by Imani King
"I love you guys too!" I hear in a squeaky voice from the doorway. "I knew you loved each other!"
It's Chikae and she runs over and puts her arms around us, smelling like sweetness and sleep. "I knew it," she mumbles into my shirt. I make faces at Nicholas over her head. Why couldn’t we have just ended the night sooner? Now the kids are involved. I grimace for a second, but then his words replay in my mind: “I plan on being here for the long haul,” and I can’t help but smile wide.
"What are you doing up, sweetie?" I ask her. "It's really late."
"Or really early, depending on how you look at it," says Nicholas. He pats her on the back as she hugs him tightly with the fervor only a child her age can muster.
"Can we have pancakes for breakfast?" I hear.
"Sure baby, no problem.” Might as well make a party out of it right?
"If you want, I can make them," Nicholas offers. “It's one of the few things I can do very well in the kitchen.” He winks at me. “In fact, you might call it my specialty. Are we all hungry now?"
"Actually, you know," I say, suddenly ravenous, "I am."
"Me too!" Chikae runs into the kitchen as fast as her little legs can take her. I follow her and sweep her up unto my arms, brushing her hair out of her eyes, so that she can grab the butter and syrup from the tall cupboard, and we put it on the table.
Nicholas gets up and rummages around the fridge quietly making preparations for the pancakes, and Chikae and I snuggle a bit on the bench seat after we finish setting out plates and napkins.
"Are you going to marry Nicholas?" She whispers to me. Nicholas is singing to himself, so I hope he hasn’t heard this newest question.
"I dunno baby, we're just really good friends at the moment. You can't always tell where things are going to go." I scratch my nose, stalling. Trying to think of something that will get her off this topic. I don't want Nicholas to hear her pestering me.
"Well I can tell and I say you are." She looks at me with a triumphant expression on her face. "You're going to have a big wedding and six babies!"
"Six babies!” I laugh. "I’m pretty sure that part is not going to happen, my love," I say. "Where did you get that idea?"
"I can just tell.” Luckily for me, she seems to be moving on and is engrossed in playing with my hair. “Mommy, I mean, Addy, can I go wake up Darius?"
"Too late for that," we hear. Darius' voice comes from the doorway. He stumbles in in his dinosaur onesie, his favorite outfit to sleep in, and flops down on the bench with us, leaning on my other side. I feel so cozy with these two snuggle bugs, with the smell and sizzle of pancakes coming from the stove, and hearing Nicholas humming in the kitchen as the light through the windows gets brighter. Maybe I should have six kids. Maybe Chikae is right.
It might be fast, but I know this is different than anything I have experienced before, and I also know it really feels like what I want.
Darius pulls on my sleeve. "What’s he still doing here?” He whispers. Then excitement fills his voice. “Is that pancakes I smell? Does Boss Man know how to cook?" We all go into the kitchen and sit at the table.
"You're darn right," affirms a grinning Nicholas as he stacks some steaming pancakes onto a plate. "It'll be ready in a couple minutes. You kids want to wash your hands and then pour yourselves some juice?"
"For pancakes, I'll do any-thang!" announces Darius, his eyes wide. "You know it!"
"Me too. Any-thang!" parrots Chikae, while I shake my head, nearly snorting with laughter. My brother and sister. These kids, where do they get it?
... and I wonder what Nicholas' and my kids will be like?
All six of them?
Somehow over the next few days, which turn into weeks, Nicholas ends up staying at our house, falling asleep on the couch with me, and finally we just move to my bed. He helps with the kids, we stay up late talking, dreaming together about what we want each of our lives to be like, what our lives might look like if we were together. His presence begins to seem natural, necessary. He helps with the kids, watches them and plays with them. Cooks for all of us, learning recipes with some help from me, or cooks with me, and when we’re tired he orders something or takes us all out to the restaurant.
