A House Is Not a Home (17 page)

Some would call their relationship strange. Bizarre. Even unreal. After all, there probably aren't many heterosexual women who, upon learning that the father of her child is not heterosexual, would allow his significant male other to continue to play a role in that child's life.

But Crystal isn't your (stereo)typical Baby Mama and theirs isn't your (stereo)typical Baby Mama Drama Tale.

After Crystal became Mrs. Winston Sledge in June 1997, Mitchell felt it was time for Raheim to tell her the truth about himself—and them. Of course, he balked. But Mitchell pressed him, arguing that now was as jood (and, in some respects, safe) a time as any. She didn't react the way Raheim thought; she didn't cry, curse, or carry on. Yes, she was upset, hurt, angry, even confused. But it wasn't because she felt jilted or rejected because Raheim was now with a man; she had moved on and found a man of her own who made her very happy.

And it wasn't because Raheim introduced Mitchell into their son's life and presented him as one thing when he was something else. Would she have agreed to let her son have an openly gay man for a godfather? She admitted she probably wouldn't have (even though her son's father wasn't straight). But she was a very different person back then and would not have given him the chance to prove that he was worthy. Whatever concerns or fears she might have had had already been erased by the time the truth was out.

It was about Raheim. He was, at least on the surface, bisexual—if not in his orientation at least in his expression. Even if he wasn't gay all the way he was gay
half
the way, and even she knew that didn't happen overnight. He'd known all along; he
had
to. And that was the kicker: he had not only been able to fool her, he'd also made a fool
of
her. It wasn't about whether he wasn't man enough or she was too much woman (which is what too many women ignorantly and arrogantly reduce these situations to). It was about playing with her emotions, playing with her heart, playing with her love. And not only did he play with her, he
played
her by bringing the person who, in at least a figurative sense, was standing in the way of her family really being a family. No matter what Raheim said, no matter what he did over the years, she had faith that they would one day be a them again. And even though she had a husband, a new family of her own, there was still a tiny part of her that felt Mitchell had taken
her
place. And was helping to raise
her
son. With
her
baby's daddy. The man she wanted to be
her
husband.

If Mitchell had been in her shoes, he would've blown a gasket, too.

She felt betrayed. Deceived. Used. The love, the life they shared, had been a masquerade. An act. A lie. And if she felt she could not trust the father of her son, a man she thought she knew for a decade, how could she trust his . . . his . . .
friend
with her son?

But she got over the shock, and then shocked Mitchell when, just a month after getting the news, called and requested to talk with him in person. He hadn't expected to hear from her—especially since, according to Raheim, she promised that “He will never see
my
son again.” Mitchell knew that that might be the price he had to pay but just prayed she would come around sooner rather than later.

They met at a coffee shop not far from where she worked on a rainy Saturday afternoon. It's a meeting that Raheim was not (and, as far as she knows, still isn't) privy to. She didn't want to know all the details of their “affair” (as she labeled it)—where they met, when it began, when they started seeing each other exclusively. She wanted to talk about the person who would be most affected by the revelation and its aftermath: Junior.

“I see how jood you are with him,” she observed. “I see how much he enjoys being with you. And . . . I know he doesn't want that to stop.”

“It doesn't have to.”

“No. It doesn't.” She sighed heavily. “I'm . . . I'm just having a hard time digesting everything. And I guess I don't feel . . .”

“Safe?”

“Yeah.”

“I can't say I know how you feel. But I don't feel safe right now either.”

“Why?”

“I . . . I'm afraid of losing them. It was the hardest thing in the world for Raheim to tell you and Junior. We knew that it wouldn't be easy on anyone and that there was a chance . . . things might not be the same again. Telling you both could send Raheim over the edge; he's trying to hold it together, but I know he's on shaky ground. And Junior . . .” He took a deep breath. “I know what it's like to have the world you thought you lived in suddenly change overnight and not know what to do, to not know what your place in it is.”

She considered what he said. “To keep it a secret this long . . . it must have been hard on you.”

“I hated
being
the secret. Or, rather, the
open
secret. I always felt that you . . . might have been suspicious. That you . . . knew.”

“Uh . . . I wouldn't say that I
knew
knew. But I knew something was . . . up. He didn't have any other girlfriends—or at least he didn't bring any around me and Junior. That alone didn't mean much; I dated a few men but never brought them around him or Junior. But he did bring
you
around. I saw the way Junior interacted with you—and the way Raheim was trying
not
to interact with you. One day my mother asked, ‘Do you think they could be?' And I said, ‘They could be what?' And she said, ‘
You
know what.' I told her no, but I had thought it before. I guess I didn't want to recognize that it might be so. That she had seen it, too, and verbalized it . . . hearing about it out loud scared me. So I just ignored it. So long as
I
didn't speak it, it wasn't and couldn't be so.”

“Raheim decided to be blind to it, too. Thinking no one could see how he felt for me.”

“I . . . I don't want to hate him. Or you. I suppose it would be easy to do. It would also be very convenient and a waste of time. The fact is, I don't want any of us to suffer—not even Raheim, no matter how mad I am at him right now.” She sighed heavily again. “I guess that's what we get.”

He stared at her, puzzled.

“Falling in love with the same man.”

He acknowledged that with a nod.

“And, we've both had our hearts broken by him.”

His eyes widened.

“Lucky guess.” She shrugged.

A very jood guess.

“And . . . we both love his son.”

He placed his hand on hers. It meant so much to hear her say that. She smiled; Mitchell was reminded of why Raheim had nicknamed her Sunshine.

