by Shyla Colt
“I won’t.”
She purses her lips as she studies me.
“I promise.”
“Good. Now I hope you’re ready to shop because I can’t fit in most of my clothes anymore.”
“Only three more months to go.”
“I know. I’m excited, but nervous as hell. Pushing something the size of a watermelon out of my vagina is terrifying. No Lamaze class or book is going to prepare me for that.”
“Are you getting an epidural?”
“Hell yes, I am.”
“It’s going to be okay. You’ve got your birth plan, your mom, Houston, and I will be there.”
She swallows. “I hope so.”
“How’s the trio handling the fast-approaching arrival of another sibling?”
“They’re really excited. Phoenix is praying it’s a boy. He said there are too many girls in the house.”
I laugh, picturing Houston’s mini me delivering the statement with a serious expression. “He’s Houston all over. I see very little of his mother in him. Not that it’s a bad thing. Are they still having nightmares about her coming and taking them away?” I ask, remembering the countless sleepless nights Liv and Houston endured after the triplet’s biological mother, Rain, reappeared and opted to fight for custody.
“No, they’ve tapered off. Counseling and the excitement about the new baby really helped.”
“So did their new mama,” I say not about to let her discredit herself. I’ve always admired her graciousness, but she put in long hours and oceans of TLC into those littles long before she said I do to Houston. Best friends turned lovers, Liv and Houston’s story was the stuff romances were made of.
“I know this makes me sound awful, but I’m glad she lost her rights to them. This way there will be no more resurfacing at the drop of a dime and thrusting our family into complete chaos. With her out there lurking it’d be too much like I was waiting for the killer in the horror movie to come back for that one last scare when you least expect it. They deserve better than that.”
“You’re right, and thanks to you and Houston, they’ll get it.”
“God, I hope so. My biggest fear is failing them. Parenting is a difficult job that comes with no instructions, plenty of outside speculation, and a tiny, emotional being with rapidly changing needs. It’s daunting.” She sighs. “Yet, I wouldn’t trade a moment of it. They’ve started calling me Mom, Ef. Can you believe that?”
My heart melts as I rejoice for the happiness she’s found. She’s been their mother in everything but name for years since their birth mother abandoned them.
“And how do you feel about that?” I ask softly.
She sniffs, and swipes at her eyes with her fingers, blinking furiously to contain the tears that make her eyes sparkle like gemstones. “I can’t even begin to describe it. I’ve never felt so complete in my entire life.”
She sighs. I swear any moment a blue bird is going to flutter into the café and land on her shoulder because she looks so damn content. Clearing her throat, she pops the last bite of her scone into her mouth.
“What theme are you going for with the gender reveal?” I ask, trying to get an idea of what we’re shopping for.
“Classic with soft shades of blue and pink. You know we’re minimalists at heart. Probably because life with three children is hectic enough.”
“Okay, so maternity store, and then party store?”
“Sounds good to me.”
I drain the last drops of my coffee. We rise, and I carry our mugs back to the counter. This spot is a hidden treasure. Open twenty-four hours it has a laid back vibe, good music, and personal touches that make it feel like a home away from home. I’ve spent many hours brainstorming when I didn’t feel like being in the quiet space of my house.
We head out to the Black SUV she upgraded to after she married Houston, and I marvel at the ways life can change in just six months. As I climb into the cab, I can’t help but wonder what the next six will bring for me. I’ve been rocked to my core and had my character tested. Will the tide change? My grandmother always said when one door closes a window opens. Is there some fantastic event coming in my future that’ll make what I’ve been through pale in comparison? My mind flickers to Edgar. I’m not a disbeliever in love, I’ve simply never experienced it. Not the real, let’s get married and spend the rest of our lives together love. I’m thirty-five, and I’ve started to think maybe it’s not in the cards for me. Now, I’m wondering if I jumped the gun with my assessments.
