“Surprise!”

Bristol wide-eyes the cluster of women at our front door even as a smile overtakes her face. At eight months pregnant, she’s bigger than I’ve ever seen her.

And more beautiful.

This pregnancy is unusual, atypical in most ways, but that legendary glow women supposedly have—Bristol has it in spades. I beat her to the door when the knock came because I knew who was on the other side. Kai came to me weeks ago about a shower for Bristol—not a traditional shower, obviously, with gifts for the baby and all the items we would need if this was happening as it should. Kai wanted to do something for Bristol to express the support from the women in her life, to show that they love her and want to walk with her through the hard part lies ahead.

I hug each of them as they file in. There’s Jimmi and Kai, Shon and Charm, who flew in from New York, and my mom and Jade.

“Jade?” I don’t try to hide my surprise. “Wow. I mean, it’s good to see you.”

Things have improved between us and thawed some between Jade and Bristol, but she’s not exactly a fixture in our lives. I told her about the diagnosis soon after we found out, but we haven’t talked much about it. I don’t think she knew what to say. Most people don’t.

“I wasn’t gonna miss this girly shit.” She adjusts her Raiders cap and scoffs. “You know they actually doing pedicures and facials up in here?”

“Yeah, well I heard girls like that kind of thing.” I shrug carelessly. “I’m watching the game in the other room if you need to get outta dodge.”

“I’ll be in there by halftime.” Jade’s smile disappears and her eyes sober. “How you holding up?”

“We’re all right.” I look over at Bristol, surrounded by laughing women and nail polish and Cards Against Humanity and overpriced cupcakes. “I hope it’s not too much for her.”

I haven’t said that aloud to hardly anyone, but Jade’s not just anyone. We bonded around the hardest times of our childhood. The day that cop violated her on the playground. The day one of her brothers killed the other in my front yard. We stood witness to each other’s worst moments; we share the intimacy of tragedy. Our relationship has always been a pendulum that swings from reticent to confessional.

“She’ll be cool. You were right—that girl’s ride or die. She’s a fighter.” Jade tips her head back to study my face. “It’s you I’m worried about.”

“Me?” I touch my chest and shake my head. “I’ll be fine. I mean, it’s gonna hurt to the white meat, but I’ll hold as long as she’s okay. If this breaks Bristol . . .”

My words disintegrate. Our love is a tensile thread, stretched beyond even the bounds I thought possible. It connects us in a way that may be invisible, but is more real to me than anything I can touch or taste. I told her once that if I break her heart, I break mine, and it’s true. Our hearts are wrapped around one another, joined. I honestly believe I can survive anything if Bristol is by my side. It’s the closest thing to faith I have, and I cling to it. I cling to her. She thinks I’m the one holding us up, but my strength is tangled in her. If I lost Bris . . . not physically, but what we have, it has to stay intact. It’s my cornerstone, and from what I’ve read, the hardest thing for a couple to survive is losing a child.

Kai walks up and says a few words to Jade before my cousin drifts off. Not sure how long she’ll be able to stay in here with the estrogen as thick as it is.

“Thanks for letting us do this, Grip.” Sadness shadows Kai’s eyes, but a smile rests obstinately on her lips. “We’re with you guys. I know this is unimaginably hard, but you’re not alone.”

“Thanks for letting me stay,” I say. “For understanding.”

This whole thing is sweet, and I’m glad Kai wanted to do it, but it, like everything in this pregnancy, has a bitter side, and I want to be close if things take a turn and Bristol needs me.

“Well you can stay, but you did agree to be out of sight, so . . .” She waves a slim hand toward the living room and the mammoth flat-screen television waiting for me. “Off you go.”

“I’m going,” I fake grumble. All this nail polish and tarts and shit is actually starting to make me itch.

On my way out, I stop to kiss Bristol’s cheek.

“You knew about this.” She narrows her eyes, but a smile breaks through. “A co-conspirator.”

“You can punish me later.”

“Oh, I plan to.” She tips up to whisper in my ear, “We can have beached whale sex when everyone leaves.”

“My new favorite position,” I joke. “However I can get it in.”

“Ugh.” She scowls and smiles at the same time. “You’re awful.”

“I’m in love.” I cradle her face in my hands.

“So am I.” She puts her hands over mine, her eyes locking on me. “Thank you for this.”

I nod and bend to kiss her belly, no longer just a bump. Now that we’re at the end, she can’t see her toes anymore. I’m gonna miss this belly, and a sudden pain harpoons me at the thought, nearly taking my breath. Once this belly is gone, so is our little girl.

