By the time I dragged myself home, utterly exhausted, I collapsed onto the couch, seeking solace in the familiarity of my living room. I grabbed my phone and called Klarissa, knowing her mouth would be the first to run and the last to close.
“Heyyy, boo!” she answered, her voice bright and sing-songy, a stark contrast to my frazzled state. “How was your first day back, Professor Hollis?”
“Ghetto,” I sighed with a tired chuckle. “My feet hurt, my throat is sore from explaining the syllabus a thousand times, and to top it off, I threw up halfway through the last class.”
There was a pause. Then, with alarming nonchalance, Klarissa stated, “You’re pregnant.”
I shot up from the couch. “Girl, what?!”
“You’re pregnant, sis,” she declared matter-of-factly.
I let out a weak laugh, trying to shake off the absurdity of it. “Klarissa, no. It was that damn meatloaf. I’m sure of it."
“Nope! Let’s do the math here,” she countered, practically sifting through the details in her mind. “You and Bryce have been getting busy like you’re trying to repopulate a planet! Plus, you’re not on any kind of birth control, and I know you weren’t pulling out receipts for condoms… at least not for him. So yeah, you’re pregnant! Congrats, bestie! Auntie Klarissa is ready.”
My mind spiraled into chaos.
Oh, my God! What if I am? What if… oh no! We just got good again! What if this ruins it? What if he panics? What if I panic? What if—
“Breathe, Chess,” Klarissa encouraged gently, her tone softening, as if she could sense the storm brewing behind my silence. “Don’t think worst-case. If it’s meant to be, it’s gonna be. God doesn’t give us what we’re not ready for. You’re strong enough to handle whatever comes with this.”
I exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of her words settle within me. “You always gotta go dropping therapy gems, huh?”
“Somebody’s gotta balance out your dramatics,” she teased lightly.
We laughed, but the moment I hung up, the gravity of the situation hit me again, and I found myself out the door.
Twenty minutes later, I stood before the bathroom mirror, clutching a CVS bag in one hand, the other gripping the weight of my potential future with trembling fingers.
Three tests—because one definitely wasn’t enough. I needed confirmation, confirmation’s cousin, and confirmation’s best friend.
By the time I stared down at the third pink line, I was crying. But not the ugly kind; the quiet, shaky kind that sneaks up on you when something surreal and monumental happens.
A baby.
Our baby.
That weekend, when Bryce was off from work, I cooked like I was attempting to bribe a man into falling back in love with me—again. The menu consisted of tender braised short ribs, creamy mac and cheese, sweet yams, earthy collard greens, and my famous cornbread from scratch, golden and fluffy. I even lit one of those good-smelling candles, the kind meant for special occasions.
When Bryce walked in, he smelled it before he saw me. “Damn, you trying to fatten me up?”
“Something like that,” I replied, nervously.
We sat down to eat, and he complimented every bite with genuine appreciation. As we savored dessert, my hands trembled beneath the table.
It's now or never.
I reached under the table and retrieved the small, wrapped box, then stood up to give it to him.
“What’s this?” Bryce asked, a hint of suspicion threading through his voice, while eyeing me as if I were handing him child support papers.
I smiled, feeling a rush of warmth. “Just open it.”
Bryce peeled the paper slowly. His eyes narrowed with curiosity before widening in realization once he saw what was inside.
He stood up so fast his chair scraped back loudly against the floor. “Chesteria… are you serious right now?” he stammered, disbelief and joy mingling in his tone.
I nodded, my heart pounding wildly.
