I can’t help it… Watching him rant sets me off into a flurry of much-needed giggles. The situation is dire, yes, but it’s not like I don’t have a job, a family, and amazing friends, all who will love this baby to the moon and beyond. I’ve got money in the bank. I can be a single mom if I have to and still be completely fulfilled.
Ricky stops pacing, sets his fists on his hips, and glares at me. “This is not funny. You’re pregnant, and the baby daddy’s jacked in the head! At least tell me he has a good job. Please!” He looks up at the ceiling and repeats himself. “Please, for the love of God, make this man rich!”
Prayers granted.
“He’s the owner of Knight & Day Productions,” I admit.
“No way! He’s Atlas’s boss.” Luna taps at her wineglass.
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Have you talked to Atlas about him?”
“Honestly, the thought never occurred to me. Besides, I kind of need to see a doctor, make sure the baby is healthy and everything is all right before I tell him. And I definitely want to tell him before I start telling the people he works with.” I’d be pissed if the situation were reversed.
She bites down on her lip. “Yeah, that would probably be wise. What are you going to do right now, though?” Her hand comes back to my leg, and she rubs a soothing path along my thigh. Her energy switches, green tones mixing with her usual gold.
“Nothing I can do besides eat right, take prenatal vitamins, which Mama already stocked my cabinet with, and wait. Maybe he’ll come around.” I shrug, trying to play nonchalant, but every fiber of my being is telling me to hunt him down and make him see I’m worthy of his attention. And he’s worthy of mine.
I’m just not confident what the end result will be. Will he even care I’m pregnant with his child? What if he did lose his daughter and wife at the same time? He never told me what happened to her. Maybe this is the universe’s way of giving Silas a second chance at having a family.
Ricky pulls me out of my thoughts by putting two slices of pizza in front of me. “Eat. The baby needs food.”
“The baby isn’t even a real baby yet.” I roll my eyes but pick up the plate because I am hungry. I glance at his lap, and there’s no plate of pizza on it. “Where’s yours?”
He grabs my untouched wine glass and pours it into his almost empty one. “Liquid dinner.”
I snort-laugh once more, the situation so ridiculous, and yet, I’m glad I told them. Having a couple of friends and my mother to lean on right now is exactly what I need.
“Thank you both for being here. For not judging me.” I pick at the crust on the edge of my slice.
Luna clutches at her chest and almost chokes on her wine. “Heavens no! Dara, we’re your friends. We’re here to support you in whatever life throws your way. And a baby is something to rejoice in.” She beams daggers at Ricky, her voice rising in accusation.
He holds up his hands. “What! Speak for yourself. I’m allowed to be nervous. I’m about to be a dad!” he fires off as though my problem is his problem.
“No, you’re not. Relax, Ricky,” I implore tiredly. God, all I want to do is go to bed early and forget this day ever happened.
“Oh yes, I am. If this baby needs a male father figure, I’m going to be it.” He points a thumb at his chest with pride.
I shake my head. “You’ll be Uncle Ricky and an important part of his or her life, yes. The baby already has a dad, and something in me believes…no, knows Silas will step up. I just have to get up the nerve to tell him. Eventually. When I know for sure the baby is fine. I have a doctor’s appointment in a month. After that, I’ll know more. The baby should be around seven weeks by then. The books say it will have a heartbeat and the doctor will be able to make sure everything is moving along as it should.”
Ricky comes over to my side of the couch and squeezes his lean body in next to me, placing a hand on my flat belly. “Have you thought about names? Ricardo is a really nice one.”
I tip my head and look up at him. “Really?”
“It is! Strong. Hispanic.”
“My baby’s father is African American…and maybe some Caucasian. I’m not exactly sure, but I know he’s a brotha. Definitely not Hispanic.”
“What about your biological family? You could be Hispanic! You don’t know! You look like you’ve got some Latina in you. Swear it!” He makes a show of crossing his finger over his heart. “Sassy and spicy like one for sure!” He holds out his forearm against mine. “See, our skin tone is almost the same hue! Definitely Latina! So Ricardo fits.”
I chuckle and shrug. “My birth certificate only has my mother listed. No father. And she’s listed as African American, but my guess is I’m half and half. My father thinks I’m half white, but it’s really anyone’s guess.”
Luna sits up straight. “Is it true what they say about…you know…”
“Yes,” I answer swiftly, already knowing what she wants to know. It’s a female thing. We have radar on this type of question.
She tips her head. “I mean about his…”
“Yes,” I answer directly.
“I’m talking about his…” She gestures to the general vicinity of her lap.
“Luna, honey, I get you, girl. Totally get you. And yes. He’s hung like a freakin’ horse.”
Which reminds me: I’m not going to be getting any more sexy time, so I flop back and sigh dramatically.
“What?” She rubs at my arm.
“Now who’s going to want me? I can’t drink. I’m going to get huge, and I’ll be having another man’s child. I’m going to be a statistic with a baby daddy but no man. Ugh!” I groan and cover my eyes. It never really hit me until right now: I’m going to be alone raising my baby. Sure, I’ll have help from my parents, but it’s not the same. A child deserves two loving parents like I had when the Jacksons adopted me. I went from nothing to something amazing. I want that for my baby. I’d always hoped to have a huge family. Every dream I’ve ever had consists of me being a mother, wife, and baker. The perfect life.
