“I’m pregnant.”
Ellison laughs, bouncing her baby girl on her hip. Standing at the sink, she looks at me, eyes rolled and lips pursed. “Already? Didn’t you see Tags, like, two days ago?” she teases, grabbing a bottle from the counter and popping it into the baby’s mouth. “He that good?”
She laughs and I want to cry.
I told Tags and he shut down, got up and walked out of the room. I drove home fifteen minutes later and I cried the entire way.
When I don’t say anything, she turns slowly, staring. Her eyes are huge and her mouth’s hanging open. She’s shocked. I’m shocked. “That wasn’t a joke, was it?”
“No.”
“You and Tags are havin’ a baby?” Her voice gets higher and her eyes get bigger. I wish it were Tags’. It’d be much easier that way.
“It’s King’s,” I whisper, the words slicing my tongue when they leave my mouth. I can’t look at her anymore, so I opt for staring at my feet instead.
“Oh my God,” she breathes, putting little Aubree in her bounce seat. “Oh my God,” she says again, her hand clutching her chest as she sits down next to me on the couch. “Are you sure?”
“At least three months sure.”
She looks at my belly and back at my face. “You’re sure?”
I shrug, too scared to see a doctor. “Pretty sure.”
“Have you gone to the doctor? Told anyone? Does King know?”
I just shake my head, tears burning at the corners of my eyes. I’m so sacred, but so excited. So nervous, but so in love. “It feels weird to be twenty-nine and having a baby alone.” I sniffle, laughing. “Shouldn’t I be married, or at least in a relationship?”
“No. You don’t need a man to do this. You have me. You have family.” This is Ellison— tough, and always ready to help. This is why I love her.
I snort, sucking back tears. “And as much as I appreciate that, I don’t have the one person I need right now.” King.
“You think you need him, but you don’t. He’s a fucking asshole anyway. No one, including you and that baby, needs him. If he’s just going to leave, you don’t want that shit in your life.”
She’s not wrong, but it still hurts.
“So, Mommy, what do I do next?” I ask her, knowing she knows where I go from here. She’s got a five-month-old, the girl knows her shit.
“We eat tacos and ice cream, and then, in the morning, we make you a doctor’s appointment.”
I can do tacos. The rest I’m not so sure about.
Walking out of a modern building downtown, my hands full of pamphlets and prenatals, I try not to puke. I’m on baby overload. A heartbeat and a sonogram. Dos and don’ts. My head’s swimming.
“I think it’s a boy,” Ellison says, bumping her shoulder into mine.
“Maybe,” I mutter, staring at my feet as I walk, trying not to trip. My heads not here, floating in the clouds.
El stops, grabbing my hand and stopping me. On her face is understanding and love. “I know you’re shocked still, and mad, really mad, but shit will be okay, okay? You’ve got this. We’ve got this.”
I nod, hearing her and believing her, but not feeling it yet. This is all too new. Too much.
“I have to tell my dad and brothers.” The idea makes me sick. They’re going to be pissed, and then they’re going to kill King. “They’re going to kill King.”
El shrugs. “Good.”
Not good. My baby deserves a father—not that he or she will get one.
Walking into the parking lot, I stop suddenly, shocked, when I see a bike parked next to my car. There’s a body on the bike, his cut-covered back to me.
For an instant, I think it’s King, until Tags turns around, his eyes locking on mine. “Sammy,” he says, his voice low. Getting off his bike, he walks up to me, his face soft. “How ya doin’, sweetheart?”
“Good,” I croak, swallowing back the disappointment. Tags is here, King isn’t.
“Good.” He nods. “And the baby?” he asks, looking down at my stomach. His eyes on me makes me want to hide.
“Fine,” I manage to say when he grabs me and pulls me into him.
“Good. Sorry I was a dick the other night. Shocked the fuck out of me,” he tells me, eyes on his feet, rubbing uncomfortably at the back of his neck.
I nod, understanding. Tags owes me nothing. In fact, I owe the apologies. Tags has never been anything but good to me. He treats me good. He’s here.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him, my face in his chest.
I feel him chuckle. “It’s all good, Sammy.”
“I was awful.”
“I’m good with awful. Stop cryin’. It’s over and done, and I’m here.” I don’t know what that means, what here means, but I don’t care. I just want to feel whole again. Happy again. Me again.
“Okay,” I agree. I have to agree because if I don’t, I’ll fall apart.
“Friends, baby?”
“Friends.”
Tags isn’t King. No one is King. There are no substitutes or replacements. No one or nothing can fill the fucking void.