“When you didn’t text back.” The words tumbled out before I could stop them. “After the injection site thing. I thought maybe I’d done something wrong. Scared you off. Ruined this before it even started.”
He didn’t respond immediately. Just kept driving, his hands flexing slightly on the wheel.
Then he pulled over.
We were on a side street in Treme—narrow, tree-lined, the kind of block where people sat on their porches and knew each other’s business. He put the car in park and turned to face me fully.
“You didn’t mess anything up,” he said.
I looked at him. Really looked at him. His eyes were dark and serious, and something in them made my chest ache.
“And even if you had,” he continued, “that’s not on you. This process is hard. You’re allowed to be scared.”
My eyes burned. I blinked fast, trying to keep the tears from spilling over.
“I can’t afford to be scared,” I said quietly. “I need this to work.”
“So do I.”
The admission hung in the air between us—raw and honest and more vulnerable than anything either of us had said before.
We sat there on that side street in Treme, the engine idling, the afternoon light filtering through the oak trees overhead, and for the first time since I signed that contract, I felt like maybe we were in this together.
Not as employer and employee.
Not as man with money and woman who needed it.
Just… together.
Amai put the car back in drive and pulled onto the street. We didn’t talk the rest of the way to Mama’s house. But the silence was different now.
When we turned onto my block, I saw Mama on the porch in her usual chair, a glass of something amber in her hand, watching the street like she’d been waiting.
Amai pulled up to the curb and cut the engine.
Mama’s eyes tracked him as he got out, walked around the front of the car, and opened my door.
I moved slowly, one hand braced against the doorframe, the other pressed to my abdomen where the cramping still pulsed dull and insistent. Amai offered his hand, and I took it, letting him help me out onto the sidewalk.
“You back again, huh?” Mama called from the porch.
Amai looked up at her, his expression respectful but unbothered. “Yes, ma’am.”
Mama took a sip of her drink, her eyes narrowing slightly. “I thought surrogates just put up the money and show up when it’s time to take the baby.”
“Normally they do,” Amai said evenly. “But Truth deserves more than normal. So, that’s what she’s getting.” He paused, his gaze steady on Mama. “And after this, she won’t want for anything.”
Mama studied him for a long moment. Then she nodded once, slow and deliberate, like she’d just made a decision about him she wasn’t ready to share yet.
Amai turned to me. “Call me if you need anything.”
“I will.”
He held my gaze for a beat longer than necessary. Then he got back in the car, closed the door, and drove away.
I stood on the sidewalk watching the taillights disappear around the corner, my body heavy and aching and somehow lighter than it had been all day.
“You okay, baby?” Mama asked.
