“Why would God do this to us?”
Brayden couldn’t answer that. Just like he couldn’t explain why he was born with physical gifts and the next person was not. Was it God’s plan or sheer luck? If it was luck, then his had certainly run out.
“We have the finances to give our son all of the help he needs. Full-time nurses and nannies. This will not be your burden.”
“Like hell it won’t. No one will judge you if you keep working with a sick son, but I will be scum to your mama, my mama, and everyone else.”
She was right, but how could he respond in a way that would be helpful? He wasn’t going to quit playing football.
“What if you confine your work to my off-season? When I’m playing, you’re the FTP.”
“FTP?”
“Full-time parent. And when I’m off, I’m the FTP.”
Chenille was quiet for a long time, like she was weighing the pros and cons of this strategy. It wasn’t perfect, but Brayden thought it could work.
“When do we get to be husband and wife?” Chenille asked in a quiet voice.
“It’s only for a little while, until our son is out of the woods.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
It was set, then. A game plan. Chenille was a good teammate, even when things were falling apart.
And even though he hid it with a smile, Brayden had never felt more broken.
Chapter 31
I can’t stop crying. Every time I think of my son having surgery right after he’s born, I damn near have a nervous breakdown. And Brayden’s not here, so we can’t break down together. He’s gone to some pre-Super Bowl practice. Since the Super Bowl happened to be in Dallas the year the Knights advanced to the big game, Brayden’s free time outside of practice is consumed with meeting fans and taking interviews.
He has a distraction and doesn’t have to think about our baby. I don’t. All I can do is lie on our couch, eat ice cream, and think about our son.
It’s funny, I didn’t even think about him as our baby until I found out that he’s deathly ill. He was just a miniature vampire sapping all my energy, and now he’s someone I need to protect, nurture, and cherish.
My cell phone rings, and I look at the caller ID. Kara. Not in the mood. She can go to voice mail.
And she does. But she calls right back.
I send her to voice mail again.
She calls back. Damn!
“Hello?”
“Heffa, are you screening your calls?”
“Not really. Okay . . . yes, but it’s only because I’m tired.”
“You sound like you been crying.”
“I haven’t.”
It’s okay for me to lie. I’m not ready to share this with the world yet. And with her big mouth and compulsion to make everything a status on social media, sharing with Kara is like sharing with the world.
“You haven’t? Well, what’s wrong with the baby?”
For a long moment, I’m silent. How does she know there’s something wrong with the baby? Or maybe she doesn’t, and she’s guessing.
“What are you talking about?”
“Girl. Brayden is on ESPN, talking about he’s about to play this game for his sick, unborn son.”
“He’s what?”
“Turn on the TV. He’s still on.”
I scramble from my place on the couch and grab the remote from the coffee table. I turn on the TV, and of course it’s already on ESPN. It’s always on that channel. And Kara is right. Brayden is in his practice gear, talking to Sherri Levy, his favorite reporter.
“You have a red band around your arm,” Sherri says. “Tell me what that’s for. Is it for your son?”
Brayden nods. “Only half of my son’s heart works. He’s going to need a team of surgeons when he’s born, and I thank God that I have the resources to get my son the best medical care.”
“Everyone here at ESPN will keep you and your family in our thoughts and prayers,” Sherri says.
“Thank you. Like I said, I’m playing for my son tomorrow night. I’ll be thinking of him with every pass and on every drive.”
I stand still with my arms at my side, phone in one hand and remote in the other. I can’t move. Disbelief has me paralyzed.
We haven’t told our family. Our mothers. Why would he tell the entire world without telling the people we love first? I can hear Kara’s voice squeaking out of the phone, so I lift it to my ear.
“What?” I ask.
“Tell me what’s wrong with the baby,” Kara says.
“You heard him. Half of his heart doesn’t beat.”
“Can they do surgery on him while he’s still in your womb? They do it on Grey’s Anatomy all the time.”
“The doctor didn’t say anything about doing that.”
“That’s ’cause y’all are black. They never give black people the best options.”
“Our doctor is black, Kara. We’ve got the best options.”
“What did your mama say? Is she coming to stay with you?”
“Let me . . . let me call you back.”
As soon as I disconnect the call with Kara, my phone is buzzing again. My mother. Of course. I don’t answer. I can’t talk to her right now. She’ll be in panic mode, and I don’t feel like panicking. I need to try and feel calm.
I do send Brayden a text, though. Really? You did a damn TV interview about this?
I stand there and stare at the phone until he replies, because it better be immediate.
Sorry.
One-word response. Ugh.
Sorry? That’s it?
I wait again. This time I’m waiting too long. I press his name on my recent calls list.
The phone rings three times. Too damn many. Then finally he answers, but says nothing.
“Brayden.”
“I know you’re pissed. It just came out.”
“You better answer the phone when your mother calls. I don’t want her calling me.”
“Are you coming to the game?”
“I was. I’m not now.”
“Wow.”
“Brayden, are you kidding me? You just made it to where I can’t come out the house without paparazzi and reporters swarming me. I don’t want to talk about our son’s medical issues to anyone.”
