Skeletons

☠️2☠️

My shirt unfolded itself as I threw it way too roughly into the suitcase. "Why the fuck would I lie about my uncle dying?"

"Because you do some f―messed up stuff sometimes, Raph. Like not paying child support last month."

"Aniyah, I'm not gonna argue about this again. You know I would've paid it if I could." My mom didn't work and all my 2-year degree got me was a menial labour job, so the repairs after a car accident last month emptied my wallet completely. But forget explaining that to Aniyah again. She loved making me out to be the bad guy.

My ex sighed. "Let me talk to your mom."

The word 'bitch' stuck to my tongue, but I wouldn't say it. My mom had taught me better than that. Instead, I marched out of my room and handed the phone to her as she sat at the kitchen table, staring at its chipping paint.

"It's Aniyah."

She took the phone and I went back to my room to finish packing. Really, though, what a bitch accusing me of lying about needing to travel for my uncle's funeral.

Back in college, dating a black girl got me major Cool White Guy points. My boys were jealous and always making comments that I thought were compliments. That is, until Aniyah overheard and told me they were racist and degrading. Simply dating a black girl doesn't make you woke. But I didn't get that until I overheard them calling her the n-word and just stood there not knowing what to do―not knowing what to think.

Deep down, I thought dating Aniyah would make things easier. No one would challenge me and I had status. But things were complicated. Complicated wasn't what I wanted. It wasn't what I needed. So I decided to break up with her and replace her with some airheaded white girl instead, but Aniyah beat me to the punch. A month after our break up, she contacted me and told me she was pregnant. So much for uncomplicated.

Little Mia was 3 years old now and what sad genes she got from her father, she made up with in genes from her mom. I showed her newborn pictures to everyone. One of my boys had said, "Congrats. Now you have living proof you snagged a black bitch," and this time I knew what to do. I knocked out two of his teeth and cut him off along with the other two that laughed.

No more boys, but I didn't care. My mom had warmed up to Aniyah and was in love with Mia. I was in love with Mia. They were all I needed.

My mom stepped into the room and handed me the phone. I put it to my ear to hear Aniyah say, "Sorry about your uncle. I'll find a babysitter. But you need to tell Mia yourself."

"Alright. Turn on video."

We switched to video call and I waited for Mia's face to appear on the screen.

"Hey, baby girl," I waved through the screen to Mia's big brown eyes. She was wearing her monster truck pajamas again. My little girl hated pink, dolls, and frills. She was only three for Christ's sake. But the tantrums she threw when we forced those things on her weren't worth it. Other than those times, she was an Angel, so we let her wear and play with what she wanted.

"Hi, Daddy."

"Daddy can't come get you this weekend. I have to help Nana with some things."

The phone tilted to where I could only see Mia's dark brown curls framing the sofa―none of her dimpled face, but I knew she wasn't happy.

"Mia?"

"Okay, Daddy."

"When Daddy comes back, we can go see that monster truck show you wanted."

Mia jumped to her feet, suddenly excited. "Okay!"

"I'll miss you."

"Miss you too, Daddy. No! Mommy! No braids!" The phone fell and I spotted Mia's feet run across the living room and disappear around the corner.

Aniyah picked up the phone.

"Give her a break," I suggested. Curly pigtails were all she wore when she came to me unbraided; they worked just fine.

"Don't tell me how to do my daughter's hair. Especially," Aniyah pointed her comb at the screen, "when I get her Sunday nights with rats nests."

I sighed. "Bye, Aniyah."

"Take care. For real. Your mom sounded rough."

"Yeah."

We hung up and I sat down beside the packed suitcase. Our flight was tomorrow morning and everything here was taken care of. I hoped taking care of everything after we landed would go smoothly, but from what Aunt Janice had described, I should've known that hope was in vain.

☠️☠️☠️☠️

"God damn it," Aunt Janice swore as she pulled into the driveway, glaring at the man climbing out of the car parked in front of my uncle's house. "Who is it this time?"

"You two head inside," I told her and my mom. "I'll handle it."

"I've just been slamming the door in their faces," Aunt Janice complained.

That's why they still keep showing up, I wanted to say. Instead, I said, "Maybe he'll get the picture if he hears it from me."

If you ever saw me on the street, you'd forget my face in a second. I wasn't blessed with being good looking or even ugly enough to notice. Just your average white kid. Puberty knocked me on my ass. So once my awkward stage was over, I headed straight for the gym and bulked the fuck up, so that I'd be something. I didn't go to the gym anymore, but my manual labour jobs kept me fit. So I strutted up to the tresspaser, making sure he could see just how wide my chest was and judge for himself how strong a punch would be.

The man glanced me over and stopped at the end of the driveway. He was taller than me, so I lifted my shoulders back more. He glanced down at my chest again.

"You're Greg's family, right?" the guy asked. He didn't look like a reporter. Plus he said 'Greg.' Nah, this dude was one of them. He could've passed for straight, but his gelled hair and earrings gave him away. I hoped this wasn't my uncle's boyfriend. He seemed young, couldn't have been thirty. I did not want to deal with this shit.

"We've been trying to get in contact with Greg's ex-wife―"

"Who the hell are you?"

"I'm a friend of Greg's. There are a lot of people who knew him and want to be at the funeral to say their good―."

I folded my arms. "It's a private funeral. Family only."

The dude's face was really serious and sad. If he shaved that fucking ugly stubbly goatee, he could probably pass for a university student. "There's a memorial for him outside the bar. All sorts of people have come and left flowers. We had a candle―"

"What do you want?"

"I just thought we could have a talk." He gestured between us. "Greg's ex-wife doesn't want anything to do with us. But Greg had a lot of friends and this crime was a big deal. I'm the president of the local LGBTQ rights group. We want to show our support and say our goodbyes and use this as a platform to speak out for our rights―"

"Whoa. Hold the fuck up, buddy." I took a step closer. "Did you really know my uncle? 'Cause it sounds like you wanna use his death as a tool for your liberal gay shit." I gave him a once over. "Leave our family alone. You don't know shit about my uncle. Don't come here again."

I turned around and marched into the house without looking back.

"Is he gone?" my mom asked from the living room.

"Yeah," I said, peeking out of the blinds beside the door to see Gay Boy look at the house one last time before climbing into his car. "He's not coming back."