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Porsha sucked her teeth, rolling her eyes. “Ugh! Gee, thanks. Don’t remind me.”
I laughed.
Persia frowned. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for him to come here.”
“Well, this is my home, too. And eventually he will be here. So you’re going
to have to get used to the idea, or do your best to avoid him. But, we’re a couple. I’m not going to keep staying the night at his house. Some nights, he’s going to stay here. If that’s not going to work for you, then I’ll have to make other arrangements because I won’t live someplace where my man isn’t welcomed.”
I gasped. The posssibility that the three of us would one day no longer live together had never dawned on me, or them. We customized this house with the understanding that the three of us would get married and live here with our husbands as one big, happy family. But nothing ever turns out the way we think it should.
Persia blinked. “You’d actually move out?”
Porsha nodded. “Yes, Persia, I will. I love this man. I want you to be happy for me. But, if you can’t, then that’s fine, too. I’m still going to be with him. If it doesn’t work out between the two of us, then it doesn’t. I was wrong for keeping my relationship with him from you. I apologize. I realize how stubborn and strong-willed you can be when you believe in something. And I didn’t wanna fight with you about it.”
Persia walked over to her. “I don’t want you to move out. I don’t want you to ever feel like you can’t bring whomever you want here. This is our home. We built this place. We’ve shared a lot of memories here. I’ll get over it. I’ll be happy for you; just give me a minute to digest it all.” They hugged. “Wait a minute. I’m not that stubborn, am I?” Persia asked, looking over at me.
I nodded my head. “Yeah, you are. You’re actually almost as bad as Mother.”
Persia groaned.
Paris and I laughed. Shit, that’s all we could do. I’m pregnant by a man who I’ll probably never see again. And Porsha’s involved with a man the three of us have bounced up and down on. Definitely not how we envisioned our lives. But, it is what it is.
I walk over to the window and look out through the curtains. There’s a very attractive couple walking with their two little girls. The father is pulling them in a red wagon with one hand, and holding the woman’s hand with the other. She has her free hand up on her stomach, slowly rubbing it. She looks like she’s almost ready to deliver any minute. I keep my eyes trained on them until they’re no longer in sight—rubbing my own belly, wondering, imagining what life will be like as a single mother. Hoping I’ve made the right decision to keep it. At least I don’t have to wonder who my child’s father is. This baby was conceived out of lust; nothing more, nothing less. And sometimes I’m bothered by the fact that I didn’t use protection with Desmond; that I put myself in this predicament. I’m so pissed at him for being such an asshole. For not being man enough to say he wasn’t interested. I’m pissed at the fact that there was no closure. And yes, this baby growing inside of me will be a constant reminder of what I shared with him for those few months. Still, I have no regrets. If I could do it all over again, I would, but I’d use a damn condom.
My cell rings, snapping me out of my reverie. I smile, answering. “Hi, Daddy.”
“Hey, babygirl, how’s my beautiful daughter doing?”
I feel myself getting choked up. “I’m so happy to hear your voice.”
“You sure know how to put a smile on your old man’s face.”
“Oh, Daddy,” I tease. “You say that to Persia and Porsha, too.”
He chuckles. “You’re right. And it’s true. Have I told you how proud I am of you lately?” Without any warning, I burst into tears. The idea of my son or daughter not ever experiencing the kind of love with Desmond in the way I experienced with my own father, tears me up inside. I’m so overwhelmed with emotions. Telling him I’m pregnant is going to be one of the hardest things I’ll ever have to do. Not because he’ll be hurt, or disappointed in me. It’ll be looking into his eyes and seeing how he looks into mine. As if I’m still his precious little girl. “Baby, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”
“I love you so much, Daddy. I’m so happy to have you as a father.”
“Aww, babygirl. Your old man loves you, too.”
I decide that when I deliver my baby, I want him there with me. Just as he watched my mother give birth to my sisters and me, I want him to witness the birth of his first grandchild. I break down, crying again.
“Baby, are you sure everything’s okay? Do you need me to come over there?”
“No, Daddy. I’m fine, really.”
“No you’re not,” he says, concern etched in his tone. “Look, where are you?”
“I’m home.”
“I’m on my way.”
“Daddy, I’m pregnant,” I say, placing a hand up on my stomach, sitting next to him on the sofa.
He stares at me, reaches over and takes my hand. He squeezes it. “How many months?”
“Four.”
