“Don’t make me.” She smirked right back.
I kissed her forehead and took the baby from her arms, careful not to wake her. Her little pink lips were parted just slightly, soft lashes resting against chubby cheeks. She had Autumn’s lips and my eyes. Autumn’s complexion and my wide nose. A little bit of both of us, just like she should be.
Then, the front door opened, and Axel and Vanessa stepped in, all cozy in long coats and holding hands. Vanessa had a casserole dish wrapped in foil. Axel had a cigar behind his ear.
“Merry Christmas, family,” he said, nodding to everybody.
“Heyyy now, what y’all bring?” Uncle Tone asked, already eyeing the foil.
“Green bean casserole,” Vanessa said with a soft smile.
A beat of silence hit the room before Taj mumbled under her breath, “See, this is why I told y’all we need a food sign-up sheet next year.”
I damn near choked trying not to laugh. Vanessa heard her but smiled anyway. Autumn gave Taj a sharp look, then leaned over to hug her dad and congratulate him and Vanessa again on their engagement.
This past year had been all about figuring shit out. Blending two lives. Two cities. Two families. From constant flights back and forth to late-night FaceTime arguments over the smallest shit. From family events where my folks had to chill, and hers had to loosen up. Somehow, some way, we found a rhythm that worked for us.
When Autumn first told me she was pregnant, we agreed we’d keep doing the long-distance shit for a while. I was flying out to Arbor Hills every couple of weeks. I would stay for a few days, have date nights, spoil her, rub her feet, and talk to her belly. Then, I’d head back to Cali to handle business.
It wasn’t the smoothest setup, but it was solid. We understood each other. She wasn’t going to leave her city, and I wasn’t about to abandon the empire I built from the ground up on the West Coast. My name, my product, and my money was rooted in California.
We bumped heads about it. Real arguments. Heated ones. She’d be tired and hormonal. I’d be stretched thin, trying to juggle a hundred different things. But we had a rule: don’t say no shit we can’t come back from. No matter how mad we got, we stayed on the same side.
The salon she worked at was booming, and her clients wouldn’t let her go if they could help it. She had that city on lock, and I never tried to take that from her. She was hustling. Still grinding. Still her own boss. I never wanted her to feel like she had to give that up just to be mine. I was standing beside her, not over her. Everything was moving how it needed to until our baby girl decided she was ready early.
Autumn was thirty-three weeks when she called me late one night, saying she was cramping and didn’t feel right. I was out in Compton handling business. Her doctor said it could be early labor, so I shut everything down, got on the jet, and flew straight to her without thinking twice.
Two days later, our daughter came into this world so tiny, but strong as hell. She was barely four pounds, and her little cry damn near cracked my chest open. She had to go straight to the NICU, and that humbled me. Seeing her in that incubator with all those wires, the monitors beeping, the nurses moving around her like clockwork.
They told us she needed help keeping her temperature stable. She had to do those little “practice breaths” because her lungs weren’t all the way ready yet. They fed her through a tiny tube at first and kept track of every ounce she gained.
I had to scrub my hands damn near raw every time I walked in, but I didn’t complain once. I sat in that chair for hours, watching her chest rise and fall, praying over her. I held her on my bare chest when the nurses let me, and she would curl up like she belonged nowhere else.
Autumn pretended to be strong, but I could see that shit wearing on her. So I stayed. Every day. Every night. Three and a half weeks straight of NICU life. I learned what every beep meant. I learned how to change a diaper through those little incubator holes. I learned how to read her cues when she got overstimulated.
And when she finally pulled that feeding tube out on her own, Autumn cried in my arms in front of everybody. When the doctor finally cleared her to come home, it felt like we were bringing home the toughest little fighter in the whole world. And after that, I knew for a fact Autumn was stuck with me for life.
I stayed in Arbor Hills for another month after that doing my daddy thing. I learned how to be there for Autumn when thetears came out of nowhere, and she couldn’t even explain them. I made sure she ate. I reminded her how fine she still was, even when she was feeling off in her own skin. I showed up for my family.
Even when I had to get back to the West Coast, I stayed tapped in. FaceTime was my lifeline. If I couldn’t be there in person, I was there through the phone. Mornings. Late nights. Feedings. Doctor’s appointments. I wasn’t missing shit I didn’t absolutely have to.
I let her know she wasn’t in this alone. It wasn’t easy, but we made it work with love, patience, and real-ass conversations in between the chaos. That’s how we got here. Christmas Day at Big Mama’s house. Back where all this shit started.
I walked over to the couch and sat with December resting against my chest, still knocked out. My mom came over next, brushing a kiss across my cheek before cooing down at her granddaughter.
“My grandbaby gettin’ so chunky,” Ma smiled. “Look at them cheeks. That’s all you, baby.”
“Nah,” I grinned. “That’s Autumn. She came out lookin’ like her mama and actin’ like her daddy.”
“She gon’ be somethin’ else,” she said, shaking her head with love. “Y’all better get ready.”
“We stay ready,” Autumn chimed in, settling beside me on the couch and handing me a bottle of water.
I looked over at her, my forever, and nodded. “Ready for anything.”
Big Mama came out of the kitchen with a tray of honey ham. “Let’s eat before the christening,” she called. “Y’all know how long that preacher likes to talk.” The whole house moved at once, with everybody getting ready to grub.
“Babe,” Autumn leaned into me, whispering low.
