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The eight minutes was up. I picked up the stick, and there was the little pink plus sign. It fell into the trash, dropped from nerveless fingers.
“Just like Mama,” I whispered.
Except I loved Ronan. The night we slept together was beautiful—a flicker of warmth in a cold storm.
Bibi was waiting on the couch. “Well?”
“I’m pregnant.”
Christ, saying the words out loud sent a shiver of fear down my spine.
Bibi smiled to herself, then scattered the cats and patted the cushion next to her. “Sit. Let’s talk.”
I dropped beside her. “There’s nothing to talk about. I can’t have this baby, Bibi. I can’t run a business and have a baby. I can’t.”
“Well, the fact that you’re talking about running your business is an improvement, since, as of three hours ago, you wouldn’t get out of bed. Already this baby is motivating you…”
“I’m serious. Ronan is gone. For ten years. He won’t even talk to me. I can’t even tell him he’s a fa—” The word stuck in my throat. “I can’t do this alone.”
“You won’t be alone.” She held up her hand. “I know, I’m an old lady, but Ronan gave you a bunch of money—”
“That I can’t bring myself to spend.”
“You can if it’s to take care of the child you two made,” she said, and that glint of happiness was back.
I shook my head. “It’s not the money, Bibi. Or the work, even. I can’t be like Mama. Keeping a baby and then resenting him or her. Making them feel worthless their entire life.”
Bibi leveled me with a harsh look. “You honestly believe you would do that? After everything you’ve been through? Because I don’t.”
“No,” I admitted. “But I can’t know the future, except how impossibly hard it’s going to be. And if I do manage to keep my head above water, people won’t see the work. They’ll see a single mother with her baby daddy in jail… I’ll become a statistic.”
“I’m not going to hear you talk like that, Shiloh,” Bibi said sternly. “That’s small thinking. Behind every statistic is a human being with a story. Like your mama. She told you her awful secret but not how hard she struggled after.”
“But you know the whole story, Bibi. You’ve always known. They all did. Why didn’t you or Bertie or someone tell me?”
“Because Marie made us promise. She swore she’d do it her way, in her time.”
“Drunk, in front of everyone? In front of Ronan?” Shame wanted to curl me back into a ball.
“Her way and her time were all wrong, obviously. And over the years, I wanted to break my promise and tell you, proper. But you know why I didn’t?”
I shook my head.
“Because it didn’t matter.” She reached to touch my cheek. “You are a treasure to me, Shiloh, and have been since the moment you came to live here. I knew telling you would only make you question your worth. Instead, I tried to raise you to believe in yourself. To let your value come from within. And I think I did a pretty darn good job. You know how I know? Because you love Ronan Wentz with your whole heart.”
I nodded. “I do. I love him so much…”
“It’s very difficult—impossible even—to love another with your whole heart if you can’t find any of that love for yourself.”
I shook my head. “I still feel dirty now that I know. I am Mama’s pain, walking around in a flesh-and-blood body.”
“Once the shock of it loosens its hold, you’ll be able to think more clearly. And if you sit down and actually talk with your mama, you’ll have the whole truth. Understanding unlocks doors, child.”
I bit my lip, thinking. Bibi was right in that I needed to talk to Mama. Really talk. I couldn’t think about my own situation until I did. They were bound together, and I couldn’t make a decision about my future until I fully understood my past.
I hugged Bibi, kissed her cheek, and booked a flight to New Orleans.
When I arrived in Louisiana three days later, I took an Uber straight to Mama’s little shotgun house on Old Prieur Street in the Seventh Ward. My heart in my throat, I knocked on the door.