Speaking of the restaurant, they didn't seem too upset when I called them tonight to quit my job. I guess they've been getting along without me for awhile. Still, my voice was shaking as I called them:
“I’m so sorry, but with my dad's illness, and taking on the responsibility of the house and the kids, I can't really see that I can continue working, at least for the time being.” The tremor in my voice must have revealed my anxiety about it, but it's true. If I need to, I'll take the emergency money hidden in the closet and get us through this rough patch before I leave the kids all the time with a sitter, even if it is Nicholas. He’s gotta get back to work though at some point, doesn’t he? For more than the few hours he’s putting in now? Maybe not. If I’m honest, he didn’t make it in all that often. Rain and I used to talk about that. I wonder how she’s doing, running the show outside his office without any help from me.
"Ok, Adisa," said my restaurant boss. "I understand. The door is open if you want to come back though, and if there's any way, we will accommodate you if you want to return." There was a pause. "Are you going to be all right?"
"Yes, for certain," I said, trying to sound optimistic. "Dad's on the rebound and as he gets better, I know that he'll take on his old responsibilities. But right now, this is what's most important for my family, and I have to respect that."
"Of course," he said. But he sounded a bit tired, which made me feel a little guilty. "Well let us know if you need anything, and if there's some way we can help."
Everything seems to be going as well as it possibly can, but I worry… I guess because that's who I am. But when I let my mind wander, I wonder what will happen if Nicholas decides he doesn't want to stay with us, if he gets tired of me and our life. Surely, what I can offer, what we have, is no match for the kind of lifestyle he’s used to. The man is a billionaire by now. He could have whatever he wants, whoever he wants. He could have the heiress to a fortune, a trophy wife, a blonde-highlighted-plastic-surgery-having-Versace-wearing goddess to sail around on his yacht. So why does he stay with me and my kooky brother and sister? But I am grateful for his eager help. And more than anything, I am ecstatic that this man that I have had a huge crush on for months is with me, loving me, caring for us. It’s making a stressful time a lot easier. And my dad should be coming home soon as well. At that point, Nicholas will want to return to his place in the country I guess. But by all measures, he doesn’t seem to be in any hurry. I guess what he said is true.
And if I admit it to myself, I can tell that he is happy. Just very happy with the simplest things. As I am.
When I go to visit my father, he offers to take care of my brother and sister, or come with me, whatever helps us the most.
This man, my Nicholas Corbett, is special. He is my dream. I wish he never leaves.
22
Nicholas
Every day her father seems to be improving. Which is a wonderful thing in and of itself, but also seeing him regain his strength makes me feel like Adisa will soon be set free. Not that she resents her father for this. She doesn't seem to, or perhaps she wouldn’t let on. But at this age she needs to be searching for something that will be her vocation in life, and it's a bit early to be taking on someone else's children, even if they are her brother and sister. Especially as it's been thrust upon her and not something that she chooses out of her own volition.
But I'm starting to love them myself. If I'm honest, they are some of the most charming little kids, probably in many ways due to Adisa’s influence - and I can understand why she cares about them and their well being so much. These last few days have really made me feel at home with the whole family. We work well together, we get along nearly flawlessly, and we complement each other.
For me, this is my dream life. Not the sterile existence that I
was headed for with Stephanie, but a sometimes messy, fun, and most importantly, love-filled journey. That's the reason I was born: to live, and to love. To protect my woman, and serve a family.
23
Adisa
I’m retching over the toilet bowl for the second day in a row. That’s what I love, dry heaves. And the day my dad is supposed to come home from the hospital, too. This is fantastic.
“Nicholas,” I try to call out, but it comes out with a bit of a gurgle. He rushes in.
“What’s the matter sweetie?” He asks, a solicitous look in his blue eyes.
“Well, you can see for yourself, I’m sick again,” I say. “I must have a bug or the flu or something, because I do not feel well at all.” I turn back to the porcelain bowl. “You better go because I’m gonn-” But before I can finish that sentence, I hurl the contents of my stomach. Ugh. Such a lovely picture for my beautiful man.
