Zariah
It's the first Friday in November. The last day for my father to formally declare his intent to run for mayor. I bite my lip considering calling to remind him that he has until noon to complete the process—a process that he's fully aware of and versed me on.
“Worried about your first tango in the courtroom?” Connie inquires, while stepping into my new office. The tiniest one, nevertheless, I am blessed.
I shake my head. “No, my client is a really good father. It was a shame I had to convince him that judges don't automatically award children to mothers.”
“Girl, that child’s mother …” she shakes her head. “There are some awful black men out there, why try to ruin a good one.”
“Yeah, there are,” I smile at a photo of Martin and his junior on my desk, the background is neutral, it was the only 5 by 7 left since my mom hogged all of the Thanksgiving style photos of every size they had completed in preparation for the babies first turkey holiday.
“Hey, did you ever make yourself a doctor appointment last month? I didn't get sick, but our accounting manager called in this morning, saying something about what he ate at lunch.”
“Travion?” I frown. Damn, he was mumbling an old Wyclef, from back in the day, song just yesterday morning.
“Yeah, I didn't speak with him, though, we won't ever visit Pokilicious ever again.”
“Oh hell no! Never, ever, eva,” I shake my head. “But no, after shoveling out all the contents of my stomach, I celebrated passing the bar …” I pause. Vassili had asked me a few times since then, yet I kept pushing it off.
“On second thought, Travion is too cool for sushi. Though he doesn't know what he's missing. Pokilicious is gooood. I’ll ask around, hopefully you’re just pregnant and we can go again soon.”
“Ha!” I rise, gathering the file for court. “Wouldn't that be my luck? At the commencement of my career? No, thank you. My husband just added another submission under his belt and signed to Power Water. We are too busy.”
###
This evening, I have a celebratory bottle of wine in my hand. Though Vassili has offered to cook, I’ve learned that not all Russian food must have cabbage or a sour taste, and had hurried to decline his offer since he believes in these two staples anyway. He has just placed an organic lasagna in the oven and is on the phone with his fairly new manager from The Red Door when I came into the kitchen and set down my purse.
He rubs my hair away and kisses my forehead before returning to the conversation. I grimace as he talks into the phone, this man has the most sensuous voice with me. With others his tone is concrete, scary
I retreat to the bedroom, sit on the accent chair and undo my stilettos. Then I grab my iPhone from my slacks and dial my father on FaceTime.
My thumb is already poised over the ‘off’ button. He pops up on screen, releasing the cuff from the top button of his sharp linen shirt.
“You didn’t run for mayor?”
“No. It is nice though, to hear from my daughter other than the brief, token calls on the weekend.”
“Well, once you’re prepared to respect my choices you and I can return to more time. Besides, my husband just wants New Year’s, Mom is a stickler for Christmas, so Thanksgiving is up for grabs”
“Will you attend alone?”
“The fuck she will,” Vassili cuts in from behind me.
“Goodbye, Dad,” I cut the call. Hocking the phone onto the bed, my head tilts as I glance at my husband. He’s leaning in the doorway, muscles on display.
Something in me is itching to argue, so I snap, “When there’s no testosterone involved I’m a relatively good debater, even just won my first case. So let me just toss this out into the universe, how about you having faith in my ability to de escalate an argument?”
“Have you ever considered distancing yourself from Maxwell?” He paws at the scruff along his chiseled jaw.
“I’ve only visited with my dad a handful of times in the months that we’ve been married, Vassili. We were having a simple conversation about why he wasn’t amongst the candidates to file for mayor after all the sweet talking he’s done this year.”
He runs his teeth along his knuckles, it’s clear that he’s measuring his words and probably his anger, too. “What was his response?”
“We didn’t get that far. He deviated about us not seeing each other, and then you came in before I could redirect his black ass.” I glower with my own damn frown.
“So Maxwell didn’t get a chance to point the blame. How about he’d make a lousy fucking mayor,” Vassili chuckles, “Or rather, your father would bring shame to himself.”
“Okay, you’re tired of him. I get it.”
“Zariah, you don’t know your father, do you?”
“He has his faults.”
“Have we had this conversation before?” His gaze tapers in thought, though I know damn well Vassili is angry. He is more direct in our conversations than this.
