Man Swappers

by Cairo

“She’s making a big mistake.”

  “Then it’s one you don’t have to live with,” I remind her. “So let it go.”

  “Let what go?” Paris asks, walking into the kitchen. Persia and I look in her direction.

  “The fact that you’re pregnant,” I say, glancing at Persia. “Persia thinks you should have an abortion.”

  Paris shakes her head, opening the refrigerator. “And how do you feel about it?”

  “I’m going to love you no matter what you decide to do. And I’m going to love my little niece or nephew as if it were my own. Although, I hate to say, I’m so glad it’s you pregnant and not me.”

  She shuffles over to the table, biting into an apple. I’m shocked at how big her stomach looks this morning. “I’m almost at the end of my first trimester. I’m not having an abortion; period. Yes, I made a mistake by not using a condom with Desmond. I was aware of what I was doing—living on the edge. But, this baby inside of me will not be born a mistake. I’m thankful I don’t have HIV or some other disease.” She eyes Persia. “Please, save your breath. You’re going to be an aunt, so get used to it.”

  “Fine,” she says, folding her arms across her chest. “When are you going to tell our parents?”

  “Yeah, and what are you going to tell them?” I ask.

  She sighs. “I really haven’t thought about it. I’ll tell them after Pasha’s wedding next week.”

  “Umm,” I say, pointing in the direction of her protruding baby knot. “Do you think you’re going to be able to hide it?”

  She looks at her stomach, pushing it out, then holding it in. “I’ll wear a girdle and eat very light,” she says, laughing at first, then busting out into tears. “I don’t know what the hell I’m getting myself into. How does a man go from calling you every day, wanting to see you and sex you, to not calling you at all? No, ‘I’m not interested,’ no ‘I’ve changed my mind,’ nothing. It doesn’t make sense to me.”

  I get up from my seat. “Girl, you know we’re here for you.” I look over at Persia. “Aren’t we, Persia?”

  “Of course we are. If he could disappear like that without a word, then obviously he was no good for you. If anything, he did you a favor.”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” Paris says, wiping her face with her napkin. She blows her nose. “It’s still mindboggling, though. Niggas. He really seemed different.”

  “Obviously he wasn’t,” Persia says dismissively. “Sounds like he was a no-good, lying-ass nigga.” I eye her. And she eyes me back. I can’t put my finger on it, but, for some reason, Persia seems very uneasy about this whole pregnancy thing. “Who knows how many other women he’s done this to. I say good riddance to his ass.”

  Paris sighs, wiping her face. She pats me on the hand. “Thanks. I’m a big girl, and I’m going to be okay. But, right now, I’m scared to death, bringing a baby into this world by myself, then having to raise it.”

  “Girl, plenty of women do it,” I offer. “Men walk out and leave women to raise their kids every day by themselves. You’re going to be fine. And you’ll be a great mother.”

  “Thanks. I can do it. What bothers me the most is that he doesn’t even know about it. If he walked out on me because of that, then I could swallow his disappearing act better. But, he stopped all communication without any warning. That’s what I have difficulty with. If I ever run into him again, I’m going to slap the shit out of him.”

  Persia reaches over and grabs Paris’s hand. “And this is why I really think you should reconsider having this baby. All it’s going to be is a constant reminder of how fucked up he was. How he changed up on you. Every time you look at that baby, you’re going to see that no-good nigga and start resenting it.”

  Paris shakes her head, rubbing her stomach. “I’m not doing it. This baby is going to be loved. And when he or she is old enough to understand, I’ll tell them the truth. That he didn’t know about them. That I love them in spite of not knowing their father.”

  “Well, that settles it,” I say. “We need to start converting one of our bedrooms into a nursery. But, first, boo, you’re going to need to buy a new dress for the wedding because I don’t think you’re going to be able to fit that little sexy number.”

  She laughs. “Oh, trust me. I’ll stuff my ass into that thing, even if I have to wear a corset over a girdle. Come hell or high water, that dress is going to be worn.”

  Persia gets up from her seat. “I guess this’ll be something else Mother can talk about.”

  Paris shrugs. “I guess it will be. Fact is I don’t care what she thinks, or says.”

  “Ummm, speaking of which,” I say, shifting in my seat. “Since I have the two of you here, I have some news of my own.”

  Persia flops back down in her seat. “Oh, God, please don’t tell me you’re pregnant, too.”

  I laugh. “Girl, hell no. Didn’t you hear me when I said I was glad Paris was pregnant instead of me?”

  “That’s a relief,” Persia says, letting out a deep breath. “Then what is it?”

  I glance at Paris, then smile. “The mystery man in my life is Emerson.”

