A Rich Man's Baby by Daaimah S. Poole Read Free Book Online

the room, he said, “I wanted to ask you if I can take you out.”
    â€œNo, thank you.”
    â€œI’m not eighteen like him; I’m twenty one.”
    â€œThanks, but no, thanks.”
    â€œWhat, you like doctors? I got just as much as money as any of them do,” he said as he reached in his pocket and pulled out a stack of twenties.
    His friend yelled out, “Man, she don’t want you.”
    And he was right. I was not that desperate yet.
    After work, I couldn’t wait to get home. On the way there, my mother asked me if I could watch my grandfather for her. I didn’t have anything to do. I was off for the next few days. She could leave him home by himself, but he might not be there when she returned. Last summer, he went missing for eight hours. My mom sat him out on the porch to get air, and he took a two-hour walk downtown. They finally found him on a park bench, and he couldn’t remember his name or where he lived.
    â€œWhat’s up, Pops?” I asked as I entered the house.
    He gave me his usual unchanged glance and turned his attention back to the television. All he ever did was watch television. Every now and then, he would ask me a question like, “What year is it, Adrienne?”
    I’d answer him. And then he’d wait ten minutes and ask me the same question. Then other nights he’d talk about when he met my grandmother or when he was a boy.
    My mother whizzed past me, trying to put her shoes on while walking out the door. She said she would be back soon and left for her date. I poured myself iced tea and asked, “Pops, you want anything?”
    He shook his head no.
    I then kicked my shoes off and stretched out. I sat in the lounge chair on the opposite end of the room from him and closed my eyes. I wished for a better life and placed my jacket over me and got comfortable. I was home on Friday night with my pops. This was not how I envisioned spending my twenties.
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    My phone rang. I didn’t feel like reaching for it. No one important had my number. I looked down at it, and it was Jeremy calling.
    â€œYou really home? Where your boyfriend at?” he asked.
    â€œI don’t have one of them.”
    â€œYou lying, a beautiful woman like you. Keep it real, somebody tries to talk to you at least three time a day.”
    â€œNo, not at all. I just kind of broke up with someone.”
    â€œYou broke up with him or he broke up with you?”
    I didn’t respond quickly enough, so he assumed correctly that I was broken up with. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him. You are beautiful and successful. A lot of men are either afraid of successful women or they want a woman to take care of them. And you have to commend yourself for not bending on what you want.”
    â€œYou right.”
    â€œSo don’t beat yourself up,” he said.
    â€œIt’s hard,” I said as I felt myself getting emotional. We talked a little more; then I told him I’d talk to him later. I closed the phone, turned my ringer off, and shut my eyes.
    After talking to Jeremy, I felt a little better. He was right. I couldn’t be mad at myself.
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    Jeremy caught me coming out of a patient’s room.
    â€œHey, beautiful.” He smiled.
    â€œHi,” I said, as I kept walking toward the nurse’s station.
    He looked good—white shirt, gray oxford sweater, and black slacks, and his shoes were brown and polished.
    â€œI just came up to tell you I’m taking you out tonight.”
    â€œOh, really?” I laughed.
    â€œYeah, I want you to see that not all men are bad.”
    â€œThanks, but I don’t date people I work with.”
    â€œYou don’t work with me. I work downstairs, and you are all the way up here. I need your address so I can come pick you up.”
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    Jeremy took me to this Brazilian restaurant. I had wanted to try the place for a while. I was impressed that he knew how to