Ricky puts his arm around my shoulders and forces me to cuddle against his side. “You have no idea how you turn heads everywhere you go, sweetheart. Hell, half the time I see you in one of your short dresses, I get a semi.”
I cringe and push at his chest, but he doesn’t let me go. “Gross! You’re like my brother.”
“Don’t I know it,” he says solemnly, as if he really is hurt that I don’t see him in a romantic light.
“You’re joking. Please tell me you’re kidding. You don’t want me like that. Do you?” I choke on the question. It tastes so weird on my tongue I can hardly breathe.
He shakes his head. “God no! But your body is banging, baby girl. Tits and ass don’t lie, and I am a man. I may tend to go for the pretty boys, but I’ve been known to get down with a woman when the moon and the stars align.”
Luna gasps. “You mean you’re not totally gay? Whoa! Now that is news to me!”
Ricky shuffles his shoulders. “It ain’t no thang. It’s not like it needs to be spread around. It’s like when you hate coconut the fruit but love the water or the rum! If the ingredients are just right, you can be swayed to sample the dish.”
Luna laughs. “So, you’re mostly gay, but you reserve the right to be swayed to the opposite sex.”
He perks up, smiling widely. “Exactly.”
She takes a deep breath. “Ooookay. Remind me never to try to hook you up.”
His eyes bulge. “Hook me up a million times over. If you’ve got a hunky ginger brother, I’m all in, honey-pie!” Ricky shifts his chin from left to right in a “Mmmhmm” gesture.
I slap my hand over Ricky’s mouth. “Just stop talking. Your I’m-gay-not-gay-sometimes is cray-cray.”
“I’m into people and sex, not labels,” he asserts emphatically.
“Now that I can live with.” I wink, and he kisses my temple.
The three of us look at one another and then all sigh, loudly and heavily.
“So, what now, preggo?” Ricky asks.
“Don’t you dare start calling me that!” I dig a finger into his ribs. “We’re keeping this secret, which means on the down-low. Definitely until I know the baby is okay and I’ve figured out how to tell Silas. Got it?”
Luna nods, and Ricky follows.
“I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but…” I hold up my hand. “Solemn pinky swear on this shit right now.”
Luna has zero problems hooking her finger with mine. Ricky purses his lips, ruffles his hair, and tries to ignore the request.
“Ricky, I need you quiet on this one. Pinky promise, or I’m never talking to you again!” I threaten.
His eyes narrow. “You wouldn’t last a week without talking to me, baby girl.” He links our fingers dramatically and swings them.
He’s not wrong. I wouldn’t last a week without begging him to talk to me. We’ve been best friends since junior high. I’m the first woman he ever kissed. He’s the first boy I ever kissed. That kiss freshman year sealed the deal on us forever being friends and never more than that. Then, four years later, he confided he was into boys as well as girls, which started a whole new era, but I was there for him as he’s always been there for me.
As crazy as my BFF is, he’s one of the most important people in my life, and not being able to talk to him for a week makes my heart ache just thinking about it.
“You’re right. I love you too much,” I admit.
He grins. “I knew it! You’ve always been in love with me. Since our first kiss freshman year.”
Luna has heard this story a million times, so she just plays along and laughs.
“Time to get some music going. We are not at a funeral. We are going to celebrate this new life and my pending awesome uncle status.” Ricky jumps up and heads for the stereo, a jitterbug in his step.
“Hear, hear!” Luna lifts her wineglass.
I pick up a slice of warm pizza and raise it up. “Hear, hear.” Then I take a massive bite, chew, and thank God for good friends.
For the next eight months…I’m going to need them more than ever.
Chapter Eight
Yellow and Green Aura Colors and Meanings: Starting with a bright sunshine yellow, this connotes that the individual is creative, playful, self-aware, feeling powerful, and is knowledgeable and curious. When the yellow starts to mix with green on the color spectrum, it shows the person as more passionate, communicative. As the aura moves into a full, brilliant green, the individual is dealing with growth, balance, love. If the green darkens dramatically, the person may be jealous or have low self-esteem and resentment.
SILAS
Week one since I walked out on Dara has been a study in my own personal self-restraint. I’ve convinced myself she doesn’t need me, regardless of how much I want to run back to her, fall at her feet, and apologize for the way I left. Except I know leaving was the right move. Dara is young, beautiful, and knows what she wants out of life. She doesn’t need a broken man who can’t love her. A woman like her should be worshipped the way I did Sarah.
I’ve been making a few strides with setting Sarah free. I’m not capable of removing every piece of her from the house all at once. Her disappearing from my life forever all in one night was enough of a shock. Removing all evidence of her existence…not a chance. With my mother’s urging and continuous chastising, however, I’ve made progress.
I told myself this week I’d tackle the hallway. I’ve removed all but two pictures of us in the living room. That took the entire week. A couple per day is my goal. With each image, I allow myself the time to mourn her loss. It may not be healthy, but remembering those times with the woman I loved and lost is the only way I’m going to be able to get through this. Sarah deserves that much.
