“Okay,” I whispered.
“And we doin’ check-ins,” he added. “One night a week. Phones down, TV off. Just me and you. If you feelin’ like you slippin’ under, you say it there before it turn into resentment. If I feel like I’m drownin’ in pressure, I say it there so you not thinkin’ I’m just bein’ cold.”
I nodded slowly.
“That’s all I got right now,” he said. “But it’s honest. I can’t promise I ain’t gon’ fuck up. But I can promise I’m not gon’ leave you to do this by yourself. Not mentally. Not physically. Not financially. We in this together.”
Tears spilled down my cheeks again, but they felt… different.
He reached out and wiped ‘em with his thumbs.
“You mad at me?” he asked.
“A little,” I said, sniffin’.
He smiled. “You love me?”
“A lot,” I said.
He leaned in and kissed my forehead.
“Then we gon’ be alright,” he chuckled.
We sat there on the bed for a while, just holdin’ each other.
I could still hear Truce’s loud laugh in the living room, Charlie Mac talkin’ shit, Charlee tellin’ him he’s at the right age to be a Pop Pop.
Our life was already loud and messy.
But sittin’ there with Trend’s arms around me, twins kickin’ between us, I felt somethin’ I hadn’t let myself feel in weeks, and that was hope.
We didn’t fix everything in one conversation.
We still had bills and bassinets and sleep-deprived nights in front of us.
But for the first time, it didn’t feel like me vs. him.
It felt like us vs. whatever came next.
And I could work with that.
Iain’t gon’ lie.
If you told me a year ago I’d be sittin’ here excited about a party that got both my boys and a room full of women in it, I would’ve laughed in your face.
Back then, all I knew was separate.
Separate clubs. Separate moves. Separate feelings.
Now here I was, callin’ my girl like, “Babe, let’s just do this together.”
It started when April was sendin’ me pictures.
Her in some little white dress, Charlee and Melissa in the background actin’ a fool, Fee holdin’ her belly.
She texted:
Look at my girls
