on a show for the delivery man, while glaring at me.

“Happy momma, happy baby,” she simps, then yawns and stretches. “Lenny can show you where to put those. Thank you so much, cutie.”

She leaves us and I watch as she walks up the stairs.

I grab some of the bags and head to the living room. “You can just dump her shit there,” I tell the guy, and his eyes widen.

He's probably confused at the way I'm dismissing the mother of my child, but I don't care. I'm too tired to keep playing this charade.

The fake bump photos on social media, all of her stupid TikToks, the interviews with the press about this sham of a wedding. It never ends. Missi has always been a menace, clinging to me for my father’s status, but now that she has her press-ons firmly implanted in my life, she is eating up all of the attention.

It’s all lies, but who would believe me? And better yet, I can never tell anyone. That video could ruin us all.

He brings in the last package and I hand him some cash as a tip. “Thanks, man. Imm, good luck.”

He exits the house and I watch as he runs to his van and drives away.I wish I could do that.

Missi has hidden all the car keys and changed the gate code on me. I'm trapped here, unless she needs me to take her somewhere.

I slam the door and try not to wince as it automatically locks. Missi is standing at the top of the stairs with her phone in her hand, setting the alarm.

“I'm disappointed in you, Lenny,” she says, walking down the steps, shaking her head.