“People will support and pray for us. This doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”
I feel my upper lip curl into a snarl, and I press end to disconnect the call. I cannot believe he did this to me.
I clutch my phone to my chest and plop back down onto the couch. I wonder if we have enough groceries so that I don’t have to go outdoors until after the Super Bowl. My mother calls again. I close my eyes, exhale, and go ahead and answer it. Might as well. She’s just going to keep calling back, and this will never, ever be an easy conversation to have.
“Chenille?”
It breaks my heart to hear my mother’s voice crack like this. She sounds as scared as I am. My mama isn’t supposed to be afraid. She’s supposed to be the one who keeps me together. I need her to be brave.
“Yes, Mama.”
“My grandbaby’s heart doesn’t work properly? Tell me how to pray. You know we will pray for a healing.”
I rub my hand across my face with frustration. I knew she was going to put her prayer circle on it, and it’s not that I don’t want them to pray. I just don’t want them involving me, and asking for updates and testimonies.
I do want them to pray, though. We need them praying.
“He has a birth defect, Mama. Saw it on the ultrasound. They’re gonna start fixing it as soon as he’s born.”
“A grandson. Well, hallelujah, God can fix the baby’s heart while he’s still in the womb.”
I don’t respond to this. Not that I don’t think God can do it. I just don’t want to start hoping that He’s going to do it, because if He doesn’t, then what? Who do I get to blame? Do I get to be angry?
“Don’t tell Daddy.”
“Too la
te. He’s the one who saw Brayden on TV. You know he’s watching every second of the coverage. He’s in there packing his things for the game now. I wasn’t going to come to Dallas with him, but now I think I will. You need me there with you.”
“Mama, please don’t travel on account of me. You don’t have to worry about me or the baby right now. He’s a long way from being born.”
“But, I want to be with you, honey.”
How do I tell my mama that I don’t want her here, and that I just want to be alone?
I don’t.
“Okay, you can come, but I’m sure I won’t be very good company.”
“You don’t need to be company at all, baby. I’m not coming as a guest. I’m coming as your Mama. And as a prayer warrior.”
As much as I don’t want to admit it, I need her here. Tears start to pour from my eyes as I think of her wrapping me in her arms and squeezing. My mama has the best hugs. And I can ask her to make chicken and dumplings. My mama has the best food.
She also has the best prayers. I think we need those more than anything.
Chapter 32
Brayden sat in the team locker room, trying to focus. This was the first time the Knights had made a Super Bowl appearance in his football career. He was one of the most important playmakers on the team, and he should be stoked and ready to get the entire victory—his first Super Bowl ring.
He couldn’t think of plays, though, or how he was going to be one with the football. All he could think of was his unborn son.
And the fact that Chenille wasn’t coming to the game.
Seeing her in the stands cheering for him was the best feeling in the world. He wanted to pull her on the field when they won. He wanted to share this moment with her.
“She’s gonna come, bro,” Jarrod said as he sat next to Brayden on the bench. “But you can’t worry about it right now. You’re making the entire team nervous.”
“What? I am?”
“Yeah. Even though you’re playing the game for your son, they’re thinking maybe you’re going to be too distracted by your troubles to make the right plays.”
“I’m good. For real.”
“Well, come over here with everybody else, and give us one of those pep talk speeches that you always do before big games.”
Brayden looked over at the rest of his teammates. Some were starters, and some wouldn’t play at all, but they were still all counting on Brayden.
“All right.”
Brayden stepped into the center of the circle of players. They gave him a round of applause as he came.
“I know y’all heard about the things I have going on in my personal life. The challenges I have to face real soon, with my first child being born sickly. He will be in my heart while I play this game today. But, hear me when I say . . . I will play this game today with everything in me. We’ve nearly made it to the pinnacle of success, and today may be the day we achieve the biggest victory in some of our careers. Today, we are one team. Let’s go out there and show our fans that we appreciate their adoration, and that we feel blessed to be able to make more than an honest living doing what we love.”
One of the players, a rookie, clapped slowly, and soon they all joined in. Slow claps that got louder and louder, until it sounded like thunder in the locker room.
“Today we are knights in shining helmets! Today we are victors! Dal-LAS!”
“KNIGHTS!” the team chanted in response.
“Dal-LAS!”
“KNIGHTS!”
Brayden watched his teammates get hyped, smack each other on the backs and beat their chests. The adrenaline surged through his body, giving him the push he needed to run out on the field and fight for a win.
The Knights’ defensive coordinator who was also a pastor led the team in their pre-game prayer, and then they burst out of the locker room onto the field. The fans yelled and screamed and let out a battle cry that seemed to fuel the energy of the team.
But Brayden was only looking for one person. He only needed to see one face.
He glanced up into the owner’s box, where Chenille always sat with her jersey and jeans—her lucky charm outfit.
Brayden spotted Chenille, standing in front by the glass window, like she always was. He blew her a kiss, and she blew one back.