***
It took everything in me to come to my parents for the barbecue. I’m still running on little sleep from staying up way too late at Liv and Houston’s. Houston’s best friend, Ollie, was over, and we played cards. I remove my sunglasses, and place them in the case built into the overhead of my car. I run my hand over my face. My Aunt Rhonda is back in town visiting from Georgia. She’s a Southern woman with old-fashioned beliefs, advice I never ask for or follow, and deep bitterness from a bad divorce.
I do my best to avoid her like the plague, because we butt heads nonstop. But I know how important it is for my mother to get us all together. My brother, Aren, drove down from Austin with his wife and two kids for the weekend, so short of being out of town for work, I needed to be here. I step out of the car, and bypass the front door, following the gleeful cries of children melding in with the conversation. I open the gate.
“Efia!” my mom calls as she hurries over and hugs me close. I adore my mother. She’s a petite powerhouse with a kind heart, sharp tongue when necessary, and an intelligent brain.
“Hey, Mama.”
“I’m so glad you could make it. You look tired. Are you getting enough sleep?”
“Usually, yes, but not today. I was up late helping Liv plan out her gender reveal party. She still refuses to tell me what they’re having, can you believe that?”
“Yes, I can,” my mother replies with a knowing look.
“Hey, I can keep a secret! I think they don’t even know.”
“Is that Efia? Let me look at you.”
The Southern twang makes me cringe mentally. It’s like a dog whistle to canines; I long to cover my ears and drown it out. Instead, I fix a smile onto my lips.
“Hi, Aunt Rhonda,” I say as I step away from my mother and find myself engulfed in a White Diamond scented embrace.
“You’re even more beautiful than you were the last time I saw you.” Pulling away, she looks me up and down. I force myself to relax. Her eyes are sharp, but she doesn’t have laser vision. She can’t see through my head scarf to the bald head beneath.
“Thank you. You look wonderful. Have you lost weight?”
She beams. “I can see why you’re so good at your job. You’re a natural charmer.” Aunt Rhonda glances behind me. “There’s no young man here with you?”
And here we go again with this bullshit.
“No, I’m not seeing anyone at the moment, Auntie.”
She clucks her tongue. “All that success you’re achieving in your field isn’t going to keep you warm at night, or be by your side as you grow older.”
Neither is your ex-husband. I muzzle the ugly words before they can slip out. She’s poking a bear with a stick. I’m only going to take it quietly for so long.
“Look at you brother, Aren, and his wife, Amanda. They’re happy. Aren’t Charlotte and Gregory adorable?”
“They are, aren’t they? I should go say hi to them. It’s been a while since I saw them last,” I say, successfully excusing myself without putting on my feminist cap and explaining women have the right to do what they want to these days. It’s all about the right to choose what’s best for each individual. The speech would fall on deaf ears with Aunt Rhonda.
“Remember those eggs of yours won’t last forever,” she says.
“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that, Auntie. I don’t plan on having kids.”
Her mouth flops open and I give a bright smile and a saucy wink before I turn on
my heels and walk over to the pool where my five-year-old niece and seven-year-old nephew are playing with their parents.
“Aunt Efia!” they cry.
I laugh. “Hey, guys.” I kneel beside the swimming pool. “Are you having fun?”
“Yes. Are you getting in?”
“Not today,” I say, shaking my head. Charlotte pouts and I feel a tiny pang in my chest. I’d give her the sun and the moon, but right now I’m too afraid of judgment to even swim. I feel pathetic.
“Hi, Amanda. Hey, bro.”
“Hey, sis, long time no see,” Aren says with an easy smile. He’s a lot like my father—laid back and warm.
“I know, work’s kept me busy.”
“We need to plan a weekend for you to come out soon,” Amanda states.
“I’d love that. I’ll look at my calendar when I get home, later on tonight,” I reply, committing to making plans. “I’m going to say hi to Dad, and see if Mom needs any help.” Standing, I walk over to my father. In his seventies, he still cuts an impressive figure at six foot one, with a cleanly shaven head, clear skin, and an easy smile that stands out against his dark brown skin. He opens his arms, and I hug him sideways.
