Page 7

Chapter Six

Britain sat across from her father, staring down at the breakfast that filled her styrofoam plate. She could feel his deep, rich chocolate eyes searing into her, observing the deepest portions of her soul. Remy had questions, but he wasn't sure if it was his place to ask. He had only known his daughter for all of five months, and he didn't want to overstep.

"Can you just please?—"

"Stop staring," Remy let out in unison with Britain. He knew exactly what his daughter was thinking and what she was about to say, just as she knew exactly what he wanted to ask.

Remy leaned back in his wooden dining chair with an amused chuckle. He wiped the corners of his mouth of any lingering crumbs from the biscuit he had as part of his breakfast. This time, Britain took the time to eye her father. For a man his age, he was fit and looked great. His caramel skin was blemish free and often glowed after he smoked his morning blunt. He was muscular after his many years he spent working out in jail. When she first encountered Remy, whose full name was Jeremy Pharoah Demings, Britain thought she had made some mistake. He looked like more of a friend than a father. However, his hearty soul and coarse voice let Britain know that he could discipline her if she needed to be, even if she was 28 years old.

His tattoos were Britain’s favorite thing about her father. She recalled a time when she asked him what his story was, and he simply rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, extending his inked arms and hands to her. His two arms were the only parts on his body that he canvassed with ink. Remy felt like his hands touched and experienced far more than many people had. He'd touched dope, held a gun, consoled loved ones, and counted money from all around the world with his hands and arms.

"Yes, please stop staring," Britain continued while she forked up another piece of her breakfast sausage and ate it.

Remy smirked. One thing he learned from being around his daughter was that she never held anything back. It was a trait she inherited from her mother. Britain had a lethal tongue and always said what was on her mind. It was a trait that sometimes had consequences, but she always fought her way out of them.

"You remind me of your mother. How is she anyway?" Remy asked as his mind wandered back to Seven Jewel. She was a beauty. Many would say she should have been a model since her beauty was so striking. She had a set of full pouty lips. With her big doe eyes accompanied by lengthy lashes that curled up at the ends, she could swoon anyone. Britain always wanted her mother's confidence. Seven was positive she was one of the most beautiful women on earth. Britain cleared her throat.

"She's fine. Finally got that private practice opened." A smile grew into Britain's face. Her mother had achieved a lifelong goal.

"She still look good in scrubs?" Remy smirked.

Britain screwed her face up in disgust. "Ew! That's my mom."

Remy threw his head back in laughter. "Well, I know that Britain. I made you right along with her," Remy snickered jokingly as he reminded his daughter.

Britain rolled her eyes. "If you must know, Mama still looks great in her scrubs, and she prefers them yellow since it compliments her skin tone." A light smile took over her face again at the thought of her mother.

Remy swiped his tongue over his lips before a smooth chuckle eased out. "I remember the day I met your mama."

"Really?" Britain’s curiosity was piqued. Seven never talked about Remy much. She always deemed him as a road she never should have gone down, but she was glad she did since Britain was the outcome of their two souls intertwining. Remy nodded his head with a smile of his own.

"Yeah, could you tell me? Ma never talks about you," Britain absentmindedly let out, causing Remy's smile to weaken.

Remy cleared his throat before returning his face back to the smile he had before, not wanting to dwell on the disappointing piece of information Britain had just let slip. "I had just turned 21 on New Year’s Day, and my boy Ronnie threw this big ass party for me out in Queens. I wasn't really feeling it that night since a week before, my little cousin got gunned down by some niggas I was beefing with. Everybody was smoking, drinking, and dancing, and all I could do was just sit off to the side and think about how I had to get justice for my cousin. He was innocent and ain't have shit to do with what I had going on. About an hour into the party, I had downed an entire bottle. I just wanted to get drunk legally and be depressed." Remy paused for a light laugh as he reminisced.

"I remember she took a seat next to me with the snottiest look on her face. She really ain't belong in that type of scene, and everyone knew it. Me being the nice guy I am, I tried starting up conversation to get her mind off the fact that she was not enjoying her time out. I asked her who she came with and why she was there, and she went on to say, "my ditzy-ass friend dragged me up here ‘cause her whack-ass baby daddy throwing this dumb-ass party for his nobody-ass friend from Harlem." That was the first time I laughed that week."

