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I look at my mother’s last message and write, I’m pregnant.
It’s probably not the smartest way to say, yes, it’s me, but I had to tell someone, and my mother is the first person I wanted to tell.
My phone dings in my hand, and it’s her.
Can I call?
I turn to Alaska, who’s now driving and still waiting for me to answer her.
“Sorry, it’s my mother. I haven’t spoken to her in a very long time.”
“Don’t apologize. Go ahead, of course.”
I message back, I’m in the car. I’ll call you soon.
She sends me a love emoji.
“Do you think you can drop me off at the café? I want to do some work and reply to a few emails.”
“You want me to stay and talk shit?” she jokes.
“No, but thank you.”
She doesn’t argue with me or ask any more questions.
When she drops me off, I wave goodbye and go in and sit down at the back. Inhaling a deep breath, I call my mom.
If I think about it too long, I’m not sure I will do it. My hands are shaky, and my breathing is uneven.
“Kalilah.” My mother’s voice echoes through the phone. “Is it really you?”
“Yes,” I manage to murmur out.
“Oh, thank God! And you are well?”
I think about her question. Am I well? I’m not really sure how to answer that. I haven’t been well. I have been anything but well. But I don’t know if I want to share all that with her just yet.
“And Tony? He’s okay with you calling us?”
I hate that name.
I hate everything that name stands for.
I hate that this is what it’s come down to.
“I’m not with Tony anymore, Mom.”
“Oh, sorry. We just assumed…”
“It’s okay, but Tony is dead.”
She gasps. “Oh, he, we are so sorry.”
“It’s fine. He was an asshole.” I tell her the truth. She’s quiet, so I continue with, “I’m sorry I did all those awful things.”
“It wasn’t you,” she says.
“I know, but I allowed him to do it.”
