I washed my hands before looking through her cabinets for a small bowl. Once I transferred the soup I’d purchased to the bowl, I grabbed a couple of napkins and went to her room, entering without knocking.
I chuckled when I saw her lying diagonally across her bed with one arm draped across her forehead and her mouth open. I put the soup on the bedside table and knelt next to the bed near her head.
“Wake up, beautiful,” I whispered in her ear.
Her arm fell from her head, revealing her eyes as they slowly fluttered open. I kissed her forehead as she took a moment to get her bearings. When she sat up, I adjusted a few pillows behind her.
“Are you still mad?” she asked, rubbing her eyes.
“I was never mad, baby. Confused and annoyed, but not mad. How do you feel?”
“Good for now. Why were you confused and annoyed?”
“Because you forgot you had a nigga.”
“I did no—well, maybe a little bit.”
“How the hell you forget about me when my seed is the reason you were throwing up and had to bring your ass home?”
“Speaking of your seed, . . . there may be two of them.”
I stood, stripped down to my boxer briefs, and motioned for her to scoot over before climbing into bed next to her.
“What do you mean there may be two of them? Like twins?”
I asked that question, fully expecting to be wrong, but then she said, “Yes. Two of them.”
“Hold up. You’re having twins?”
“Possibly, but we won’t find out for sure until my next appointment.”
“That’s a fucking month from now.”
“I thought the same thing, but that’s what I was told.”
“Back up for me, baby, and start from the beginning.”
She shared the conversation she had with Nurse Jordan, and I didn’t know any more than I knew before then. I couldn’t believe we had to wait another month to find out if we were having more than one baby.
“In my younger and more reckless years, we would be at that nigga’s office first thing in the morning for some answers. You’re lucky I’ve matured a lot since then,” I told her.
“No, you’re lucky because you’d look crazy showing up at that man’s office by your damn self.”
“If you say so. Do you think you can eat?”
“I feel much better, so I’ll try.”
I carefully retrieved her soup from the bedside table, stirring it gently with the spoon. Nyomi held her hands open for the bowl, but she put them down when she realized I was about to feed her.
“I’m not handicapped,” she mumbled.
“I didn’t say you were. Is there something wrong with me feeding my woman?”
I lifted the spoon, and she leaned in and opened her mouth. She enjoyed the first spoonful before responding.
“There’s nothing wrong with it, but it’s unnecessary.”
“Let me do what I do.”
