“Then why don’t you talk to him now?” Paris says and hangs up. I feel like a fool. I have nothing to say to him. Well, I do, but I don’t exactly know how to put it, so I just ask something I never got an answer for: “When are you coming home, Daddy?”

Mama hits me on my shoulder with her fist so hard I feel a lump forming, so I get off the bed and pull the cord out of her reach. She’s shaking her head back and forth, and at the same time listening carefully to the introduction of all three Jeopardy! contestants as if she’s going to be quizzed about their biographical information one day.

“We might have to talk about this another time,” he says. “I just wanted to spend a little time with you all while you was here.”

“Where do you live?”

“In an apartment.”

“What kind of an apartment?”

“It’s the projects,” Mama interjects, her eyes still glued to the TV.

“A everyday apartment.”

“Do you live alone?”

“Not exactly.”

“What does that mean?”

“I live with a friend.”

“Male or female?”

He clears his throat. “Female.”

“She on welfare and I heard she some kinda alcoholic,” Mama says, switching the channel to Wheel of Fortune, where she will never in a million years guess a puzzle. We’ve played together too many times.

“Are those kids I hear in the background?”

“Yeah, sure is. Three of ’em.”

“You’re living with somebody who has kids?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing, Daddy. Nothing. I have to go.”

“Wait a minute. I’ve got some good news, but you gotta promise not to tell your mama. Not yet.”

“What is it?”

“I’m gon’ be a daddy!”

“A what?”

“A father.”

“You can’t be serious, Daddy.”

“I am very, very serious. The ole man ain’t lost his touch after all, huh?”

“Who was ever concerned about that?”

“I don’t want to answer that one right now. How’s your mama doing?”

“She’s doing just fine. And don’t you dare stop by here without calling first, getting her all worked up so she ends up back in the hospital. You got that, Daddy?”

“Buy a vowel, dummy. Buy a vowel. Thank you!” Mama says in a loud whisper.

“You sound mad, baby girl, what’s wrong?”

“Apparently, I’m not your baby, Daddy. And what difference does it make if I sound mad or not? You can’t do anything about it. You’re part of the reason I’m pissed, but right now I don’t think I want to hear the sound of your voice another minute. Goodbye,” I say and hang up.

“ ‘Taxpayers’ Money’!” I hear Mama blurt out. She makes a loud clap with her hands. I look over at the TV. Another puzzle is about to be put on the board. Vanna White looks the same now as she did twelve years ago, when I was breastfeeding Shanice. That’s what money can do. Mama presses the remote and we’re back at Jeopardy! When the phone rings again, she says, “That’s him again.”