Both Britain and Remy laughed loudly since they were both aware of Seven's mouth. She called it how she saw it. Sometimes, people were pleased and praised by her bluntness, while other times, they were offended. "So, me being me, I go on and act like I'm not the nobody-ass friend from Harlem," Remy continued. "I start asking her who exactly was that cat from Harlem, and she gone say, "who fucking knows, and who gives a fuck? Probably some washed-up-ass nigga who feel like he the shit ‘cause his birthday on New Year’s." I keep on baiting her by agreeing with her. She spent at least fifteen minutes dragging me for filth without knowing I was the washed-up-ass nigga she was lighting up."

Remy laughed hysterically just like he did when everything was occurring. "She finally shut the hell up when her ditzy-ass friend Mya came up to me to wish me a happy birthday. You should've seen the look on her face when she realized she was talking mad shit about me in my face, and I let her. She was about to apologize, but then she caught herself and said, "I meant all that shit, and I ain't taking it back. You really just sat there and took all that? You got heart little nigga." I ain't never had no female speak to me like that. I always used to say if a broad ever disrespected me or talked to me crazy, I would handle her, but when she did, I couldn't help but laugh and brush it off."

Britain tried her best to control her laughter, but Remy was letting her in on her mother's old self, and it was hilarious. Seven was now professional and poised, and she tried her best not to use foul language, but she still managed to keep her authenticity. "My mama did not say all that, now!" Britain shook her head in denial.

Remy nodded with some laughter. "I'm telling you she did. The Seven I knew ain't hold nothing back."

Britain sighed. "She didn't change you know." She could sense her father getting lost in his thoughts of his past with Seven. At one point, Remy thought Seven was the only good in the world. She was the love of his life, but they were going two separate directions in life. Remy was headed toward a jail cell, and Seven was working on a successful medical career.

Remy shrugged his shoulders in a dismissive manner. "Her last name did. That's enough change for me, quite honestly."

Britain could sense the conversation taking a turn down a path she didn't like. The last thing she wanted to do was discuss her mother's business with her father. If things were meant to be, then they would be. Britain felt like it wasn’t her place.

"How do you know Priest?" Britain’s question rang in Remy's ears. His eyes scanned her. Britain kept her head down and her brown orbs focused on her plate.

"Priest?" Remy hiked one of his brows up. "What is it to you?"

"I want to know," Britain eased out, never being one to beat around the bush. "It just doesn't seem like you two come from the same side of the tracks," Britain assumed with a shrug of her shoulders, causing her bob cut hair to sway with her movements.

"What you know about my side of the tracks, girl?" Remy chuckled at his daughter’s assumption.

She smiled lightly before shrugging her shoulders once more. "I don't know, dad. You've kept it open with me, and I feel like I've known you long enough to know you aren't some silver spoon-fed guy. Priest on the other hand… I don't know."

As a journalist, Britain spent a lot of time observing. Although Priest made it clear that his stories were all over The Times, Britain shied away from reading any. She did, however, graze over a few headlines that were written in the paper. Priest was always being deemed as harsh, crude, and filthy fucking rich.

Britain was aware she couldn’t always believe the press, but she had to admit the paper had her wondering.

What exactly could Priest have done?

"I've known Priest since he was thirteen years old." Britain eyed her father as he patted the front pockets of his jeans, retrieving a lighter. She could have sworn her father pulled the blunt he had perched in his lips from thin air because she hadn't noticed it before he placed it to his lips. "He was born in raised right here in East Harlem?—"

Britain held her hand up, signaling her father to halt. "I didn't ask for his story. I could hear that from him. I asked do you know him," Britain clarified for her father who seemed to take her question out of context.

Remy’s lips were pulled lightly into a smirk as he sparked his blunt. "He was a little nigga around the neighborhood who always used to get himself into trouble over dumb shit. When I met him, he was at the basketball courts about to throw hands with some other little nigga, but I stopped it before they got the chance. When he told me his name, I knew exactly who he came from, and I’ve been looking out for him ever since." He shrugged before steaming himself out from the intake of smoke he took in from his blunt.

Britain nodded her head. "You're giving me his contact."

Remy took another pull of his blunt. The aroma of the maple leaf intertwining with the sticky ganja filled Britain's nose. Weed wasn't foreign to her, but it always intrigued her how open her father was with smoking it in front of her. Remy was truly nothing like Seven. He was willing to reveal his ugly, dark past to keep people from making the same mistakes he did. Seven, on the other hand, concealed everything.