  She blinks. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  I shake my head. “No. I’m serious. Emerson and I have been going hot and heavy for a few months now.”

  Persia just stares at me, long and hard, then finally asks, “Why?”

  Paris

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  Oh, how I wish Persia could have seen the look on her face when Porsha revealed that she was seeing Emerson. It was…priceless!

  “I don’t fucking believe this. Tell me this is a joke.”

  Porsha shook her head. “It’s not a joke. Emerson and I have been seeing each other for the last five months.”

  “I thought we had a pact to not see any men we cut off behind each other’s backs?”

  “We did,” Porsha stated. “But I never wanted to cut him off. You did.”

  “And you agreed to it.”

  “Yeah, unfortunately I did.”

  “So you’re the woman Emerson was talking about?”

  Porsha nodded. Persia shook her head. “I can’t believe both of you hookers have been keeping secrets from me. Are there any others that either of you might wanna share with me now?”

  “Persia,” I said. “I know you’re upset that we didn’t share this with you. But the fact of the matter is you spend too much time trying to micro-manage us. We’re grown women, who are entitled to do what we want, with whomever we want as long as we’re not maliciously or purposefully trying to hurt anyone else.”

  “Persia, Emerson is a really good man,” Porsha offered. “And he loves me.”

  She stared at Porsha. “And the fact that”—She pointed around the room at Porsha and me—“all three of us have slept with him is okay with you?”

  “No, at first it wasn’t. I struggled with it. But, what we did with him was a mutual decision. I didn’t know he had feelings for me. And I didn’t know that I would have any for him. But I do. And he’s not interested in fucking either of you, again. So, yes—now, I’m more than okay with it.”

  “I’m happy for you,” I stated, giving her a hug. “I’m glad it’s finally out in the open so you can finally bring him around.”

  Persia frowned. “I don’t want him here.”

  Porsha raised her brow, placing a hand up on her hip. “And why not?”

  “Because don’t you think that having Emerson in our home after we’ve fucked him every which way is going to be a whole lot uncomfortable for all of us?”

  “Not for me,” I said. “I’ve always liked Emerson. I mean, it’s unfortunate that I know what the man’s dick looks and feels like…”

  Porsha sucked her teeth, rolling her eyes. “Ugh! Gee, thanks. Don’t remind me.”

  I laughed.

  Persia frowned. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for him to come here.”

  “Well, this is my home, too. And eventually he will be here. So you’re going
to have to get used to the idea, or do your best to avoid him. But, we’re a couple. I’m not going to keep staying the night at his house. Some nights, he’s going to stay here. If that’s not going to work for you, then I’ll have to make other arrangements because I won’t live someplace where my man isn’t welcomed.”

  I gasped. The posssibility that the three of us would one day no longer live together had never dawned on me, or them. We customized this house with the understanding that the three of us would get married and live here with our husbands as one big, happy family. But nothing ever turns out the way we think it should.

  Persia blinked. “You’d actually move out?”

  Porsha nodded. “Yes, Persia, I will. I love this man. I want you to be happy for me. But, if you can’t, then that’s fine, too. I’m still going to be with him. If it doesn’t work out between the two of us, then it doesn’t. I was wrong for keeping my relationship with him from you. I apologize. I realize how stubborn and strong-willed you can be when you believe in something. And I didn’t wanna fight with you about it.”

  Persia walked over to her. “I don’t want you to move out. I don’t want you to ever feel like you can’t bring whomever you want here. This is our home. We built this place. We’ve shared a lot of memories here. I’ll get over it. I’ll be happy for you; just give me a minute to digest it all.” They hugged. “Wait a minute. I’m not that stubborn, am I?” Persia asked, looking over at me.

  I nodded my head. “Yeah, you are. You’re actually almost as bad as Mother.”

  Persia groaned.

  Paris and I laughed. Shit, that’s all we could do. I’m pregnant by a man who I’ll probably never see again. And Porsha’s involved with a man the three of us have bounced up and down on. Definitely not how we envisioned our lives. But, it is what it is.

  I walk over to the window and look out through the curtains. There’s a very attractive couple walking with their two little girls. The father is pulling them in a red wagon with one hand, and holding the woman’s hand with the other. She has her free hand up on her stomach, slowly rubbing it. She looks like she’s almost ready to deliver any minute. I keep my eyes trained on them until they’re no longer in sight—rubbing my own belly, wondering, imagining what life will be like as a single mother. Hoping I’ve made the right decision to keep it. At least I don’t have to wonder who my child’s father is. This baby was conceived out of lust; nothing more, nothing less. And sometimes I’m bothered by the fact that I didn’t use protection with Desmond; that I put myself in this predicament. I’m so pissed at him for being such an asshole. For not being man enough to say he wasn’t interested. I’m pissed at the fact that there was no closure. And yes, this baby growing inside of me will be a constant reminder of what I shared with him for those few months. Still, I have no regrets. If I could do it all over again, I would, but I’d use a damn condom.

