by Tia Williams
“What are you looking at? Oh shit, it’s Billie! Why’s she crying?” He waved at her. She waved back, with wild enthusiasm.
“Eric,” started Jenna, with trepidation, “there’s something I have to tell you. A lot has changed in my life. Before you decide to be my friend, you have to know something.”
“What?”
Jenna chewed her lip. After a moment, she looked at Billie and gestured toward her son. Billie called over to The Baby and sent him running over to Jenna, clutching his iPad.
Eric saw the little boy dashing toward them and, just as he was putting the words together to ask Jenna who he was, he went mute. The kid grabbed Jenna’s hand and then peered up at him with this curious, intense little face—and Eric stopped breathing.
That curious, intense little face.
“This is my son,” said Jenna, with a mixture of hesitancy and pride.
“Oh.” Eric nodded with exaggerated slowness. Like he was floating in the ether, gravity-free. Because that kid wasn’t just her son. There could never be any question of who his father was. His face was Eric’s face. He was even dressed like Eric, in camouflage cargo shorts and a tee that said “Brooklyn Dopeness.”
“Go ahead,” said Jenna, giving The Baby a little nudge. “Introduce yourself.”
He shook his head. “I don’t talk to thtrangers!”
“He’s not a stranger. It’s okay, I promise.”
“I’m Otith,” said The Baby.
Eric blinked a couple of times. “You’re who?”
“Otith.”
Eric stood there, gawking at him, feeling like the world was spinning off of its axis.
“I knew someone named Otis.” He let out a short, weak little laugh. “H-how old are you?”
Otis held up three fingers.
“Three?” Eric did the math and then looked at Jenna, his expression incredulous. She nodded. Suddenly feeling unsteady, he let his backpack slide to the ground. “Jesus.”
“I’m a big boy,” Otis said to Eric. “I go potty by myself, well thome-times, and I got a girlfriend named Coco.”
“Coco’s not your girlfriend, she’s your line buddy.”
“Applth and orangth.”
Eric burst out in crazed laughter. “Yo, what is happening right now?”
“Wanna shoot hoopth with me?” He was hopping up and down, so excited to find a guy to play basketball with. “My name is Otith but it should be Lebron, cause I got skillth like him. I’m a problem. Wanna play?”
“Yeah,” said Eric, in a faraway voice. “I wanna play.”
“Monkey, wanna run back to Auntie Billie and get your ball?”
“Okay. Be right back, bro.” And then he held out his little fist in Eric’s direction. Eric went rigid with shock and then, swallowing hard, he pressed his fist to Otis’ and they both exploded their hands, with a loud POOF.
Otis bounded off in Billie’s direction. And then Eric turned toward Jenna. Too overwhelmed to address the real issue, he latched onto the pound bomb thing, babbling in a delirious voice, “Did you teach him that? Did you? Or are pound bombs hereditary? I’m bugging out!”
Jenna grabbed his arm. “Calm down. Breathe. I taught him that. Breathe, honey.”
Eric took a couple of deep breaths and then, in a daze, he said, “Jenna, that’s me. He’s me. He even has my lisp.”
“He’s more you than you. So braggy and self-assured. He practically came out of the womb screaming, ‘I’m awesome!”
“He’s me,” Eric repeated, stunned. “And you.”
“Us.”
“How?”
“Remember that horrible sinus infection I got? Turns out that I, with forty-one-year-old eggs, was one of the small percentage of women whose antibiotics halve the potency of birth control pills,” said Jenna. “I was pregnant that last day of work. I thought I was sick from stress, but it was Otis. I found out later, but by then, we were over.”
Jenna stopped, flooded with memories from her pregnancy, alone and without Eric. It was so disorienting. She’d been overcome with joy, elated—but thoroughly soul-sick, too.
“It was the hardest decision of my life to have him without you. But I couldn’t handicap you. I had my chance to be unapologetically ambitious and chase my dreams in my twenties—and you deserved that, too. I loved you too much to stand in the way of that. I know you. You would’ve dropped it all for us.”
Eric nodded. He would’ve. He’d spent the last four years working tirelessly, not sleeping, schmoozing, building his brand, chasing (and getting) the splashiest shoots, pooling resources for his film, traveling wherever work took him. No ties.
But for Otis and Jenna, at twenty-three, he would’ve taken an office job, in any field. He never would’ve moved to Spain. He wouldn’t have done anything. Forget his talent, his training, his lifelong goals. He’d have been finished before he started.
“I couldn’t not have him,” continued Jenna. “You know I needed this baby, this piece of you, of us, more than I needed to breathe. I…”
“I understand,” he said so quietly, she could barely hear him.
“You do?” Every time she imagined breaking this to Eric—and she would’ve, she just hadn’t planned when—it always ended with him hating her.
“I hate that I missed a single second. But I know why you did it. You don’t have to explain.”
There was more he wanted to say, to ask, but words failed him. After a long moment spent staring at his son on the playground—just existing—he found his voice again.
“He’s…perfect. And you named him after my dad.”
“Yes,” said Jenna. “I wanted to honor the man responsible for the two great loves of my life.”
Eric looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time.
“I…I never thought…” His voice faltered. He paused, and then started again. “I never thought I could love you more than I already do.”
Hot tears sprang to Jenna’s eyes.
Just then, Otis ran over to them with his little ball. “I’m back!”
Eric squatted down so he was face to face with Otis. “Yo, you ready? I need to witness these LeBron-adjacent skills.”
“YEAH!” said Otis, hopping up and down. Then, he put his hand on Eric’s shoulder. “I’m gonna win, but ‘member…it’s only a game.”
“I like your attitude, O.” He stood up and then looked down at Otis’ Gap knockoff Jordans. “You know, if we’re gonna chill, I’m gonna have to step your kicks game up. Your mom’s a fashion expert, but her sneaker knowledge is mad iffy.”
“I know! Mommy’s shoes look like skyscraperth.”
“She goes to the bodega in heels, right?”
“How did you know her does that? Do you have thuperpowers?”
“No,” said Eric, chuckling. “No, I just know everything about your mom.”
“You do? How come?”
Eric looked at Jenna, and they shared a secret smile. “You’ll find out soon.”
Then, he hoisted his backpack on his shoulder, took his son’s hand, and they walked over to the playground together.
Jenna stayed behind, watching them. When they got to the small court, Eric crouched down to Otis’ level and spun his little ball on his finger. Otis squealed, clapping his hands. Then Eric coached him on dribbling, before he swooped him up and ran him over to the hoop—and flipped him around in a somersault, ending with Otis slamming in the ball, backwards. It was the most dramatic toddler dunk of all time. Jenna laughed and cheered for Otis—for Eric and Otis—and wiped the happy tears from her cheeks.
Her love and their son.
This moment, the three of them together, it was her default fantasy; always in the back of her mind. But she’d forbidden herself to think it was attainable. After all, was it ever possible to really have it all? Did happy endings truly exist in real life?
Maybe they did. Maybe this was hers.
Jenna walked in the direction of the playground with feet that didn’
t touch the ground, headed toward her waking dream. Now, all that was left was to live it.
And she did.