“Aw, I’m sorry you feel so rough.” He kneels down, and puts one hand on my back, which ironically makes me feel like I might throw up even more. Grabbing a handful of tissues I wipe my lips and throw it in the bowl and then sit back with a hand on my forehead. “Was it something I ate? Do you feel ok?”
“I feel fine, babe,” he says. There’s a funny look in his eye though, which gives me pause. “You weren’t around anyone sick, were you? I don’t think I was.”
“Nope, unless I picked up something at the hospital, which isn’t out of the realm of possibility,” I mutter. “Lots of time at the hospital means exposure to some germs, right? Lots of people get sick at the hos-” I turn quickly toward the toilet and this time I dry heave into the bowl. My stomach must be completely empty by this point, because despite the painful contraction, nothing more is coming up.
“Right,” he says doubtfully. “Sure they do. Hey do you want me to go and pick up your dad, and you can stay here?” He jingles his keys in his pocket. “I don’t want to leave you all alone when you’re not well, but I’m sure you and he are both anxious to get him home.”
“Unless I start feeling better right now, I think that’s the only way this can work.” The kids are at school, at least. So I don’t have to do anything but contemplate my existence on the hard cold tile of the bathroom floor.
“No problem.” He rustles the keys in his pocket, again, strangely. Nervously. “Do you want me to pick up anything for you?” There’s a pause before he says, “Like maybe… a pregnancy test?”
Oh Lordy. Is he serious? I want to protest, but before I can, I can feel my stomach in my throat again and I have to kneel above the pot.
“Ok babe, I’ll grab you some ginger ale and a few other things,” he says. I’m trying to pull my hair back when I heave again.
Once he’s gone, I do start to feel better, at least physically. We were pretty careful, all the time, to use condoms. But I guess that one night when he first stayed over, we ended up doing it bareback. I didn't think much of it because I’d thought I was past my fertile period, at least according to that app that I downloaded. But I guess apps aren’t exactly that reliable when things are so important, are they. What are we going to do? I’m not sure I can deal with this possibility right now, even though I know both Nicholas and I want babies, I always thought that I would be married before anything so final happened. At least it feels final. I can’t imagine not going through with the pregnancy, if in fact I am pregnant. My head is swimming with possibilities and fears.
But before I deal with all of that, I have to make dad’s bedroom out of the living room, so he doesn’t have to deal with stairs. I try to put all of the pregnancy concern out of my mind, and deal with the tasks at hand, but it’s tough. My stomach is still churning every now and then as I pick up any stray clutter in the living room. I can’t help but think of all the beautiful moments Nicholas and I shared here when the kids were in bed, secretly loving each other over and over again. All night sometimes. Most of the time, if I’m honest. Lots of chances for a condom to fail, or a stray drop to get where it’s not supposed to be. And that can mean a baby. My mother’s sweet face pops into my head. If only she were here, if only we could talk. Make sense of things.
Mom, I ask in my mind, am I pregnant? And if I am, will I be anywhere near as good a mother as you were to me? To us?
I can’t say if it’s really her, but an answer does come to me. Baby, you will be a great mother, because you have the love of generations behind you -- you are the culmination of centuries of love.
Somehow just “hearing the answer” makes me feel good, strong, and capable. And in reality, how much different can taking care of a baby be than taking care of my whole family for the last few months? Honestly I’ve never had this kind of responsibility, but I’ve stepped up when nobody else would or could, and I understand a lot more than I ever did about how to run a family and a home. And if there’s another little person here, another mouth to feed, I’ll handle it. Even if Nicholas for some reason feels differently, and doesn’t want to stay with us, another member of the family will just be another person to love and care for. Besides, the little ones are getting to be older, and they can learn to help around the house, do some chores, maybe do their own laundry, even. That sort of thing. It’s time for Darius to go from learning to be a good boy to a good man.
I put some magazines on the side table for my father, along with a little bell and a pitcher of water with a small glass. Carefully I place the remote there too, and pull out the hide-a-bed sofa which already has clean sheets made up. Good thing too because all this moving around is definitely not helping my queasiness.
