The melodic rhythmof Jill Scott’s “Blessed” vibrated from the speakers to the very blood vessels in our veins. Waves of relaxing energy circled the air in the room, making love to the lavender notes drifting from the incense in the corner. I dripped some rosehip oil into the palm of my hand. It was warm like a fresh load of laundry. Rubbing my hands together, I placed them on Marissa’s back before beginning to massage her tissue deeply.
She was rapidly heading toward the final weeks of her pregnancy. I’d been working as her midwife and doula ever since she and her husband found out they were pregnant. Hiring me for my services was a no-brainer after having heard her friends rave about my gifted hands and gentle spirit for years. My clientsall tended to run in the same elite circles. Wives or women who happened to be pregnant by men who spared no expense when it came to the care the mother of their children received.
I loved caring for expectant mothers. There was something about helping guide new souls onto the earth that centered me, empowered me even. I might not have had the opportunity to have a child of my own yet and possibly never would, but I decided a long time ago that my work was enough for me.
I was twenty-six with nearly ten years in this field of work, and it came with its highs and lows. I’d seen more than the average person could stand to bear, so I didn’t rush the process. I found joy while patiently waiting on the day a wailing baby was pulled from my womb because women gave a lot to be mothers. Therefore, they deserved gentleness, care, and love during their nine-month journey to childbirth.
When I gave birth to Nuri’s Lighthouse at the tender age of eighteen, I didn’t know what to expect. I just knew I was drawn to babies and offering support to the young girls who got pregnant while we were in school. To this day, my childhood friend, Samara, and I always joked that she was my first client. When she got pregnant at fourteen, many people turned their backs on her. I wasn’t one of them. If anything, I allowed her to climb on mine, and I carried her through as best I could.
During that time, my parents were still alive, and money was never an issue. Once they saw how passionate I was about helping Samara, they funded everything she needed for her baby. Because of their support, my godson Zuri was a healthy, thriving, and joyful twelve-year-old boy. His mother busted her ass to make sure he didn’t want for a thing, and I was proud of her. We’d both managed to turn our immovable odds into stepping stones.
I gently shook Marissa awake after finishing her massage. Her eyes fluttered open, and she laughed when her gaze landed on mine.
“Girl, your hands are a gift from God. I literally can never stay awake while you work your magic.”
I giggled because it was true. I expected Marissa to drift off to sleep every time I saw her name added to my calendar for a session.
“I’m happy to offer you some relief. It’s getting closer to baby Umi’s due date. How are you feeling?”
I helped her off the table, then slid her robe up her arms. She tied the belt in a knot, then placed her hands on her hips, out of breath.
“I feel good, but I am ready for the day when getting up off a couch doesn’t leave me so winded. I’m as big as a house.”
I waved her off while collecting my things. She was my last client of the day, so I was heading home once I left her plush and modern home in the hills.
“Girl, whatever. You are all belly. As active as you are, you’re going to drop your baby weight and be back snatched in no time at all. The bonus is you’re going to have a beautiful and healthy baby girl in your arms while you do it.”
Marissa smiled at me as her eyes took on a distant look. I could tell she was able to picture what I’d said. “Yeah, I wonder if she’s going to look like me or her daddy.” She frowned. “I swear I’m going to fuck some shit up if she comes out looking like the man that put her in here. After all the shit I’ve been through in the last eight months, that would be like a slap in the face. Her daddy ain’t do shit.”
“Who daddy ain’t do shit?” Her husband Clyde’s deep voice bellowed from behind us.
Marissa shrieked with her hand over her heart. Neither of us had heard him come into the room. He chuckled while circlingthe couch to stand beside his wife. I damn near melted seeing the love in his eyes when he bent down to peck her lips. Tears pooled in the corners of my eyes that I fought to keep at bay. As a Cancer I felt everything deeply, including the love between couples or lack thereof on certain occasions.
“Don’t get quiet now. Keep popping your shit.”
Marissa giggled before playfully pushing him. “I’m venting about how pissed I’ll be if our daughter comes out looking like you instead of me. I’m the one going through hell to get her here. The least she could do is look like me.”
Clyde chuckled before his massive hands went to her belly. By the way his face lit up, I knew baby girl was reacting to his presence. Knowing that even in the womb, babies could recognize their parents’ essence warmed me to the core.
I finished gathering my things and prepared to make my leave.
“Don’t be hating. I got good genes, so she’s gon’ be beautiful either way.”
Marissa sighed. “Yeah, you’re right. I think it would hurt me more if you were ugly as hell and she had the nerve to look like you. An ugly husbandanddaughter would be just too much.”
We all laughed as they followed me to the foyer, still fussing about who their baby would resemble, not just physically but in mannerisms too. I always enjoyed hearing the banter between healthy couples. Nothing ever replaced that look of excitement in their eyes as they prepared to embark on their greatest journey yet.
“Thank you for all you do, Nuri. If you ever need anything, do not hesitate to call me. A miracle worker like you deserves miracles of her own.”
I gave her a genuine grin. “You’re welcome, Madam Mayor. I’m happy to help. Take care of yourself, and I’ll be in touch soon.”
I left the happy couple to their banter and headed to my white 1971 Mercedes-Benz 280SL with a vintage soft top in dusty rose. It was my favorite car from my parents’ pristine collection and the only one I was able to keep from being sold off by my brother over the years.
Almost on cue, my phone rang in my purse, and when I pulled it out, his name scrolled across the screen. We hadn’t spoken in a few days. Not for a lack of effort on my part, either, so I decided to pick up. Rylas was four years older than me, but we’d always been close. He was someone I could depend on to provide and protect me, especially after we lost our parents. He became all I had left.
“Hey, Ry. Where have you been? I’ve been calling you,” I stated as I started my car and slowly pulled down the smooth gravel of the Pattersons’ paved driveway.
“I need you to come to the estate. It’s important.” His voice was raspy and had a bite to it.
