by Imani King
“No problem.” He rustles the keys in his pocket, again, strangely. Nervously. “Do you want me to pick up anything for you?” There’s a pause before he says, “Like maybe… a pregnancy test?”
Oh Lordy. Is he serious? I want to protest, but before I can, I can feel my stomach in my throat again and I have to kneel above the pot.
“Ok babe, I’ll grab you some ginger ale and a few other things,” he says. I’m trying to pull my hair back when I heave again.
Once he’s gone, I do start to feel better, at least physically. We were pretty careful, all the time, to use condoms. But I guess that one night when he first stayed over, we ended up doing it bareback. I didn't think much of it because I’d thought I was past my fertile period, at least according to that app that I downloaded. But I guess apps aren’t exactly that reliable when things are so important, are they. What are we going to do? I’m not sure I can deal with this possibility right now, even though I know both Nicholas and I want babies, I always thought that I would be married before anything so final happened. At least it feels final. I can’t imagine not going through with the pregnancy, if in fact I am pregnant. My head is swimming with possibilities and fears.
But before I deal with all of that, I have to make dad’s bedroom out of the living room, so he doesn’t have to deal with stairs. I try to put all of the pregnancy concern out of my mind, and deal with the tasks at hand, but it’s tough. My stomach is still churning every now and then as I pick up any stray clutter in the living room. I can’t help but think of all the beautiful moments Nicholas and I shared here when the kids were in bed, secretly loving each other over and over again. All night sometimes. Most of the time, if I’m honest. Lots of chances for a condom to fail, or a stray drop to get where it’s not supposed to be. And that can mean a baby. My mother’s sweet face pops into my head. If only she were here, if only we could talk. Make sense of things.
Mom, I ask in my mind, am I pregnant? And if I am, will I be anywhere near as good a mother as you were to me? To us?
I can’t say if it’s really her, but an answer does come to me. Baby, you will be a great mother, because you have the love of generations behind you -- you are the culmination of centuries of love.
Somehow just “hearing the answer” makes me feel good, strong, and capable. And in reality, how much different can taking care of a baby be than taking care of my whole family for the last few months? Honestly I’ve never had this kind of responsibility, but I’ve stepped up when nobody else would or could, and I understand a lot more than I ever did about how to run a family and a home. And if there’s another little person here, another mouth to feed, I’ll handle it. Even if Nicholas for some reason feels differently, and doesn’t want to stay with us, another member of the family will just be another person to love and care for. Besides, the little ones are getting to be older, and they can learn to help around the house, do some chores, maybe do their own laundry, even. That sort of thing. It’s time for Darius to go from learning to be a good boy to a good man.
I put some magazines on the side table for my father, along with a little bell and a pitcher of water with a small glass. Carefully I place the remote there too, and pull out the hide-a-bed sofa which already has clean sheets made up. Good thing too because all this moving around is definitely not helping my queasiness.
The temptation of the comfortable bed I just prepared is too much for me, and laying down on the mattress,, I touch my belly gently. Little baby, are you there? I ask. I wonder about names. If he's a boy, should we call him after Nicholas? Nickie? Or a girl, Nikki?
Of course, this “baby” could be nothing more than a bad burrito that I ate. But if so, Nicholas would probably be sick too.
Hard to say. My heart says yes though, that there’s a new heart beating in my body, a heart made from the love of Nicholas and I - a love that I want to endure forever. And if there isn’t a baby, right now I have to admit to myself that I want there to be one soon.
Will the baby have my eyes? Or his smile? I picture Nicholas holding a bundle of sweet-smelling infant, wrapped tight in a soft little cocoon. I imagine him delicately moving a little bit of blanket to gaze adoringly into the little one's eyes, his love pouring out of him into the baby, my love pouring out of me into both of them.
And with my hand on my belly, and Nicholas name on my lips, I begin to doze and dream. Then my beloved’s voice calls my name.
"Hey Adisa," I hear at the door. "Are you feeling any better? Any chance you can come give me a hand out here?”
“Be right there!” I rouse myself out of my sleep and off the couch, and run to welcome my father.