"I don't think that'll be necessary," Remy shrugged. He had nothing against Priest since he had practically raised the young man since he was thirteen, but Britain was his baby girl. He didn't want her getting entangled in the mess Priest had gotten himself caught up in. The FBI and the DEA were hot on Priest's tail, and they were enough red flags for Remy.

Britain adjusted her posture in her seat before tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear. "I wasn't asking," she clarified for her father.

A smooth chuckle filtrated out of Remy. Britain reminded him more and more of Seven each day, and she had a point. She was a full-grown adult who could do as she pleased. Remy really had no room to hinder her from doing what she wanted. Although he didn't want a connection to form between Priest and his daughter, he extracted his phone from his pocket anyway. Despite his hesitation and reluctance, he recited the best number to get in contact with Priest out to Britain who jotted it down on the dial pad of her phone. Remy watched as Britain saved the number, her face contorted with question and curiosity.

Remy knew that look anywhere. Seven made that same face when he formally introduced himself as Jeremy Demings at his birthday party. It was the look that said, “I want to indulge without knowing exactly what I'm indulging in.” That look was what led to everything. Remy was hoping Britain had acquired her brains from her mother. He didn't want her getting into anything she couldn't get herself out of.

After a few more minutes of enjoying each other's company, Britain wrapped up her morning stay at her father's house, and he walked her to her car. "I'll be back tomorrow for lunch. How does that sound?" she asked as she scanned the empty midday slot in her agenda on her phone.

Remy nodded with a warm smile. "I'll be here waiting." He held the door of her Dodge Charger open for her. Britain thanked her father for his chivalrous treatment before saying goodbye. He wished her a safe drive to her next destination before taking a step back so she could head off.

As Britain drove to the scheduled date she had with Jadey and a few other ladies she really didn't enjoy being around, her mind wandered off to thoughts of Priest. Shockingly, she wasn't simply gawking over how scrumptious he looked the two times she'd encountered him, or how his voice drew puddles into her panties. She was thinking about him personally. His story, the way he grew up, his success, and his potential downfall. He was more complex than anyone she had ever come into passing with, which was crazy since they never got the chance to speak more than ten minutes. Was he that scrupulous?

Arriving at the small boutique that was only ten minutes away from the busy life of Manhattan, Britain parked her car in the parking garage before taking the elevator to the ground level. Upon entrance, Britain was greeted by a welcoming employee who offered her a glass of champagne, which she accepted. Taking a small sip from her glass, she let her heels lead the way to Jadey and the huddle of women she considered friends while Britain considered them a rally of dunces and ignorant Republicans.

Masking her face with a light smile, Britain felt all eyes pour onto her. She was late. "Hey Brit! I was about to send a search party out for you." Jadey laughed lightly, evoking laughter from the women accompanying her.

Britain shot her a tight-lipped smile. Being friends with each other for fifteen years meant Jadey knew her well enough to be able to read the expression on her face, which told her Britain really wasn't looking forward to being around the other women. "I'm here now." Britain awkwardly rocked back and forth in her heels.

She greeted the rest of the ladies before tuning them out and ultimately focusing on Jadey. Although Britain had successfully endured one of Jadey's weddings, she was set to endure one more. Jadey, who was originally from Nigeria, had committed her time to having two different weddings to please the cultural needs of her and her husband Kaymen. She had just wrapped up her traditional American wedding, but now she was planning her traditional Nigerian wedding. Just like the first time, Jadey wanted the help of all her bridesmaids throughout the process.

"I still haven't decided what colors I want to do. My mother says salmon pink and gold, but Kaymen isn't going for it. He doesn't think he should wear such a feminine color." Jadey rolled her eyes at her husband’s logic. After being together for three years, the couple still managed to give each other culture shocks day after day. Kaymen was always skeptical of Jadey's Nigerian practices and traditions, while Jadey was always reluctant to conform to Kaymen's American lifestyle. She had only lived in the States for nine years, so things were still new to her.

"Ugh," Jadey groaned. "Brit, you're so much better at this than me."

Britain chuckled at her friend. She had to admit, if she hadn't pulled the reins from Jadey's grip while planning the first wedding, there wouldn't have been a first wedding. Britain kept things organized and running smoothly. However, this time around, Britain didn't think she could do it. She didn't even know where to start when planning a traditional Nigerian wedding.

