Concrete Rose (The Hate U Give, #0)(10)

It sounded like what Keisha went through after she had Andreanna. I think Ma called it “postpartum depression.”

“You seen a doctor?” I asked Iesha.

“I don’t need a doctor.”

“Nah, for real. Dre’s girl dealt with that and—”

“I said I don’t need a doctor, Maverick! I’m handling it myself.”

“Fine.” Wasn’t no point in arguing. “How long you think you need?”

The phone line got real quiet. Next thing I knew, I got the dial tone.

I told Ma what happened.

“That poor child. Postpartum is rough,” she said. “Yolanda’s probably not getting her any help either. Jesus. We may need to prepare to have the baby for a while, Maverick. Might need to call Cousin Gary and discuss some options.”

Maaaan, that fool is the worst. He a lawyer and live in the suburbs with his white wife and their kids. Ask me when he come around the fam? Never. He think we ghetto and want his money. Cornball ass. Don’t nobody want his money.

I don’t want his help either. Iesha need a little break, that’s all. I pray to God I’m right, ’cause it’s only been two days, and this boy putting me through it. That first night was hell. He wanted to be held most of the time or else he’d cry, so I basically kept him in my arms. When I put him in his crib, he woke up every hour. That meant I had to wake up and feed him or change his diaper. I never seen so much poop in my life.

Saturday and Sunday, it was the same thing. Crying, pooping, peeing. Crying, pooping, peeing. I’m exhausted after one weekend.

Today finna be real interesting. It’s Monday, and Ma going back to work, meaning I gotta take care of my son by myself. At least this weekend Ma was here if I messed up. I told her that and she was like, “Being a parent usually means there’s nobody who can come fix things. That’s now your job.”

That’s scary as hell.

Ma run around the kitchen, checking the cabinets and refrigerator as she jot down a list. Dre gotta make some runs for Aunt ’Nita later and offered to take me to the grocery store. We need all kinds of stuff for my son. Of course, Ma thinking of fifty-leven other things she want.

“I’m adding cornmeal to the list, Maverick,” Ma says. “Make sure you get the big bag. Moe wants to fry some catfish this weekend. Oh, and get some of that creole seasoning. You know she’ll have a fit if there’s no creole seasoning.”

Ma’s best friend, Moe, come over and cook for us sometimes. She can throw down on some catfish. “Yes, ma’am,” I say, through a yawn. Li’l Man kept waking up last night. Surprised he asleep now.

“Now, if something comes up today, call me at work,” Ma says. “Also Mrs. Wyatt is next door, and your aunt ’Nita is only a phone call away. Your granny told me to tell you she’s a call away.” Ma shake her head. “That woman’s a fool for you.”

Granny live out in the country on the family land, thirty minutes away. She’d probably make that a fifteen-minute drive if I called.

I ain’t gon’ do that to her or nobody else. “I won’t need help.” I say what a man should. “I got this.”

Ma stare at me for a second. She come and kiss my forehead.

“You’ll be okay,” she murmurs.

Soon, she crank her car up in the driveway. The engine hum and hum till it fade away, and I’m all alone with my son.

I peek in on him real quick. I had to move my stereo and all my CDs to fit his crib in my room. Man, that was hard. I got the best CD collection in the neighborhood, bet that. Hundreds of joints. Had them stacked in a tower shelf in alphabetical order. Now they scattered over the dining room table.

All that for Li’l Man. He knocked out in his crib with his arms stretched above his head. His eyebrows wrinkled like they always be. I think he dream of ways to solve all the problems in the world.

I watch him for a minute. Tired as I am, I love him more than I can say. It’s kinda wild, since I only really known him for a few days. I turn on Andreanna’s old baby monitor and give his forehead a kiss like Ma gave me.

I throw myself across the living room couch. I think the hardest part of all of this is not knowing when it’s gon’ end. Either Iesha gon’ come get our son or he’ll chill the hell out. School start the week after next, and the thought of going there while dealing with him don’t seem possible.

I grab the cordless phone. I kinda wanna call Lisa since we didn’t talk all weekend, but that might mean telling her what’s going on. Instead, I dial King’s beeper. I need to holla at him ’bout this drug situation, plus I wanna make sure we cool. He gotta know the baby mine by now.

I page him. Knowing King, it’ll take a while before he get back to me. I stretch out on the couch and pull Ma’s throw blanket over me. Right as I start to fall asleep, the phone ring.

I can’t catch a damn break. I snatch it off the coffee table. “Hello?”

“Hello!” an automated voice says. “You have a collect call from—”

“Adonis,” his voice cut in.

I sit up. Pops never call in the morning. Only in the evenings when Ma home. Something gotta be wrong. I press 1 to accept the call. “Pops?”

“Hey, Mav Man!” Somehow his voice always light when he talk to me, like he on a business trip and not in prison. “What mess your momma cook today?”