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“I’d risk it all. Everything I have. If my heart still refused to make room for anyone else after all this time, it would be all the proof needed to know I made the right decision.”
Gracefully, she stood tall and grabbed her purse from the hook to the far left of the marble tabletop. It wasn’t until she grabbed mine and placed it on her other shoulder that I realized I hadn’t budged. Delayed cognition and mobility was solely based upon my inability to push aside thoughts that related to the father of my child.
Eventually, however, I managed. When I began my waddle, I didn’t stop until I reached my vehicle and started the engine.
“Call me once you’ve sorted things out. You’ll be fine. I promise!” Shayla yelled from a short distance.
With a head nod, I dismissed us both. Inside of my car, the cool air brushed against my skin. The white, loosely fitting shirt I wore clung to me as the pressure from the AC assaulted it. Summer hadn’t reached Berkeley yet. We still had weeks before the true temperatures crippled us all. Nonetheless, May had just started and it came in swinging.
Ironically, Summer Walker mumbled words over a beat that I could hardly hear because my stereo’s volume had been lowered before I exited to go inside of John Pione, the restaurant where Shayla and I dined bi-weekly. I pumped the volume as I pulled out of the parking spot and into traffic. At the realization of what was playing, I started the song, again, this time signing right along with her.
“Threw away your love letters. I– thought it’d make me feel better. I– finally got you out my bed but I still can’t get you out my head. Oooh.”
Together, we concluded the song a minute later. Wishing she’d made a full-length single of the track, I hit the back button to restart it again. Visions of Milo’s long arms surrounding me as he read the first letter he’d ever written in response to the letter I’d given him a day earlier bombarded me. It felt like a lifetime ago.
We’d both graduated our undergrad programs a year and a half prior, but still lived on campus as part of a program that provided us with campus housing until we completed our medical degrees. The program was dedicated to young scholars much like Milo and me who weren’t ready for the ways of the world to interrupt our thought process, the way we acquired knowledge, or our chances of finishing our degrees flawlessly.
A mere four months prior, we’d made things official. Years of uninterrupted studies, summer hours, and loaded schedules each semester had kept us apart for years, but neither were enough to completely smolder the burning desire we both suffered through for one another while making our education our top priority. And finally, when we couldn’t withstand the idea of being apart, we merged as one.
Every song that played after left me a bit deeper in my feelings than I was before starting the journey home. Finally, in my driveway, I made my way into the house at a snail's pace. The additional weight was still taking some adjusting.
The smell of vanilla and caramel welcomed me, squeezing me like the hug I desperately needed. Exhaustion burdened me with tired eyes and legs. In the shower and then to bed was where I was headed, but the sound of my doorbell put a dent in my plans.
Ding Dong.
I’d only managed to make it up the first few steps when I turned and headed back down. Chalking the visit up as one of the twelve things I ordered from online on a daily basis in preparation for my son, I opened the door, expecting to be greeted by boxes. Instead, there was a delivery guy, dressed in red, waiting to greet me. Both hands were full, one with a bouquet of fresh roses that matched his shirt and the other with a fruit bouquet. My stomach growled at the sight of them, though I’d just eaten.
“For Nature Dupree.”
“Yes.”
“I was instructed by Mr. Domino to bring them inside if you don’t mind.”
Of course. Reading the card to find out where the gifts had come from was almost pointless, and so was the namedropping he’d just done. When I swung the door open to find him behind it, I knew who’d sent him.
“Sure.”
He didn’t go far when I stepped aside to let him in. I was almost certain he’d gotten clear instructions on where to rest the gifts and how quickly he should depart because he was out of the door faster than he’d come in. I locked up behind him and wobbled my way over to the console where he’d left my things. After busting open the fruit bag, I removed the note card from the center of the roses.
To my surprise, it wasn’t a computer generated message or one that the flower shop owner had written herself like she usually did. Milo’s handwriting was scribbled across the card, halting all movement as I peered at the words he’d used to describe me and the feelings that he’d been having since the start of our pregnancy.
Nay,
I was on my way out of the office this evening when I thought of you. This isn’t a new occurrence. It happens throughout the day, all day, every day. But today was different. I thought about how you’ve mustered the strength to carry our son through a healthy, flawless pregnancy while making it look so easy though I know it’s not.
Somehow, saying thank you just doesn’t seem like enough. I wish I could bear some of the load but God ain’t have men in mind when tasking women with the beautiful burden of birthing life. We’re in the final stretch. I can’t wait to hold Mason in my arms. I’m looking forward to our check-in next week. Bring me good news, love.
Milo.
Holding the card up to my chest, I groaned as my lips curved upward and my heart began to ache. Deep down, right at his core, he was everything. Gentle. Kind. Caring. Attentive. Affectionate. Wise. Remarkable, in every sense of the word. But he’d buried those traits the day that he gained the title that made it easy to cover the hole he’d dug for me to put them in.
Cheater.
Sighing, I pushed past the disappointment that pooled at the bottom of my belly, turning my stomach and nearly forcing vomit from my mouth. Once the feeling subsided, I embraced the emotions that accompanied the handwritten note still resting against my chest.
I pushed a piece of cantaloupe in my mouth as I read it a second time. By the third time I finished, some of my fruit were in the fridge and the rest were in the bowl I was headed upstairs with. The fruit never made it to my bedroom as intended. I left the note and the bowl they were in on my dresser while preparing to shower, hoping that sleep found me easily.
Cushioned slippers protected my feet from the cold beneath them. I reached behind the glass door and turned the knob of the shower until it reached the red gem I’d installed years ago. It marked the spot for the perfect pressure and temperature so I never had to guess.