The temptation of the comfortable bed I just prepared is too much for me, and laying down on the mattress,, I touch my belly gently. Little baby, are you there? I ask. I wonder about names. If he's a boy, should we call him after Nicholas? Nickie? Or a girl, Nikki?
Of course, this “baby” could be nothing more than a bad burrito that I ate. But if so, Nicholas would probably be sick too.
Hard to say. My heart says yes though, that there’s a new heart beating in my body, a heart made from the love of Nicholas and I - a love that I want to endure forever. And if there isn’t a baby, right now I have to admit to myself that I want there to be one soon.
Will the baby have my eyes? Or his smile? I picture Nicholas holding a bundle of sweet-smelling infant, wrapped tight in a soft little cocoon. I imagine him delicately moving a little bit of blanket to gaze adoringly into the little one's eyes, his love pouring out of him into the baby, my love pouring out of me into both of them.
And with my hand on my belly, and Nicholas name on my lips, I begin to doze and dream. Then my beloved’s voice calls my name.
"Hey Adisa," I hear at the door. "Are you feeling any better? Any chance you can come give me a hand out here?”
“Be right there!” I rouse myself out of my sleep and off the couch, and run to welcome my father.
"Daddy!" I yell, and hug him with enthusiasm, while still trying not to jar him in any way or squeeze him too hard. He's still pretty tender, obviously, and quite weak. "I made you a bedroom out of the living room. Just for now. You can go back in your own bed when it’s easier for you to take the stairs. Is that ok? Come this way, how are you feeling? Sorry I didn't come to pick up, I have an upset stomach. But Nicholas said he’d get you, so I knew you’d be well taken care of. How was the drive back?" I realize I’m talking like a house on fire, but I’m just so excited that he’s back in the house and that things will have a chance to return to normal around here. Slowly. Eventually.
"Settle down, little one," My dad says, shuffling to the house with a smile on his face, his breath in white clouds like smoke against the cold air coming in through the open door. "I'm ok, I'm ok." Nicholas takes him by the arm and helps him along the way to the living room, after handing me the few bags of supplies and my dad's things.
"Do you need anything?" I ask dad. "A cup of tea, or maybe a sandwich? How’s your appetite? Are you hungry?" I find I’m still doing the
motor mouth thing, but I just can’t help it.
"No I'm just fine, just need a soft place to rest these weary bones," he says. His voice is still weak, but it has a little bit more of his old self in it. “Just glad to be home,” he says. “You can stop hovering, baby. I’m ok.”
I look at his frame as he disappears into the living room.. It’s looking thinner than before. He is definitely improving, but there will still be a bit of time before he can really be the strong man he used to be. I hope he gets there sooner rather than later - or never. Like my mother was emotionally, he was always something of a paragon of physical strength in our house, and to see him getting so weak is something I didn't know would be this difficult.
But that's life, I guess. It moves on, and you can’t stop it - and you can’t even change it much.
We both help him to the couch and he lays down gratefully. "That's better," he says, as I lightly cover him with the afghan blanket, and in less than two minutes, his eyes are closing and he begins to snore. Poor man. My heart fills with love and concern.
"How did he do on the ride?" I whisper to Nicholas.
He meets my eyes with a small smile. "Pretty good. I tried to take a less bumpy route, so that I wouldn’t be disturbing him but I couldn’t avoid everything. Every time we went over any kind of hump he let out a little groan. Broke my heart.” He runs a hand through his thick hair. “I'm sure he's going to need some rest right now - and maybe one of us should try to get him up for a little walk later. Doctor said he'd be needing to do some very light exercise every day to build his strength back."
"Ok, good to know.” My dad seems peaceful now, and I don’t want to wake him. “Let's go into the kitchen," I say as I grab Nicholas’ hand. I whisper as we walk. "Did you get the test?"
"You betcha I did," he smiles again, but this time there is a shy sweetness in his face. And maybe a bit of hope? I can’t tell, maybe it’s wishful thinking on my part, but I feel it too. He holds up a bag. "Right here."