"How about you include Kaymen in the decision of the colors? You want something bright, and he wants something more masculine. You two should be able to compromise," Britain calmed her panicked friend.

"Yeah, what Britney said," Caroline, who Britain had mentally renamed Clueless , agreed with her, all the while butchering her name.

" Britain ," the entire group of five women all corrected Caroline.

She giggled cluelessly before nodding her head. "Right. Britain."

Bitch, you knew my name.

"Oh, your mother and father will have a field day with Ms. Clueless.” Britain rolled her eyes in annoyance as she and Jadey looked around the boutique together without the rest of the ladies.

Jadey tried her best not to draw attention to her laughter at Britain's remark. "Stop it. Caroline is nice."

Britain scoffed. "And dumb," she added. "You know your mom gets heated quick. I don't know why you asked Airhead to be a part of this wedding alongside your mother."

Jadey glanced around to ensure no one else was listening to their conversation. "Airhead is our ticket to keeping this venue for my wedding free. Keep nice, whore." Britain couldn't help but laugh at how well Jadey was playing Caroline.

"Hell is awaiting you my good friend." Britain shook her head.

Jadey laughed. "I'll meet you down there." They high fived each other with shared laughter.

Britain and Jadey had been friends for more than half of their lives. The once pen-pals had dedicated their lives to being sisters to each other, and they were keeping that promise. When Jadey finally made the move from Nigeria to the U.S for college, Britain was ecstatic. Of course, she followed Jadey to Hampton University, and after graduation, they moved to New York, where Britain was originally from. The friend she had sent endless texts, emails, gifts and phone calls was finally in her arms’ reach. Their bond was truly unbreakable.

"So, what's been going on with you, Ms. I Have to Check My Schedule?" Jadey teased Britain for rarely being available. "I haven't seen much of you since the wedding."

"First off, you just got married. I want you to enjoy your husband. And nothing has been going on. Just hanging with my dad, work, and then working at the chiropractor with my mom," Britain explained as she picked up one of the blouses on display. She held the pastel pink silk blouse against her cocoa butter skin to see how well it complimented it. Not liking the look, she ultimately put the top back.

Jadey rolled her eyes. "Truth be told, I've seen more of you than I've seen of my husband. Kaymen is just always out working, like overtime."

"It's always been like that, Jadey. He's never comfortable, and you know that," Britain sighed.

Jadey nodded before taking a sip from her wine glass. Britain couldn't help but to scan her eyes over Jadey’s beauty, from the richness of her skin to the dark oak color that swirled in her orbs. Britain always told Jadey how much she resembled the Bratz doll she used to play with when she was younger. Jadey, who never really cared to realize how much of a hottie she truly was, always just laughed her off. Jadey was gorgeous.

"I know, Brit, but damn! Can I actually enjoy him being my husband?" she pouted. Kaymen's work required a lot of his time, and he sometimes spent days away. He always spared Jadey the details since he preferred his wife not to be involved in what he did to keep food on the table. Jadey was aware of her husband's occupation, but she played her role as a wife and left it at that. All she knew was that she would always be well protected, taken care of, and looked out for by Kaymen and the entourage of family he came with.

Britain placed an assuring hand on Jadey's shoulder. "He'll make time for you. He always does. Then, you’ll go back to complaining about how clingy he is."

Agreeing with Britain, Jadey let out some laughter with a nod of her head, no longer wanting to harp on the time missed with her husband. She then shifted her focus to Britain. "So, Brit-Brat," she eased out with a teasing smirk, causing Britain to immediately side eye her. "Will there be a special someone you're bringing to this wedding?"

Britain rolled her eyes, causing Jadey to exert a laugh. Britain was the definition of single. She stayed away from relationships after recovering from the mental and emotional strain Cameron had put her through. Men were the last thing on her list, but that never stopped her from lusting from afar. Britain was gorgeous. Men flocked to her day in and day out. She never found the urge to entertain them, though. Britain was aware of how hard she loved. She just preferred not entangle herself in another toxic situation that would leave her heartbroken and with an invite to her ex's wedding.

"No, ma'am, I do not have a date, and I would like to keep it that way, so whatever you're thinking, put it to rest."

"Oh, c'mon! My brother has liked you for years!" Jadey reminded Britain.