“Christ! Sarah deserved so much more than dying at twenty-fucking-seven!” I holler at the image of the two of us on the beach together. One of our quick weekend getaways to Santa Cruz. She loved the beach. The sound, smell, the sand. All of it. Much to my dismay. But I loved her, so I went. I’m so glad now that I did.
I grit my teeth and pull the next picture off the wall. One of her with her parents. I’m such a schmuck. Their only daughter dies, takes the only grandchild they will ever have with her, and I haven’t really been there much since it happened. I couldn’t then. It was too fresh.
Who am I kidding?
I still can’t. Between the three of us, the people who loved Sarah more than their own lives, together, our grief would drown us whole. Except the guilt and shame has its own way of drowning me. Sarah would despise the fact that I haven’t visited her parents in two years.
I glance down at the picture of her, tears filling my eyes. “Then come back and do something about it!” I growl and throw the picture across the room. The glass shatters into a million tiny pieces. “Fuck!”
My heart pounds. I’m hot as hell, and sweat is trickling down my neck, running in a perfect line down my spine. There’s no sound but the cadence of my labored breaths. I squeeze my hands into fists as a hurricane of loneliness spins a vortex around me. I lean against the wall and slide down to my ass. With my knees up and my head in my hands, I let the tears fall.
* * *
Week two has come and gone since I last saw my meditation teacher. Hell, I could use an hour session with Dara, even just to find that sense of peace she brings to her students.
My heart, my mind, and my soul have been ravaged the last two weeks with thoughts of my life with Sarah. Every picture in this godforsaken hallway has brought up a different phase in our lives I’m never going to have back. I’m down to the last two pictures.
The ones taken shortly before she died.
Chills run up and down my spine as fear and anxiety rip into my heart like a monster with razor-sharp claws.
The first image was taken by the sonogram technician. The happy couple holding up a sonogram of our baby girl. We were ecstatic. After two miscarriages, we finally had the proof our baby was healthy, and it was a girl. We could not wait to call our families and tell them the good news. One of the happiest days of my life, knowing I would soon be the father of a baby girl.
The next image is of our daughter’s face at the seven-month 3D scan. Sarah didn’t want to do the scan at first. Thought it was bad juju to see what God had given us before we were supposed to. I couldn’t help it. I was too excited. Then when the technician showed us our baby girl on the screen, Sarah sobbed happy tears and thanked me with a million kisses all over my face.
I caress the cheek of the infant in the picture. She looked just like her mother, and I suspected her skin would be dark like mine. I thought she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
I lost the beauty of her before I ever even had the chance to touch her. Kiss her face. Tell her I loved her and would protect her forever.
All of it gone.
My entire world destroyed.
Taken from me by a junkie needing a fix.
I hold the two frames close to my heart.
“Why, God? Why did you take them? Sarah never hurt anyone.”
My head falls forward as if it’s working independent of my brain. I rest my forehead against the cold wall.
“How am I ever going to get over her?”
Out of nowhere, flashes of Dara’s ocean-blue eyes pierce my vision. The scent of sugar filters through my nose, and I breathe it in, taking huge gulps of air, wanting the peacefulness she brings to push away some of the darkness invading my every thought.
Dara.
She’d know how to fix me.
I shake my head and pound at the wall with my fist. “No!” I can’t use her, chew up all her goodness, and spit it out like a wad of tasteless gum. Like Sarah, she deserves the best.
I’m so far from the best man for her it’s almost comical.
A dry laugh leaves my lungs, and I push off the hallway wall and check my handiwork. My heart squeezes as I see the empty walls.
Tha
t’s what I am now. A bunch of blank walls once filled with a beautiful life. It’s fitting because that’s how my heart feels.
Empty.
* * *
Three weeks since I’ve tasted powdered sugar and cinnamon on my tongue. I haven’t even been able to walk past a bakery for fear I’d get in my car and drive over to that quaint Berkeley street and beg Dara to share one of her homemade masterpieces with me.
I’ve fought the pull of her for a full six weeks. I would have thought by now the desire to go to her would dissipate. It hasn’t. There’s nothing I want more than to hunt Dara down and lose myself in her essence.
Kiss her soft lips.
Taste her succulent mouth.
Make love to her luscious body.
Over and over until all the holes in my empty life have been filled with her light. I fear I’m losing my mind. Either I’m crying over Sarah and the loss of our daughter, or I’m bemoaning the loss of Dara who’s alive and well and only twenty minutes away.
Except I can’t move on yet. I’m not ready. There’s still more to do. More I have to let go of.
Set your loss free. Dara’s words haunt my sleepless nights. I want to call her, tell her I’m trying, but I don’t know how. She wouldn’t want me anyway.
I stare at the closet. One half is completely filled with every single piece of Sarah’s clothing, exactly as she left it. Like my mother with my father, every day I look at her clothes and expect her to come in wearing a pair of panties and a bra to pick out her outfit. Every day, for close to a decade, that’s how Sarah entered the closet, ready to pick out the day’s outfit. How do I look at this closet and not remember that?
Intimate Intuition Page 9