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“Good, put that smart-ass mouth to good use. Are you okay?”
“I will be. I got overwhelmed and needed some air. Can we go home?”
Gianni didn’t reply, but he smiled while extending a hand to help me, likely because I referred to his house as home. Whether I liked it or not, it was my home now. We prepared to exit, and his mother asked when I would return. I didn’t have an answer and didn’t want to think about it either.
I immediately retreated to his bedroom while Gianni remained downstairs doing whatever. All I wanted was a hot shower so I could get some sleep. I stood in the mirror, examining every angle of my growing belly. I was both excited and nervous as I began platting my curls and humming to soothe the nerves going haywire.
“Ahh, she’s a songbird,” his voice caused me to jump while he leaned against the bathroom door frame.
“You’ve got to stop doing that!” I seethed, trying to calm my breathing. Gianni was amused, but it was nothing funny about the way he constantly snuck up on me.
“I didn’t know you could sing,” he pointed out.
“There are many things you don’t know about me, and you can get out! What happened to privacy?”
“You tell me. You’re making yourself real comfortable in my shit,” he replied, nodding toward the robe I was donned in.
“I thought Kyerra left this behind for me,” I poked, causing him to shake his head.
My confidence was a fluctuating battle. Some days I felt like a superwoman carrying this child. On other days I struggled to love my new body and wondered if it would ever return to how it was.
“Your smart ass didn’t think that.”
“Can you please get out?”
“Watching you do your hair in the mirror ain’t that private.”
“You’re supposed to say that.”
“I’m not supposed to say shit other than what I mean. If anything, it’s that smart-ass mouth that turns you ugly, not creating and carrying life, that you do so well, by the way,” Gi complimented in a way that made me blush against my will.
“Thanks, Gi, but I still want you to get out.”
“Sing to me something first, and I will.”
“No! Get out.”
“Make me,” his smile widened in approval.
I scoffed at his childish reply, “How old are you?”
“Twenty-six. Now, let me hear something.”
“It’s not like I’m Jazmine Sullivan or somebody. It’s a coping thing. I only sing when nervous and not in front of people.”
“Ahhh, so I gotta make you uncomfortable. Got it.”
“You know it’s okay to take a break from being annoying?” I asked as he hopped on the bathroom counter next to me with no intention of leaving. “I’m serious. Get out!”
“You damn sure didn’t have a problem with me seeing you that way the other night.”
“It was dark, and the way your eyes were rolling up in your head, I don’t think you saw much.”
“You got jokes, but pregnant pussy should be illegal. That shit hits differently,” Gianni shook his head, adjusting himself, likely recalling how it felt sliding between my legs.
“What happened to your arm?” I asked, changing the subject.
“You want me to tell you my secret, but you won’t sing for me?”
