With her questions resolved about the player—who turned out not to be a player—she was able to exhibit her trademark confidence. Tyrone called almost every day to inquire about his son, but his true intentions were clear. He always wanted to chat longer after they were done discussing TC. “So, uh, what you doing?” “I’m cooking, Tyrone. I’ll call you later. Maybe we could set something up for the weekend.” “What you cooking?” “I’m busy, Tyrone.” “All right. I just want to see my boy.” “Okay, but I’m working late the next two days.” “You can call me when you get through eating if you want. I’ll be woke.” * * * Mia was pretty sure Tyrone only wanted to see his son half as much as he wanted to see her, but she only felt comfortable with monitored visits, so that was unavoidable. She allowed him to on Thursday, and Tyrone showed up at 5:30 sharp, as dashing as ever, with gifts in hand. The gifts were actually from Family Dollar. It said so on the bag he toted them in, but the kids fussed over the trinkets as if they’d come from Bloomingdale’s.