“Whateva, Vassili. I’m sorry you’ve had to distance yourself from your father. You really don’t have to on my account. But I have the notion you’d like to tell me not to see my dad, hell no.”
“Sweetheart, Anatoly is a very bad man. I have distanced myself from him. Prior to you, I have gone years without seeing him and couldn't give a fuck. We never had much of a relationship from the start. Sasha and I lived with one of his bitches, and I mean like child borders, while the girl would raise our half siblings. Anatoly will never cross paths with you—just so we are clear. That being said, you need to reevaluate your relationship with your father.”
I repeat his words about reevaluating in a sardonic tone.
“Our fathers are the same type of people, different businesses, Zariah.”
My face contorts as I feel a sharp pain.
“What’s wrong?”
“You, starting an argument for…” I pause, grimacing. “My father was being petty, you were ready to match him—Ouch!” My abdomen sinks in, I double over in the chair, “Vassili!”
###
His dark eyes were sparkling with worry as he had scooped me up and took me straight to the car. On the way to Kaiser Permanente, I’d tried to tell Vassili that I was okay. The pain had subsided, but he wouldn’t hear of it. I finally weaseled my way out of going to the ER and traded it for going to Urgent Care. I’m seated on the examination table, dressed in those robes that show all your ass. My legs are dangling. Vassili is seated next to me. He already argued with the nurse about having to wait for a doctor when she completed the task of taking my vitals, and took a urine sample.
Now, my head kisses his shoulder, and he says, “Zar, how you feeling?”
“Baby, I already told you, I’m all right. Just a few cramps, my period is coming, Vassili, you are so damn extra,” I smile up at him.
He rubs my back. “That doctor will tell us if I overreacted. For now, we wait.” On second thought, he starts to get up. I clasp his hand.
“You were right about waiting, the RN left us just a few minutes ago. And you scare people too easily. Don't have us kicked out.”
A few minutes later, the door opens. My general practitioner, Dr. Washburn, who has built rapport with me since I was sixteen and needed birth control to regulate my acne, comes in. Her snow white bob pops against her rich, dark complexion.
“Hello Ms. Washington. Oh, forgive me, Mrs. Resnov, you returned home this past winter and I still haven’t gotten the hang of it. You’re married and moving so swiftly, I love it.”
“Yes, this is my husband, Vassili,” I tell her. “It was spur of the moment.”
She shakes his hand. “Well, congratulations, Vassili. Marriage, a new baby on the way. Some families wait years to welcome bundles of joy. I like your style.”
“Fuck! She’s pregnant?” Vassili asks. He then apologizes for cussing while pulling me into a bear hug all at the same time. My body becomes numb.
“You two were unaware?” Dr. Washburn sighs.
I gasp for air. “I’m pregnant?”
“Yes, you are,” my doctor grins. “You’re most likely feeling mild tummy cramps which are a totally normal part of early pregnancy. Have you bled any?”
“Yes, yes!” I place my arms around my belly. This is too soon.
“Still it may be nothing to worry about. Some women cramp, with a little bleeding when the embryo implants itself to the walls of their womb. But we will schedule you with an OB/GYN who can assist a lot more than I can.”
“And prenatal vitamins?” Vassili speaks up.
“Yes, Vassili, I can write up a prescription for those, folic acid as well. So let’s see how quickly we can have you scheduled. I’m sure you’re both eager to view your first ultrasound and learn how many weeks along you are.” Dr. Washburn steps out of the room.
Vassili arises from the examination table by my side, and stands before me. I open my legs to welcome him closer. His hand clasps the back of my neck, kneading it, ever so softly, and my eyes close on key.
“Look at me, baby,” his low growl is soothing.
“But this feels so good.” I sigh, opening my eyes.
“Through every moment of pregnancy, Zariah, I will be there.” He touches over my womb. “You’ll keep him safe—”
“Her,” I correct. “I was eating your words until then.”
“Him. Every man needs a son first, to help watch his daughter. You’ll keep him healthy. But I’m gonna be there beside you.”
“I know you will.” My eyes brimming with tears. I laugh, “You sound like you’re coaching me.”
“I am. We have created a life, Zariah. Our children must be ten times better than us. That’s where you and I come in.”
My mouth seeks his. Our lips lock, tongues tasting and loving each other.