"Daddy!" I yell, and hug him with enthusiasm, while still trying not to jar him in any way or squeeze him too hard. He's still pretty tender, obviously, and quite weak. "I made you a bedroom out of the living room. Just for now. You can go back in your own bed when it’s easier for you to take the stairs. Is that ok? Come this way, how are you feeling? Sorry I didn't come to pick up, I have an upset stomach. But Nicholas said he’d get you, so I knew you’d be well taken care of. How was the drive back?" I realize I’m talking like a house on fire, but I’m just so excited that he’s back in the house and that things will have a chance to return to normal around here. Slowly. Eventually.
"Settle down, little one," My dad says, shuffling to the house with a smile on his face, his breath in white clouds like smoke against the cold air coming in through the open door. "I'm ok, I'm ok." Nicholas takes him by the arm and helps him along the way to the living room, after handing me the few bags of supplies and my dad's things.
"Do you need anything?" I ask dad. "A cup of tea, or maybe a sandwich? How’s your appetite? Are you hungry?" I find I’m still doing the motor mouth thing, but I just can’t help it.
"No I'm just fine, just need a soft place to rest these weary bones," he says. His voice is still weak, but it has a little bit more of his old self in it. “Just glad to be home,” he says. “You can stop hovering, baby. I’m ok.”
I look at his frame as he disappears into the living room.. It’s looking thinner than before. He is definitely improving, but there will still be a bit of time before he can really be the strong man he used to be. I hope he gets there sooner rather than later - or never. Like my mother was emotionally, he was always something of a paragon of physical strength in our house, and to see him getting so weak is something I didn't know would be this difficult.
But that's life, I guess. It moves on, and you can’t stop it - and you can’t even change it much.
We both help him to the couch and he lays down gratefully. "That's better," he says, as I lightly cover him with the afghan blanket, and in less than two minutes, his eyes are closing and he begins to snore. Poor man. My heart fills with love and concern.
"How did he do on the ride?" I whisper to Nicholas.
He meets my eyes with a small smile. "Pretty good. I tried to take a less bumpy route, so that I wouldn’t be disturbing him but I couldn’t avoid everything. Every time we went over any kind of hump he let out a little groan. Broke my heart.” He runs a hand through his thick hair. “I'm sure he's going to need some rest right now - and maybe one of us should try to get him up for a little walk later. Doctor said he'd be needing to do some very light exercise every day to build his strength back."
"Ok, good to know.” My dad seems peaceful now, and I don’t want to wake him. “Let's go into the kitchen," I say as I grab Nicholas’ hand. I whisper as we walk. "Did you get the test?"
"You betcha I did," he smiles again, but this time there is a shy sweetness in his face. And maybe a bit of hope? I can’t tell, maybe it’s wishful thinking on my part, but I feel it too. He holds up a bag. "Right here."
We sit down at the table, and I take it and look at the box, which promises “99% accuracy” in big bold yellow letters. My heart jumps as I trace them with my fingers. Am I ready? Should I take the test now? We stare into each other's eyes, and he reaches for my hand, stopping
its nervous movement.
"Whatever it says, we're in this together." His hand softly traces the lines of mine, then he picks it up and kisses it softly on the back, and then turns it over and kisses my palm tenderly, giving me shivers. "Know that I love you, Adisa."
"And I love you, Nicholas, with all my heart. I don't know how this all happened, but it did. And if I have anything to say about it, it's going to last." My heart feels open as the blue sky, and his eyes are shining with love that I can’t help but return.
After a long moment, we stand up, and he gives me a big hug, wrapping his arms around me and squeezing before leading me to the bathroom.
"Time to pee on a stick," I whisper, trying to lighten the moment a little, hoping laughter will somehow assuage my fear. My grin probably is making me look like a crazy person. But what can I do? I’m nervous, excited, full of love, and scared as anything.
"Go for it," He grins back and pats me lightly on the butt as I go into the bathroom.
