“I’m trying to get back to one. Start over. In case you missed it, I have to put my life back together. Getting rid of this house and cutting ties with you are the only things standing in my way.”
MonthsLater
“And you’re sure you’re ready for this?” my younger sister Zyah asked me.
The two of us were riding in the rental car we’d picked up at the airport. After four months and a two hour flight, I felt like I was ready to share the news about my fertility with my family. While I still hadn’t made any hardcore decisions, the reality of the situation had settled. I accepted the fact that if I wanted motherhood (which I did), I wasn’t going to be able to take the typical path to get there.
“Ready probably isn’t the right word, but I’m going to do it,” I responded. “There’s been so many times that I’ve wanted topick up the phone and call Mama. Just cry on her shoulder. But I can’t get her support if she doesn’t know about the issue.” I pulled my eyes off the road in front of me briefly to glance at my sister. “Besides, it’s not fair for you to have to bear the burden of my secret.”
“You’re my sister, Ry. It’s not a burden.”
I maneuvered the car into the driveway of the familiar house on the familiar street. Though I no longer lived in Pecan Shores, I was glad every time I came into town that my mother never agreed to my brother buying her a new house. My brother was Christian “CJ” Upton. For over a decade, he was the most popular, most decorated, most successful, most loved, and most hated player in professional basketball. He was also one of the richest people in America, based on both his contract and his endorsements. He could’ve bought our parents any house in the world and offered to, but my mother refused. She wanted to stay in the house that she and our father worked hard for, the house they raised the four Upton siblings in. I looked up at the edifice of the house that we’d grown up in, and a sense of calm fell over me.
Our mother, Kimberly Upton, met us at the front door before we could ring the doorbell. “Ry.” She pulled me into a loving hug. “Zy.” She released me and pulled Zyah into a hug. “Get in here. We’ve been waiting for you guys, so we could start dinner.”
After visiting the bathroom, Zyah and I found our family in the dining room, preparing to sit down at the table. I went around the room greeting everybody. Zyah and Christian lived in Chicago, so I saw the two of them frequently. Both Zyah and I worked for our oldest sibling. Zyah handled Christian’s social media and digital presence. I worked as his personal manager. I handled everything in his life that pertained to the personal side.
For example, while I didn’t schedule his photoshoots, I laid out the clothes he would wear, packed the bag if one was needed,made sure that he arrived on time to the shoot, and made sure there was nothing else on his personal calendar that would clash with the photoshoot. I scheduled the grocery deliveries, the vehicle maintenance, doctor and dental appointments. I made sure that the housekeeper, gardener, and nanny understood the expectations. I purchased the plane tickets and made sure the resort was booked when he wanted to take his wife and children on a family vacation. I made sure that there was always shower gel, dish soap, laundry detergent, and garbage bags.
I was the mayor of the mundane.
The president of the predictable.
The handler of the household.
And I loved my job. I loved my brother, his wife, and my adorable niece and nephews. They were goals for me. I had to admit that serving them every day since I got the diagnosis caused a sting because I might not ever get what they had.
Anyway, my point was that I saw them frequently. My brother Ricky and our parents lived in Pecan Shores, Virginia. I didn’t get to see them as often. So, I sought them out first.
“Daddy.” I landed in his open arms and buried myself unapologetically in his chest.
“My rowdy girl.” He kissed the top of my head and held me close. He felt and smelled familiar.
“I missed you, Daddy.”
“You should come home more often.”
“I should.”
He pulled me in tighter. “When your mama said you were coming to talk to us, I got a pit in the middle of my stomach. Are you okay?”
“Not really,” I admitted. Being safe in my dad’s arms made tears start to well in my eyes. “But I don’t want to have to tell the story one hundred times. I would rather just say what I have to say and get it over with.”
“Understood. So, go get you a plate and let’s have this conversation.”
I made my way to Ricky. Ricky was the sibling right over me. Growing up, we were moderately close. Ricky tended to stay busy because he was always trying to find his “thing.” I always felt like he put pressure on himself to find something he could excel at, because Christian was so good at basketball.
“Big Rick,” I sang as we embraced.
“Rowdy Ry.” He broke the embrace and captured my chin in his hand. His brown eyes met mine. “You good?”
I shrugged.
Next, I hugged Christian. All-Star weekend had just ended, so with a few days off, Christian had brought his family to the home they owned in Pecan Shores. Finally, I hugged my sister-in-law, Genesis Cole-Upton, and my niece and nephews. Then, I grabbed a plate, filled it with food, and met my family members at the dining room table.
“Talk to us, Ry,” my dad said after a few moments of us all digging into our plates.
“Yeah,” Christian agreed. “I’m feeling a way, because you had to come all the way to Pecan Shores to tell me something, when you could’ve told me in Chicago.”