“Junior knows that I . . . well, I am
uncomfortable
, as he put it, with everything. But no matter how uncomfortable I may be, the last thing I want him to do is be uncomfortable and think that whatever is going on between his mommy and daddy is his fault. So . . . could you help?”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Just continue doing what you've been doing. I'm still working out my feelings. Some things I'm not sure of. But one thing I am sure of is your devotion to him. And there's no reason why he shouldn't continue to receive that devotion, especially at a time when things are so . . . unstable.”

He caressed her hand. “However I can be there, I will be.”

“Thanks.”

“You don't have to thank me; it's a blessing, being there for him, for all of you. And, he may not be able to see it right now, but Raheim is very lucky that you are the mother of his son.”

She rolled her eyes. “Raheim is lucky he has
us
to put up with him.”

They laughed. And then they spent the next two hours comparing notes about the man they'd both fallen in love with—and the little boy they both loved.

They made a pact that day to do all they could to ensure that Junior felt safe—even if they didn't.

That she was able to face and come to terms with all of this was a testament to her maturity (not to mention jood common sense). The resentment toward Raheim didn't disappear overnight; that took a few years. She didn't, though, direct any of it toward Mitchell. While Mitchell thought Mrs. Rivers, Raheim's mother, was the cheerleader most responsible for Crystal's turnaround (upon being told by her son that he and Mitchell were a couple, she exclaimed, “Tell me something I
don't
know!” and immediately called Mitchell to express her pleasure in having a “son-in-law” like him), someone else indirectly influenced her handling this situation with such a level head: Raheim's father. Mr. Rivers had abandoned Raheim and his mother when Raheim was five, and Raheim was still dealing with the residual effects of that. Crystal realized that keeping Mitchell away from Junior when his development had been positively impacted by Mitchell's presence for half his life could seriously jeopardize his current (and future) mental and emotional health. She didn't want Junior to be torn up and conflicted as Raheim had been, filled with so much angst and anger. And she wasn't about to be one of those bitter mothers who puts her own ambivalent feelings, selfish needs, or misguided beliefs ahead of her child's well-being.

So things stayed the same; the only thing that changed was the guise under which they all interacted. Mitchell was no longer just Junior's godfather but Raheim's “mate,” as Crystal dubbed him (Mitchell rejected the outdated “lover,” and “boyfriend” was a bit too juvenile for him and a bit too close for comfort for Crystal since that's what Raheim once was to her). Even though Junior now had a stepfather, Mitchell attended those “father and son” events with Junior when Raheim's disappearing acts began. When Mitchell and Raheim split, the breakup didn't break up the relationship Mitchell had with Junior or the one he was cultivating with Crystal. When Junior was accepted into Brooklyn Tech in the spring of 2000, there was no question as to (nor was there a formal discussion about) whom he would live with to attend the high school. And when Errol began attending classes at Tech, Raheim started splitting the eight-hundred-fifty-dollar child support payment with Crystal; each month, they both sent Mitchell a check.

Thanks to their collective efforts, Errol is a well-rounded, well-
grounded
young man, who has made them all proud. That's not to say he's been a complete angel. There have been some bumps in the road, and most of them have come during the teen years. But compared to the tribulations other teens put their parents through, even his major infractions have been somewhat minor. He's talked back, neglected to do his chores, and broken curfew. Last year, he skipped school to go to the first showing of
The Scorpion King
(that got him grounded for a week). Four months ago, he, Monroe, and Sidney decided to take Monroe's father's car for a joyride (never mind that none of them has a license
or
a permit). They didn't get far; they backed into a fire hydrant trying to get out of the parking space (that earned Errol a month on lockdown and the allowance he would have received over two months went to help pay for the damage done to the car).

And then there's this past Thursday, his birthday, when he came home with his left ear pierced. Mitchell knew Crystal would have something to say about that. She inspected it as Mitchell had done days earlier—and wore the same frown he had. “And why did you do it?” She even asked the same first question.

He gave her the same answer. “Because it looks jood.”

“Uh-huh. Well, it
does
look jood. But I'd appreciate it if, for the next three years, you'd consult us before putting any other holes in your body—or designs
on
your body.”

Errol wore that busted look. “How you know?”

“A mother knows.”

Mitchell giggled to himself.

“So, is it in an area you wouldn't be embarrassed to show me?” she queried.

He lifted his T-shirt on his right side. A couple of inches above his waist was a heart with an arrow through it and “Mom” was spelled out in the center.

She grinned. “I guess I can't argue with that, huh? You plan to get any other work done?”

“I might get another tattoo. And I might get my right ear done.”

“Hmmph.
I might
for you means
I will
. I just don't want you walking around looking like you just got out of—or belong in—prison.”

“Okay. I won't be. Uh, how long you staying?”

“Are you tryin' to get rid of me already?”

“I'm just asking.”

“Uh-huh. Don't worry, I won't be here when your homies start to arrive. Couldn't give them the impression you're a mama's boy, now, could we?”

His cell phone rang (he's under Mitchell's family and friends plan). He took it off his belt clip and looked at the name and number. “May I be excused?”

Crystal clutched her chest with both hands. “So, you'd rather talk to one of those little hoochies than visit with your mama?”

“I won't be long,” he argued. “She . . . needs directions.”

Mitchell and Crystal glanced at each other. “Sure she does,” they echoed together.

She waved him on. “Go ahead.”

He kissed her on the cheek. “Thanks, Mom.” He answered it. “Hay.” He jogged out of the kitchen.

“How did you know about the tattoo?” Mitchell asked.

“He had mentioned it a while back, saying he might want to do it and get his ear pierced on his birthday. He was just throwing them both out there to see what I would say.”

“And what did you say?”

“Nothing. I knew he wanted to and I didn't have a problem with him doing either one. At least he picked something sane.” She looked around. “You sure I can't help you with anything?”

“No. Thanks for offering. Would you like a cup of coffee?”