Over the next hour, I try to lose myself in the soccer match, but I keep finding my ears straining to hear what they’re doing in there. I figure I can ask Jade when she joins me, but she never does, and that’s got me curious. I pad down the hall and surreptitiously poke my head around the corner. Jade’s still there. Matter of fact, she’s adding her words to all the other pen markings covering Bristol’s belly. Right across the middle is scrawled the name we chose for the baby.

Zoe.

It means life. That’s what’s possible: that Zoe’s life and death will save someone else. Bristol laughs and squirms as Jade puts the finishing touches on what looks like a baby panda.

“It tickles!” Bristol screeches, tossing her head back, her dark hair swinging behind her.

She’s so beautiful and so happy. I want to freeze this moment and store it in a time capsule, bury it for safekeeping, for posterity, to show the other children we’ll have a picture of their mother fierce enough to find joy in the most difficult time of her life.

What feels like days later but is only a few hours, the cupcakes are gone, the games are stowed away, the facials are done. These well-meaning women have taken Bristol from me all day, and as much as I love them, I want her back. I want her to myself. There’s a strength we draw from one another that comes in the quiet at the end of the day, holding each other, talking about everything, reassuring each other. It’s not much, but it seems to be the only thing that truly soothes the ache that’s grounded itself immovably in my heart.

I wander into the kitchen, hoping maybe one cupcake survived, only to stop at the door. My mother and Bristol are huddled together against the sink, a tangle of arms and tears and grief and strength. Every primal instinct in my body blares for me to protect the two most important women in my life, to stop whatever is hurting them, but reason filters in and I feel more helpless than I ever have. It’s just life, just death, an inexorable cycle that has shattered my illusion of control, and there is truly nothing I can do to stop the pain.

Bristol glances up from their weepy embrace, a subtle curve tweaking her lips.

“Hey babe.” Her voice, husky and raspy from tears, strangles in her throat. “I was just telling your mom Zoe’s middle name.”

It’s Millicent, Ma’s name. Everyone calls her Mittie, but that’s because Jade couldn’t say Millicent and started calling her Aunt Mittie. It stuck, and we all adopted it, but her given name is Millicent, and like a precious heirloom, we’re passing it on to Zoe.

My mom has talked so much about grandkids in the past, I’m sure these weren’t the circumstances into which she envisioned her first one being born. I insinuate myself into their tight circle, enveloping them both in my arms and trying to give them strength from my depleted reserves.

“I love you,” Ma whispers, pulling back to put her right hand on my cheek and her left on Bristol’s. “Both of you. We’ll get through this. God’ll get us through it. Y’all got my prayers.”

My mama might love her bottle of Ace of Spades and I may have even seen her toke a couple of times growing up when things got hard, but she never misses a Sunday. I know it bothers her that the faith she tried to cultivate for years when I was younger holds no real place in my life anymore.

“Thank you for that. We can use all the prayers we can get,” Bristol replies, shocking the hell out of me. Since when did she care if somebody was praying? I guess tough times can do that to you.

I walk Ma to the door, nodding while she prattles, assuring her that I’ll make sure Bristol gets some rest and promising we’ll eat the food she left in the refrigerator for us.

“Marlon, look at me.” She reaches up to grasp my chin, holding my eyes with an intensity I’ve never seen before. “Bristol is a survivor, we both know that, but she’s not ready for this.”

“She’ll be—”

“Neither are you,” she cuts in, her throat muscles working to hold back tears. “I know you’re trying to brace yourself for it, but I want you to accept that you can’t be prepared for this kind of pain, even when you know it’s coming.”

I stop trying to talk, to defend, to reassure, and instead just absorb her wisdom.

“It’s obvious how much you love your wife and how she adores you, but this will change things.” Ma’s brows gather over troubled eyes. “You don’t come out of this kind of battle without some scars, and as much as it’s gonna hurt you, it’s Bristol who has carried Zoe all this time, felt her move and shared her very body with her. Just remember when the time comes that it’s a little different for her, maybe a little deeper, even closer to the bone. Fathers don’t like to hear that, but listen to your mama, Marlon.”

I don’t trust my voice, but just nod. Mama is the last to leave, and I lean against the cottage door for a minute, letting the sudden silence sink into my overworked senses. I understand what my mom meant about not being ready even when I think I am, but I’m glad I at least have the next month to try.

They say God laughs when we make plans. When I go back to Bristol in the kitchen, I think that must be true. She’s at the sink, right where I left her, eyes wide and red-rimmed, cheeks tear-streaked, hair rioting in thick dark and dappled waves down her back. It’s not how she looks that brings that proverb to mind, it’s what she says on a startled gasp of breath.

“My water broke.”