He Pushed the Dad Who Raised Him

Curtis laughed too loud.

"Keyonna, come on. Let the boy get in the door." He threw an arm around Jalen's shoulders and steered him toward the kitchen. "Don't mind her. She's been watching too many medical shows."

Keyonna didn't laugh. She went back to the TV.

Jalen looked at the bandage on Curtis's arm. "What happened to your arm?"

"Nothing. Blood test. I'm getting old, man. Doctors love poking you when you're old." Curtis opened the fridge. "You want something? I got soda. I got... soda."

He grinned. Jalen grinned back, a little. He wanted so badly for this to be good.

They stayed up until four talking.

Curtis told stories. About growing up on the east side. About meeting Denise at a roller rink when she was eighteen. About the night Jalen was born, and how Curtis had cried in the hospital parking lot because he was so scared.

"Then what?" Jalen asked. "Why'd you leave?"

Curtis's face changed for a second.

"I didn't leave," he said. "I got locked up. Stupid stuff. Wrong place, wrong time. When I got out, your mom had already moved on with Mr. Perfect. And he told me, if you come near my family, I'll call the cops."

"His family," Jalen said bitterly.

"His family," Curtis repeated. "Like you were a car he bought."

Jalen slept on the couch that night. Curtis gave him a blanket that smelled like smoke.

When he woke up at ten, his phone had forty-one missed calls. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Gerald. Mom. Aunt Tasha. Gerald. Gerald. Gerald.

And one text from Gerald, sent at six in the morning.

I'm not mad. I just need to know you're safe. You don't have to come home. Just tell me you're safe.

Jalen stared at it for a long time. He typed: I'm safe. Then he deleted it. Then he put the phone face down on the floor.

Curtis was in the bathroom. The door wasn't all the way closed. And he was on the phone.

Jalen wasn't trying to listen. But the apartment was small, and Curtis's voice carried.

"No, he's here. He came last night." A pause. "I know, I know. Three weeks. October thirty-first. Then he's eighteen, then he can sign the consent himself. He don't need his mama's permission for nothing."

Jalen sat up on the couch.

"Doc said blood type's the same. That's a good start. They gotta do the rest of the tests, but... yeah. I told you. Kid's desperate for a daddy. He'll do whatever I tell him."

Another pause. Then Curtis laughed. A short, dry laugh.

"Man, I didn't come looking for him 'cause I missed him. I came looking 'cause I'm dying."

The toilet flushed.

Jalen was standing in the middle of the living room when Curtis came out.

Curtis saw his face. And he knew.

"Jalen..."

"What do you need?"

"Hey. Hey, listen..."

"What do you need from me?"

Keyonna muted the TV. She didn't say anything. She just watched.

Curtis sat down heavily on a kitchen chair. He rubbed his face with both hands. When he looked up, the grin was gone.

"My kidneys quit two years ago," he said. "Dialysis three times a week. Four hours a pop. That's what the bandage is. The doctors say I got maybe a year. Maybe less. My brothers won't get tested. Keyonna's not a match. I'm on the list, but the list is long, and I'm not exactly first in line."

"So you found me."

"You're my son."

"I'm your spare parts," Jalen said.

Curtis flinched. "It's not like that."

"You asked me my blood type before you asked me my favorite food. You asked when I turn eighteen three times. You said they wouldn't let you see me. Was that a lie too?"

Curtis didn't answer.

Jalen's voice got louder. "Was it?"

"I was twenty-two!" Curtis shouted. "I wasn't ready to be nobody's daddy! I got out, and your mama had a man with a job and a house, and I figured you were better off. Okay? I figured you were better off without me. And you were."

The truth sat in the room like a smell.

Jalen grabbed his backpack. His hands were shaking.

"Jalen, wait. Please. Just get tested. That's all I'm asking. Just the test. You don't even have to talk to me after."

Jalen opened the front door.

Then he stopped.

There was a car parked across the street. A gray Camry with a dented back bumper. Jalen had learned to drive in that car. He'd thrown up in the back seat after a birthday party when he was eight.

Gerald was sitting behind the wheel.

He didn't look like he'd slept. He didn't honk. He didn't get out. He was just sitting there, with both hands on the steering wheel, watching the door.

Like he'd been waiting all night.

Behind Jalen, there was a thud.

He turned around. Curtis had gotten up too fast. His legs had given out, and he was on the kitchen floor, gray-faced, gasping.

Keyonna screamed.

And Jalen stood in the doorway, frozen between the man on the floor who'd given him his blood and the man in the car who'd given him everything else.