At the mention of Jadey's brother Kobe, Britain's eyes widened. "He's four years younger than me!" Britain screwed her face up in disgust. Dating younger was never her preference. She felt it would only make her feel like a babysitter. She preferred men the same age or a few years older than her.

Jadey smacked her plump lips. "Who gives a damn?"

"I do. Just think about it. When I was eighteen and getting my back blown out, he was fourteen and just learning how it felt to masturbate," Britain explained with a vigorous shake of her head.

Jadey couldn't contain the cackle that escaped her lips. "Alright, Brit. You win." She laid off pressuring her friend to give her brother a chance.

"I do want to ask you something, though," Britain eased out before taking another slow sip of her champagne. She really wasn't enjoying the drink, but she kept it for her convenience to blend in with the rest of the shoppers.

Jadey examined a pair of thigh-high boots before she nodded her head. "What is it?"

"Do you know Priest?" Britain asked Jadey. "Like personally?" Jadey had to know of Priest, he was included in her wedding. Britain just wanted to know the relationship he had with everyone she knew.

"Priest?" Jadey looked over her shoulder with one of her perfectly arched brows hiked up. "Yeah, that's Kaymen's best friend. I don't know much of him besides him being fine as hell," Jadey chuckled. "Kaymen took me out to this dinner a few months back, and Priest was hosting it. He seems like a nice, down to earth guy, but the press is cutting into his ass like he's some devil spawn, which is ironic since his name is Priest." Jadey shrugged her shoulders.

"The press really has it out for him. But why? It can’t be that bad. Is it?" Britain raised a brow.

In slight shock, Jadey turned to face Britain. "Girl, you work for The New York Times , and you mean to tell me you have no idea who this man is?" Jadey screwed her face up.

Britain let out a light laugh. "I don't work for The Times . I sell my pieces to The Times . Big difference," Britain corrected. Everyone always confused her freelance journalism work as big-time, money-making journalism work. The pieces she sold to The New York Times barely kept her afloat when it came to her bills, which was why she juggled the task of working at her mother's chiropractor office through most of the week. Balancing those two jobs kept her comfortable and happy. One was something she enjoyed, while the other kept her paid and got her checks signed by her mother.

"So, you haven't seen or read one article about Priest?" Jadey, who had no connection to the newspaper, made sure to tune in whenever they were front paging Priest. Most of the time, she just looked at the picture they chose for the article to secretly gawk at him, but other times, she actually read what the article had to offer.

Britain shook her head, causing Jadey's mouth to grow slightly agape. "Honey, he's the talk of New York right now." Britain watched her as she extracted her phone from her classic LV tote. Jadey was on the verge of pulling up each and every story pertaining to Priest, but Britain stopped her.

"No." Britain shook her head. "I don't want to read them. He agreed to give me his story." Jadey was familiar with Britain's line of work when it came to “Humans Of New York.” She preferred to hear stories from complete strangers. This left her begging to want to hear more and find value within the story. Britain knew if she dove in and read up on Priest, it would ruin her interest in his story.

Jadey's eyes widened slightly. "Well, are you gonna publish it?"

Britain shrugged her shoulders as she continued surveying the pieces within the boutique. "I don't know, Jadey. I haven't even gotten his story yet."

"Well, when you do get it, make sure you admire the fuck out of him for me," Jadey laughed. Priest was just something different. He wasn't too loud, nor was he too flashy. He let it be known he had it, but he was humble with it. That was any woman's dream.

Britain laughed along with Jadey before they collided for a playful high five. "I definitely will."

Later that day, Britain made use of Priest's contact and sent him a quick message.

Britain: I’m not sure if my dad played me with the contact info. Is this Priest?

It didn't take him long to respond.

Priest: If it’s Britain, then yeah, it is Priest.

After confirming it was Priest she was texting, Britain went straight to the point about his story.

Britain: Ready to tell me your story?

Seconds later, he hit her back with a double text.

Priest: Meet me at Eleven Madison Park @ 8 tmrw.

Don’t be late.

She was alarmed by the fact that Priest invited her out to such a high-class restaurant like Eleven Madison Park. She had never visited the restaurant, but she knew they served exquisite cuisine.

Exiting the message thread, Britain navigated to her online banking app. She checked the balances of her savings and checking accounts, smiling at the $2,000 deposit her mother had made to her just that morning.

"Well, I guess I can afford a slither or food at Eleven," Britain chuckled to herself before ultimately locking her phone.