Chenille would never leave Brayden hanging. It wasn’t who they were. It wasn’t what they did. She was here for him, and he would be there for her when the baby was born, and for whatever came after.
The whatever came after part left Brayden feeling more vulnerable than he’d feel standing in front of the opposing defense with a football in his hand, without helmet or pads. But there was no earthly armor or helmet Brayden could put on for this battle.
They had no choice but to do it afraid.
Chapter 33
There are two weeks until this baby’s due date. I have never been more miserable in my life. I’ve got the last trimester blues. Or, I should say, the last trimester plus bed rest blues. Or should I say, it’s the last trimester, plus bed rest, plus annoying husband and mama blues.
My mama and Brayden are taking turns at being the most irritating, and although I know they’re trying to make me comfortable, I just want to escape. But I can’t go outside. My feet won’t even fit in shoes. I can only wear socks.
Who can escape in socks?
“What do you want for breakfast, baby?” Mama asks.
“Blueberry pancakes, eggs, and bacon,” I reply, my mouth watering as the words leave my lips.
“Oh, I don’t know, sweetie. The last time you ate like that you got constipated. How about some oatmeal with blueberries and flaxseed?”
Why did she even ask me what I wanted to eat if she was just going to tell me no? I wish I wasn’t on bed rest so I could make my own food.
Brayden comes into the bedroom with his workout gear on. Shoes and everything.
“Are you going to the gym?” I ask.
“Yeah, babe. I have to, since I’m probably not going to make it to training camp. I want to make sure I’m in top shape when real practice begins.”
He’s laser focused on the game, I see, instead of what’s about to happen with our baby. Everything is about to change for us, but ever since the Knights won the Super Bowl, football has become more of a priority than it’s ever been. Brayden’s itching to do a repeat of last year, and so is the rest of his team.
“We haven’t decided on a name yet,” I say as Brayden tightens the laces on his sneakers.
“I know.”
“Why not make him a junior? That’s the easiest.”
Brayden shook his head. “Imagine him having to grow up with my name, and not ever being able to pick up a football. That’s not fair.”
That’s true, but I can’t help but think he wants to save his name.
“Well, I can’t think of anything else.”
“Why don’t you wait until he’s here?” Mama says. “Some babies choose their own names with the looks on their little faces.”
“Maybe. What about the crib, though? Did you finish that, Brayden? I can’t get out of bed to make sure the nursery is all right.”
I burst into tears before I can stop myself. Brayden sits down on the side of the bed and holds my hand.
“Babe, the room is perfect. I’m gonna go in there right now and FaceTime with you so you can see everything. It’s okay, honey. Everything is okay.”
“Everything is not okay. As soon as the baby is born, they’re going to cut into him. He might die. How can you say everything is okay?”
“My faith tells me it’s okay.”
“Well, I’m scared. I’m not going to lie and tell you I’m not. I hate to say this, but I want this pregnancy over with. I want to know what’s next.”
“Next is that we raise our son. Together.”
“Says the guy who’s going to the gym while I’m stuck in this bed with a remote control.”
Brayden takes his shoes off and kicks them across the room. H
e gets in the bed with me, climbs under the comforter and stretches out.
“Gimme that remote.”
“Brayden, what are you doing?”
“Until you give birth to our son, we’re on bed rest. I could use some rest anyway.”
“Go get ready for the season, Brayden. I was just feeling sorry for myself.”
He shakes his head and clicks over to ESPN. “No. Mom, can you take my phone and go into the baby’s nursery.”
Mama grins as she comes and takes the phone from Brayden’s hand.
“I get it. You support me. Thanks, babe,” I say as Mama leaves our bedroom. “Please don’t have Coach Wyatt calling me and acting a fool.”
Brayden ignores me and FaceTimes his phone from my phone. Mama answers, and we see the bottom half of her face.
“Mom, turn the camera around, so she can see the baby’s room,” Brayden says, trying to contain his giggle.
“How do I work this thing?”
“Do you see the tiny picture of yourself?” I ask.
“Yes, I do. Lord have mercy, I shoulda put some powder on my face today.”
Brayden and I both burst into laughter. She doesn’t need powder, but she could zoom out a little on the camera.
“Press the little camera icon that’s inside the square with your picture.”
“Oh, there it is.”
Mama finally figures out the phone, and the first thing that comes into view is the baby’s crib, decked out in the comforter set that I chose, with the little Elmo mobile hanging at the top. A huge smile spreads across my face. It looks exactly how I thought it would.
“Show her the mural,” Brayden says.
“Mural?”
“It was going to be a surprise, but since you’re feeling down, I think you should see it now.”
Mama turns the camera to show the wall across from the crib. There is a wall painting of me, in a rocking chair and nursing a baby. It is an outdoor scene, and the rocking chair is in a beautiful meadow covered in purple, orange, and gold flowers. I’m wearing a gold colored dress and gold bracelets that go all the way up my arm. In the painting my afro is huge and has gold and purple ribbons tied across the front to hold the hair back. I’m gazing down at the bundle at my breast with such love and adoration.
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