“Hi, Dad.”
“There’s my baby girl. How’ve you been?”
“Good. Busy with work and helping Liv plan her gender reveal party.”
“I’m so glad she and her young man made it official. Seemed to me that they were together a lot longer than they let on and just didn’t realize it.”
I laugh. “That’s exactly what happened there.”
“Anyone new for you?” he asks.
I think of Edgar. “Maybe. I’ll let you know when I have more intel.”
His eyebrows shoot up, and I know he wants more information.
“It’s still new. We’re friends, but I think he has potential.”
“Honey, coming from you that says a lot.”
“Don’t tell Mom.”
He pats my shoulders. “Hasn’t your old man always been able to keep a secret?”
“Yes, Daddy, and I love you for that.” I kiss his cheek. “I’m going to go see if Mom needs anything.”
I spend the next couple of hours avoiding my aunt, playing with the kids, and catching up with Amanda and Aren.
“It’s getting late and I know two kids who still need baths, so we’ll excuse ourselves,” Amanda says.
“Aww, Mom, we’re not tired,” Gregory mutters as he blinks slowly.
“Yeah,” Charlotte says around a yawn.
“I know, but I am.” Amanda gives us a wink as she ushers them from the table.
“I’m going to go help,” Aren says.
He’s such a great father. I love seeing him interact with his family.
“Feeling baby fever?” Aunt Rhonda asks.
“Just proud of my big brother,” I reply with a shrug.
“Humph. Tick tock, girl. I’m going to call it a night myself. I’m still feeling a bit jet-lagged.”
“Night, Aunt Rhonda.” And good riddance.
My mom and dad exchange a look, and he stands. “I’ll leave you ladies to talk. Good night, baby girl.” My dad kisses my head as he walks away.
“You want to tell me what’s bothering you?” my mom asks.
I blink. “What?”
“I know you, honey. You don’t let Rhonda get to you, and I’ve sensed a sadness in you for months now. I tried to give you time to work through it, but I can see in your eyes you’re still in a bad place. Is everything okay with work?”
I open my mouth, and the lie dies on my tongue. I don’t know how to break it to her gently, so I unwind my head scarf.
“Oh my God, what happened to all your beautiful hair, baby?”
“I have Alopecia, Mama.” I can’t hold back the tears as she moves over to hug me and I break in front of the one person who’s always been my rock.
“It’s going to be okay, baby. We’ll get through this the same way we always have, together. Hair isn’t everything.”
Her words alleviate my worst fears. I was worried she’d be embarrassed or ashamed of me.
“I feel so ugly, Mama.”
“Oh no, my baby is beautiful inside and out. Nothing will change that.” Her words are a soothing salve to my stinging and battered pride and sense of self. Right or wrong, a woman’s femininity is so entwined with her appearance, especially her hair. I’m battling with preconceived notions I hadn’t realized I subscribed to until this happened. It’s a rocky road, but now that I have my number one ally on my side it feels so much more bearable.
***
Edgar
I knock on the door and smile as Addler’s wife, Abby, answers.
“Hey, Edgar.”
“Hi, thanks for having me.” I step in and hug her.
“Someone has been waiting for you to get her all afternoon,” she says.
I grin. “Where’s my goddaughter at?” I ask loudly.
The sound of giggles comes from the living room. I follow them. “Where could she be?” I ask as I slowly turn around, spotting a suspicious lump on the couch beneath a dark pink blanket.
“Maybe she’s in the fireplace,” I say, walking away from the couch. Her laughter grows louder.
“No, not there. Maybe she’s under the table. Hmm, nope.” I tap my chin.
Addie tosses off the blanket. “I’m here, Uncle Edgar.”
“Oh, there she is.” She hops off the couch and I kneel to catch her in my arms. Her soft blonde curls tickle my nose. I inhale her sweet scent as she cuddles into me.
“I missed you, Uncle Edgar.”
