Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 142866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
“I’m not, Dad. I’m not all set and ready to go. I want to defer for a year.”
“What?” I struggle to hold onto calm. “You’ve wanted to go to Stanford for as long as I can remember.”
“And I still do, but next year.” She sets her mouth into a familiar firm line. “You deferred a year.”
“Yeah, and I ended up never finishing.”
“No, you ended up receiving an honorary degree because you accomplished so much even without staying there four years.”
“You don’t know what you’re—”
“You’re right, Dad. I don’t know, so let me find out. Pop let you figure things out, defer a year. Do different things. Take some chances. Let me follow in your footsteps.”
“That’s just it. There are no footsteps. Just a whole bunch of false starts and stumbles and risks that I don’t want you to have to take.”
Over Tamia’s shoulder, I spot LaTanya walking past. The hell if I’m navigating this alone.
“LaTanya!” I call. “Could you come here, please?”
One of my best friends and the mother of my only child steps into view. Long braids flow down to her waist. Her honey-brown skin, the exact shade of Tamia’s, is flawless and unlined even as she just hit her forty-eighth birthday.
“You summoned?” she asks dryly, leaning over Tamia’s shoulder to catch my eyes on the screen.
“Have you heard your daughter’s plan to delay college?”
“I have,” she answers. “And can’t say I’m surprised. Why are you?”
I’m momentarily at a loss for words, but that doesn’t last long. Never does.
“What do you mean you’re not surprised?” I demand.
“She’s your daughter, Mav. What’d you expect, raising her the way you have? Letting her sit in on meetings, traipsing all over the world, giving her a front-row seat for all your business ventures and not expect it to shape who she is? What she wants from life? Of course she wants to invest in something like this.”
“Invest in…” My eyes ping between my daughter and LaTanya. “What investment?”
“Thanks, Mom,” Tamia mutters, rolling her eyes. “I hadn’t quite gotten to that part yet.”
“What investment?” I repeat.
“There’s a few pieces of property here I’m interested in buying,” Tamia says. “Just some housing projects that—”
“Shit, Tam.” I huff out a breath. “Are you kidding me? You’re only eighteen.”
“You were only twenty-two when you launched True Playahs,” she points out.
“She’s right.” LaTanya smirks. “I was there.”
“The two of you are ganging up on me.” I shake my head. “I knew it was a mistake to let you spend the summer with your mother. She’s a bad influence.”
“Let?” Tamia asks. “I’m eighteen, Dad. The days of letting are done.”
“At least send the specs over,” I sigh. “Let me get Bolt on it. I want to know this is a good venture before you sink money into it.”
“Already have the figures pulled,” Tamia says. “Mom said you’d ask for that.”
“I’m that predictable, huh?” I ask, yielding a small crease of a smile.
They both laugh and I give up trying to dissuade Tamia from the course she’s set. She is like me. Once we have something in our sights that we want, good luck convincing us we can’t have it.
For some reason, Hendrix Barry invades my thoughts, like she has so often since the night we met. The pull between us was even stronger at the Vipers game. With my rational mind, I know pursuing something with Hendrix would be awkward, but that same obstinate glint I see in my daughter’s eyes, I know it’s always in mine.
I’ve built my fortune on risks everyone told me weren’t worth taking. It’s honed my instincts so I know a good thing when I see it.
And Hendrix Barry is a good thing.
CHAPTER 18
HENDRIX
Girl, I know that’s right,” Aunt Geneva says, her voice booming all over the house.
Is there a certain age when talking on speaker phone is the default? Because every call my mother and Aunt Geneva take seems to require them to use speaker so the whole house is subjected to both sides of their conversation.
“Goodness gracious!” her friend cackles loudly from the other end. “I might have to run around the church on that one.”
“God is good,” Aunt Geneva says.
“All the time,” her friend replies.
“And all the time,” Aunt Geneva says.
“God is good,” they finish together.
Though I’m not in church regularly anymore, it’s a call-and-response script so familiar and somehow comforting, that I’m smiling as I review my schedule for the day on my iPad.
“All right, Hen,” Aunt Geneva says, walking into the kitchen wearing leggings and a long T-shirt declaring Virginia Beach Is for Lovers. “I’m gonna head out to the store. Pick up some fish for dinner. You sure you’ll be all right till I come back?”
“Aunt G, she’s my mother,” I say. “We’ll be fine long enough for you to run to the store.”
“Yeah, but a lot has changed. Make sure the locks are done up while you’re on your calls. You know the code. Even with the doors locked, just to be safe, don’t leave your keys out. Once the code wasn’t set and she got out. Tried to drive. Got all the way to South Carolina.”