Once I close the door, the possibility of this pregnancy seems so real it makes my hands shake, but I try to wrap my feelings in Nicholas' soothing words. Jamal never would have said something like what Nicholas has to me. He’d have probably said something like, “You on your own, baby. Shoulda taken that pill, it’s your own fault.”
Thank heaven I’m not going through this with a trifling man like Jamal. Crazy that I felt at first like he and I were meant to be together. When a man like Nicholas was in store for me!
I know that Nicholas won't let me down -- the long talks we had told me that he really does want kids. And so do I, with him. Maybe I wouldn't have chosen this exact moment to have them, but even so, I'm sure I can handle it. Or we can. Together. That’s what he said.
I unwrap the package, and am glad to see my hands are shaking a bit less. The instructions are pretty clear. Just uncap, pee on the stick, put the cap back on, wait for three minutes. One line, not pregnant. Two lines, pregnant.
Unzip my pants, do the deed, and then wait - that’s all there is to it, right? I peer at the window, where my fate lies. Well, our fate. There's a pink line. But is there another? I think I see something. Oh god, I do see something. It's very faint, but there's clearly another line appearing. I put the test down on the vanity and look myself in the eye in the mirror I’ve been staring in since I was a little girl.
"Can I do this?" I ask myself quietly, but another voice answers me, internally. The soft voice of my mother, a soft voice with an edge of steely strength.
"Darn right you can. Just take it -"
"One day at a time." I whisper it to myself. "One day at a time." I see in my eyes, in the antique glass: the fortitude of my mother, and in the slight creases in the corners, her humor. I know I am part her, and I know I can have this baby.
I can do this. And with Nicholas at my side, I can do anything.
Taking a deep breath, I turn the handle and peek out, expecting to see him. But he's not waiting outside the door now, so I put the test in my pocket and go looking. I find him in the kitchen, getting the kettle on.
"Your dad woke up and said he could use a cup of tea after all, and I thought you might want one too," he says. The expression on his face belies his curiosity.
"Baby," I put my hand on his arm. He puts down the kettle.
"Baby?" He asks, and I hand him the test.
"Baby!" We say together, and laugh. He hugs me and spins me around.
"Oh Adisa, I'm so happy," he says into my hair. "I can't believe this."
"Me neither." His strong arms feel so good around me, so reassuring. And with more than a hint of that electricity, that chemistry that flows between us right down to my core. "I guess it wasn't a bad burrito after all, huh?"
"I guess not!" We smile at each other, and in his eyes I can see the love and affection I've always dreamed of having in my life; the pure joy at the news, and the simultaneous realization for both of us that we are going to spend our lives together. I've never felt so purely happy.
The kettle whistles, and I can hear my dad's voice calling from the other room. "Hey lovebirds, don't forget the tea!"
"You got it dad," I say, and we break apart reluctantly, but when I sneak a look at Nicholas' face, there's a smile so beautiful and peaceful, I’m filled with even more excitement. I know we're going to be ok.
Epilogue
(Adisa a year later)
Chikae sits, beatific look on her face, as I place baby Addison in her arms. She looks down at him with such a proud expression on her face, then I see a little tear running down her cheek.
"What's wrong?" I ask her, picking up Nikki from the bassinet and gingerly sitting down beside Chikae, trying not to jostle little Nikki in my arms since we’ve just gotten her to sleep.
Chikae meets my eyes. "I'm growing up," she says. "I'm not the baby of the family anymore."
"Well, sure you are," I reassure her. "You're still the baby of mommy and daddy's family, and I am your big sister."
"But the thing is, nowadays you sometimes feel more like my mama," she says softly. "And you're not, really. You’re their mama instead." Her brown eyes glisten with unshed tears.
We're curled up on Nicholas' leather couch, the cotton-knit blanket keeping us warm. Well I guess it’s mine and Nicholas’ couch, since I live here now.
"Aww, Chicky Boom Boom," I say as I lean over to kiss her cheek. "You'll always be very special to me. Nobody can take your place. Not ever, not at all."
