Paternity probability: 99.9%.
I exhaled a laugh—short, proud, a little disbelieving. Not surprised but still humbled by it. It was one thing to know deep down. It was another to see it in print.
I texted her before I could overthink it.
Me:We locked in, baby mama ??
Her reply came almost instantly, like she’d been waiting.
Mahasin:Forever, baby daddy ??
I laughed at her choice of emoji. Paris’s voice drifted from the sunroom, reminding me that I wasn’t alone in the house—laughter, the high-pitched, obnoxious, and unnecessary kind reserved for her girlfriends on FaceTime.
I walked to my office, needing a little distance, and dialed the florist I met at RYZE. Hitting a key, I woke up my laptop and let it load while the call rang.
“Good morning, Rose and Rue. Rue speaking, how may I help you today?” The young woman spoke delightfully on the phone.
“Good morning, Rue. My name is Gage Blaque, and I was wondering if you had time to take an impromptu delivery request.”
“Sure, I’d be more than happy to accommodate you, Mr. Blaque.”
“Gage is fine. And perfect. I need four dozen red roses delivered to Serenity Women’s Medical Group for Dr. Mahasin St. James, by lunchtime.”
“Oh, we love Dr. St. James here.”
Everyone should love my baby, I thought to myself.
“What would you like the card to say, Gage?”
I thought quickly, but long, deciding that the card should simply explain the meaning behind the gesture. The four dozenroses were a symbol of my love and appreciation for Mahasin, carrying my baby so far four months, and a promise that she wouldn’t go another month without me being present for all of it.
“Let the card say,I won’t miss another month of celebrating the greatest gift you’re giving me.”
“Okay, got it. So, the four dozen and express delivery will come to a total of $820,” Rue informed me.
I read off my card number and told her to add 35% of the total cost as the delivery tip. I ended the call, smiling and feeling all stupid, warm, and fuzzy inside, when a shadow crossed the glass door.
“The greatest gift who’s giving you?”
If‘all good things come to an end’were a person. Paris’s voice sliced through my happy thoughts as she stood in the doorway, waiting to explode on my ass. The oversized T-shirt hung off one shoulder, arms folded tight across her chest. Her hair was darker, wet, and wavy-looking because it was still damp from the shower. And that look… the look on her beautiful face could kill.
I closed my eyes, slowly inhaling the last bit of happiness that lingered in the room.Here we go.When I opened them, her swift ass was already in my face, staring at me as if I lied, it’d be the last one I ever told.
“Who is giving you the greatest gift, Gage?”
I slid my rolling chair back to gain at least three feet of personal space. “Don’t ask questions you already know the answers to, Paris. You heard the name I mentioned.”
“Yeah, you're right, I heard it. So, tell me—what isDr. Mahasin St. Jamesgiving you, nigga?”
Before I could answer, she popped me on the head with what appeared to be the TV remote. That shit hurt like hell. The look I gave her let her know I’d let that one slide, but she better quit while she was ahead. One thing I didn’t play with was hitting. Everyone—male or female—should keep their hands tothemselves. However, due to the heat of the moment and the non-life-threatening nature of the act, I let it go.
The lie I was prepared to tell sat on my tongue, ready to pour out, but it felt foul. I’d done enough omitting the truth these past few days. I took a breath and braced for impact.
“She’s pregnant with my baby.”
The whole earth went still. Hell, I think even a few cell towers shut down, and everything battery-operated vanished from existence. I’d never experienced silence so heavy it was damn near eerie. My eyes darted between Paris and the remote that still rested tightly in her grasp.
“Bah-hahahahaha!” she let out the most insidious yet comical laugh. The sound fell somewhere between stand-up comedy and dark romance. I stood up, not wanting to be sitting down when this woman decided to go ape-shit on my ass.
