“Out.”
“To her?”
I turned around slowly, locking eyes with her. “No. To get some much-needed air.”
“You know,” she said with a devilish grin, “You’re getting mighty defensive over a friend. Over a one-night stand. Over a baby you don’t know... and a woman you don’t love.”
I turned my back again and reached for the door. But just before I crossed the threshold, I said with finality—without looking over my shoulder—
“Who said I didn’t love her?”
Mahasin + Paris Summers
(late October)
Mahasin
If someone had told me I’d be lying back in my baby’s daddy’s—who I’m not in a relationship with—Rolls-Royce at seven months pregnant, listening to his two best friends crack jokes about what a bitch I’ve made him out to be, catering to my every need, I would have called them a bold-faced liar. But there I was—digging the scene with my gangster lean—feet onhis dashboard to relieve some of the pressure on my swollen but moisturized ankles.
Often, I had to catch myself from massaging the back of Gage’s neck as he drove through the streets effortlessly, as if he were proud to have me in his front seat. He’s been amazingly supportive thus far, and I couldn’t have asked for better. He hired a private chef to ensure I get three meals a day plus snacks, a driver for the days I just want to be chauffeured, and an in-home Lamaze instructor. At my doctor’s appointments, he'd always asks several questions and looked forward to rolling up his sleeves and conducting the sonogram sessions himself.
I had the pleasure of meeting his parents—and he, mine. And although neither thought our union was traditional, both sides were excited to get to know each other and help raise our baby girl in a loving family.
“Aye, Mahasin, tell the truth. You got our boy running all over Rosemoor when the pregnancy cravings hit, don’t you?” Jason’s voice boomed through the car speakers.
“Why are they in my business?” I smiled at Gage.
“Because his punk ass called me at 10 p.m., nervous like a defendant on his last strike, talking ‘bout, ‘Bro, she wants kettle popcorn but only from the farm. The farm isn’t open, but if I tell her that, she’s going to start crying.’” Jason’s laughter echoed. “With his soft ass.”
“Nah, that ain’t even the worst one. Remember the nigga almost lost a finger trying to make a chopped pickle taco recipe?” Desmond chimed in.
“Man, shut y’all asses up,” Gage laughed.
“Nigga be scared to go home if he ain’t got what his Dollface asked for,” Jason continued.
I couldn’t help but smile. Knowing not only that this man had no limits when it came to my happiness, but that he also used my nickname when speaking to his friends about me, made meblush. It felt good to know that I wasn’t thought of as the baby mama from hell.
“Don’t nobody be scared. If they ain’t got what she wants, then she just gonna have to—”
“Gage!” I cut him off in disbelief about what he was about to say. “You would come home defeated and not find my snacks?” I playfully whined and poked my bottom lip out.
He let out a deep chuckle. “I’d go get you the world if you craved it, Dollface,” he said as he turned his head, smiling, and quickly caressed my chin.
The car got quiet. Even the baby I was carrying paused from kicking my internal organs. My hand stilled on my stomach, and I looked out the window like I hadn’t heard him. But I heard every word—and felt the warmth and sincerity in his touch. My chest tightened, and had I not already been pregnant, my ovaries would have jumped.
“So anyway,” Gage said, clearing his throat. “Y’all coming to the baby shower, right? Mahasin got this whole baby-animals-meets-Noah’s-Ark-meets-sunflowers theme going on.”
“Why are you making it seem more dramatic than it is?” I asked playfully.
“Hell yeah, I’m coming. How could the godfather not come?” Desmond asked.
“Who the fuck said your ugly ass was the godfather?” Jason intercepted. “As the real godfather, I’ll be there—with the best gift.”
“Ugly?, Nigga I’m beautiful.”
“Beautiful? That’s a stretch, you more like Flavor Flav without the clock,” Jason carried on.
“Flavor Flav, without the clock? Fuck does that even mean, bro?”