Despite the tears her smile is brave, or at least as brave as an almost-eight-year-old can be. She's been through a lot of changes, this one, from losing our mom, to dad being in the hospital, to moving into the guest house on Nicholas' property with dad and Darius. Sure, the changes of late have been good ones, but at the same time they haven’t been exactly easy.
Nicholas comes striding into the room with a big smile on his face, comes and kisses me, and snuggles in beside us, putting his arm around me and getting Chikae in the hug too.
Then he senses the tension. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Chikae says quickly. Then she amends: "Well, I love Addison and Nikki, but I'm just feeling a little sad that I'm not the baby of the family anymore."
"Hm, I see," says Nicholas. His blue eyes scrunch. "Well I'm not rightly sure I agree with that, because you’ll always be the baby of your immediate family - but I can tell you one thing. Addison and Nikki are going to need a very special auntie to show them the ropes in life, and I can't think of one person who would be better at that than you, Chikae. Do you feel up to the task?"
"Really?" Chikae asks. “Well, I guess so.” She screws up her nose. “I’m sure I can be a good auntie. Are they really my niece and nephew?”
"Certainly," he says. "And they’re going to need someone so smart as you, a lot.” Nicholas brushes a curl out of her eyes. “I’m going to tell you something,” he says solemnly. “Family is very important. I don't know what I would've done without my brothers, and I'm sure that these little ones are gonna need you just as much."
She looks thoughtful. "I'm not sure that Darius was all that helpful," she muses.
We burst into peals of laughter.
"What'chu talking about?" Darius says as he walks in the room and strikes a pose, hand under his chin and squinted eyes. He's boisterous, ready to play. "Ah never mind. Say Nick, you want to play some catch? Or go riding?" His smile is beseeching, his head tilted winningly. He’s quite the little charmer.
"I'd love to, as long as we’re not needed here for chores or anything," Nicholas looks at me, eyes wide and open. "Do you want us to take care of anything, Adisa?"
I grin and shake my head. "You fellows go on. Chicky and I and the babies will have some super-snuggle bonding time." I pull her closer and she scooches in and I feel like I’m in heaven.
His kiss against my cheek is soft, with a whisper of stubble that tickles me and sends a shiver down my spine, to my core.
"Sounds good, thanks babe," he says, voice soft. Just th
at little contact and I can't wait to get him in bed with me tonight, once everyone has gone home to the guest house. He’s the sexiest man I can imagine, and his touch drives me wild.
Once they're gone, Chikae and I snuggle the babies as we lean on each other.
"I think Nikki looks more like you and Addison more like Nicholas," she says musingly.
"Really? Seems to me they're both a mix -- of all of us," I brush Nikki’s fine, fuzzy curls with the tips of my fingers.
"Addy has daddy's ears," she says. I look over and realize it's true.
"Is he still on his walk?" I ask. He's been going every day, a little more each time. He’s been keeping it up after the operation, and now that we’re here, he loves walking around the grounds of Nicholas' property which is almost ranch-like for a place up north. He's been dutifully taking the doctor's advice and working on his health, which is great to see him finally ready to live, after he gave up for that time after my mother's death.
"Daddy's a lot better these days," says Chikae, echoing my thoughts. "He spends more time with us."
"Yes, I'm so glad."
“Ever since the wedding. Your wedding was so beautiful, Addy. When I get married, I want it to be just like that. You looked like a princess.”
Ever since the wedding, when he gave me mama's pearl earrings as my something old, and handed me her pocket copy of the Bible as something borrowed, Daddy's been happier, more alive, and acting more like the dad again. Nicholas gave me my ‘something new’ - an amazing pair of pearl encrusted Jimmy Choo shoes to peek out from under my wedding dress, and of course Rain, my matron of honor, winked as she gave me the prettiest garter belt with a soft blue ribbon threaded through the lace.
But one of the most special things on that day was my dad walking me down the aisle - it is something I'll never forget. His face beaming, and how his warm, gently lined skin looked against the crisp white collar and silver tie, the clutch of his arm around mine. He kept patting my arm as he held it, and looked around at the members of the congregation, as if to say, "This is my daughter, isn't she beautiful? I'm so proud of her."
