Chapter Twelve - Jeremy

Early in the morning, on our second day in Miami, I met with my father by the pool.
“Papi, I gotta get a new apartment,” I stated matter-of-factly.
He looked at me over the steaming cup of coffee he held in his hand. “Why?”
“Marsha had a fight with her cousin, and she can’t live with her anymore.”
My father shook his head. “When do you think you’re gonna go back to school so you can get into law school?”
“I don’t know,” I lied, knowing full well I was never going back.
“Not running the legal team yet, but you need a new apartment to take care of a girl. When I brought you to the States, what did I tell you?” He set his coffee mug down on a coaster on the corner of the poolside table.
“No women.”
“Ah ha. And what? That silly Dominican girl turned up here, and you got involved with her. So I sent you to New York, and now you get involved with some stuck-up Antigua girl that you have to take care of. I thought this girl had her own money. Why do you have to get a new place for her?”
I fidgeted. “I love her, Papi. I care about her. I wanna do—”
“The right thing? Bagay san sans!”
“It’s not bullshit, Papi,” I protested.
“Oh oh! I thought you loved the little Dominican girl! I thought she was the one worth going against my word!” My father waved his arms around in frustration.
“Don’t get excited, Papi. I’ll figure it out. Never mind. Forget I brought it up.” I turned to head back into the house, considering what I would do next. My share of what the barbershop brought in was not enough to find a better apartment without my parents kicking me something extra. I thought about asking Lovelie for a loan, but she would ask too many questions, and then I’d get the same lecture from her about women.
“Jeremy!” my father bellowed before I could take another step.
I stopped in my tracks.
“Come here, son.”
I dragged my feet back in the direction of where my father was sitting.
“Sit down,” he motioned for me to sit in a seat caddy corner to him.
I checked my watch. My mother was still in the kitchen making breakfast. If Marsha didn’t wake up soon, I would have to wake her so that Mommy wouldn’t complain about her sleeping in late, on her first visit.
“Sit down,” my father said again.
I sat, hoping he would be quick. If the answer is no, what more could he have to say?
“Maybe you have too much responsibility.”
I had to stop my jaw from dropping. Papi had never said anything like that before.
“I’m thinking maybe managing Miami business so far away and figuring out how to go back to school is too much.” He clasped his hands together.
“I think I’ve been managing fine,” I said, not wanting him to snatch away my only income.
“No no no, I’m thinking we need to shift some things around.”
An anxious sweat broke out on the back of my neck. I needed him to get to the point, but I knew I couldn’t interrupt my father. I’d already riled the man up enough.
“Lovelie can take over the barbershop,” my father said, now rubbing his hands together.
My teeth scraped against each other.
“Since you’re not settled down. You don’t have any kids, you can help us move some things around.” My father lowered his chin to make sure I was getting his meaning.
I stretched my legs out and pulled them back in. “Okay, okay,” I said, not wanting to appear too eager or too lax.
“We will talk details later,” he said in a tone that let me know he was serious about handing me the responsibility of moving weight in New York. “For now,” he continued, “this is between me and you, but I’m really thinking you should manage all New York business.”
If I could’ve jumped for joy like a dancer in a Hammerstein musical Marsha had me watch, I would’ve. I had to maintain my cool as my father spoke, though. I was about to be fully responsible for the most important component of his family’s income: cocaine and guns.
“We’ll talk later,” Papi said, coming out of his own thoughts. “Still show your face at the barbershop today. I have to talk about this with your mother and Lovelie.”
I opened my mouth to protest Lovelie’s name, but Papi held up a finger. My shoulders sank, but not too deeply. If Lovelie had to be part of the conversation, then so be it. My father would have the final say-so, though.