“I missed you, too, baby doll.”
“Can you play dolls with me until dinner?” she asks.
“Sure, if that’s okay with your mommy and daddy.” I glance over at Abby and Addler who nod.
“It’ll give me time to finish dinner,” Addler replies.
“Yay. I got some new ones,” Addy says.
“Duty calls, brother,” I state, leaving him to man the grill solo.
She takes me to the playroom where I’m promptly handed a brunette Barbie. “This is Hayley. You can play with her.”
“Okay.” I take my voice up an octave. “What are we going to do today, Addie?”
She laughs. “We’re going swimming in our pool.”
I make the doll walk over to the pool set up behind the blue roof topped, two-story dream house.
“Oh, I love to swim,” I say, laying the Southern accent on thick.
She laughs and wiggles her red-haired Barbie. “Me too, Hayley.”
We take our dolls to many places—the mall, a fair, and a library—before Abby comes to announce dinner will be ready.
“Okay, Miss Addison, it’s time for you to put away your toys, wash your hands, and come to the table.”
“But, Mom, we didn’t get our library books yet,” Addie whines.
“Addison.”
She sighs. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Don’t worry. We can play again another time, okay?” I say.
She nods and moves to place her dolls into the plastic Tupperware bin designated as their holding space.
“I’ll watch her, you go get cleaned up,” Abby says.
“Yes, ma’am.” I walk down the hall to the guest bathroom. The powder blue room reminds me of the ocean with its nautical theme and decorative seashell soap. I quickly wash my hands and move to the kitchen.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” I ask as Addler cuts up steak for Addison.
“Nope, we kept it pretty low-key. Steak, twice baked potatoes, roasted corn, a pecan and cranberry salad, and the perfect ending to any meal, Abby’s apple pie.”
My mouth waters as I inhale the rich smells. “We ready to set out the drinks?”
“Yeah, you can do that.”
I move to get Addie’s tumbler. “Half water, half apple juice?”
“Yes, sir.”
I’ve been over enough to know how dinnertime wo
rks. I finish setting up the table and dole out cups; leaving a pitcher of water on the table for everyone, and two beers for Addler and I.
Abby and Addie resurface, and the food is set in the center of the large, rectangular oak table. They may be a small family of three, but they love to entertain.
“Are we ready to eat?” Abby asks as she sits between Addie and Addler.
“Yes, ma’am,” Addler says with a bright smile that only she can coax out of them. Being around the two made me believe in soulmates. Not to say they haven’t had their ups and downs—nothing is impeccable—but there’s a beauty in flawed things that perfect things never quite capture. Perfection is an illusion. The people who look like cookie cutter modelesque families are usually the ones neck deep in drama.
The food and the conversation are excellent as we get caught up and I marvel at how much Addie has grown. Because I don’t see her every day, each time we get together she’s learned so much. It feels like it’s all happening in the blink of an eye. Once she finishes her food, Addie is ushered off to her bath after a hug and a promise that I’ll tell her good night before bed.
“Help me with the dishes and we’ll head outside to finish our beer?” Addler asks.
“Sounds good to me,” I reply. I like their rules. The cook doesn’t have to clean. They share duties around the home and with Addie. I like the partnership concept. He rinses the plates off, and I place them into the dishwasher. We’re done in a few moments, and we step aside. I can feel the weight of his words as he takes a long pull from his bottle.
“We’re going to try for number two. We don’t want Addie to be an only child.”
So that’s what’s on his mind. “That’s great, man.”
“I’ll never tell Abby this, but I’m worried. With her age, we’re in the geriatric pregnancy zone and the chances of complication are higher. When I think of all the time I spent being not ready to settle down, and then not ready to be a father I can’t help but wonder if I made a mistake we’re all going to pay for.”
“You can’t look at it like that, man. We can’t go back in time and change things for one. For another, who we are now is so different from the person we were then. Our choices helped us become this version of ourselves. Who knows what changing things would do to our current reality.”