  My cell rings, snapping me out of my reverie. I smile, answering. “Hi, Daddy.”

  “Hey, babygirl, how’s my beautiful daughter doing?”

  I feel myself getting choked up. “I’m so happy to hear your voice.”

  “You sure know how to put a smile on your old man’s face.”

  “Oh, Daddy,” I tease. “You say that to Persia and Porsha, too.”

  He chuckles. “You’re right. And it’s true. Have I told you how proud I am of you lately?” Without any warning, I burst into tears. The idea of my son or daughter not ever experiencing the kind of love with Desmond in the way I experienced with my own father, tears me up inside. I’m so overwhelmed with emotions. Telling him I’m pregnant is going to be one of the hardest things I’ll ever have to do. Not because he’ll be hurt, or disappointed in me. It’ll be looking into his eyes and seeing how he looks into mine. As if I’m still his precious little girl. “Baby, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

  “I love you so much, Daddy. I’m so happy to have you as a father.”

  “Aww, babygirl. Your old man loves you, too.”

  I decide that when I deliver my baby, I want him there with me. Just as he watched my mother give birth to my sisters and me, I want him to witness the birth of his first grandchild. I break down, crying again.

  “Baby, are you sure everything’s okay? Do you need me to come over there?”

  “No, Daddy. I’m fine, really.”

  “No you’re not,” he says, concern etched in his tone. “Look, where are you?”

  “I’m home.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  “Daddy, I’m pregnant,” I say, placing a hand up on my stomach, sitting next to him on the sofa.

  He stares at me, reaches over and takes my hand. He squeezes it. “How many months?”

  “Four.”

  “Wow, four months.” He smiles. “My little girl is gonna be a mother. Does your mother know?”

  I shake my head. “No, and please don’t tell her. I plan on telling her after Pasha’s wedding. The last thing I want to be is the table discussion for the night.”

  He chuckles, knowingly. “My lips are sealed, babygirl. Now who’s the lucky fella?”

  “His name is Desmond.”

  “Is he one of the fellas the three of you—”

  “No, not all.”

  I can tell he’s relieved. He wants to know how we met. Wants to know what his intentions are. I tell him everything. When I’m done filling him in, he pulls me into him and kisses me on the head. “It’s going to work out. I’m going to do whatever I can for you and my grandbaby.”

  I nod into his chest. “I know.” We both welcome the silence as he holds me for what seems like forever until I finally sit up. “I couldn’t have an abortion, Daddy. This baby is a part of me.”

  He smiles, cups the side of my face in his warm hands. Then strokes my cheek with the back of his hand the way he used to when I was a little girl. “Baby, you don’t have to explain anything to me. That little baby is going to be smothered with love. And don’t you worry about your mother. She’ll come around. Trust me. The minute she sees him, she’s going to melt.”

  I smile. “Daddy, how do you know it’s going to be a boy? It could be a girl.”

  He shakes his head, reaching over and rubbing my stomach. “No, babygirl, you’re carrying my grandson.”

  I start crying again. “I’m so sorry, Daddy.”

  “Sorry for what? You’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “For making you so ashamed of me.”

  He scoots closer to me and pulls me back into his arms. “Oh, babygirl, I’m not ashamed of you. I’m your father. And my love for you and your sisters will always be unconditional; no matter what. You hear me?”

  I nod. Having my father here and hearing his words is the soothing balm I needed for my wounded spirit. I kiss him on his cheek. “I love you, Daddy.”

  He squeezes me. “I love you more.”

  Persia

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  “Mother…what are you doing here?”

  She raises her perfectly arched brows, placing a neatly manicured hand on her hip. “Well, hello to you, too. Are you going to invite me in, or do I have to stand outside in this damn August heat?”

  I take a deep breath. I’m inclined to shut the door in her face, but I can’t. I step back and allow her in. “What brings you here? Paris is down at the store. And Porsha’s over at her office.”

  She sits her handbag up on the coffee table. “I know where they are. I’m here to see you.”

  “Me?” I ask, frowning. “What for?” I eye her as she takes a seat on the sofa. Then she has the nerve to ask for something cold to drink like I’m in the mood to play hostess to her. “What would you like, water, cranberry juice or seltzer water?” She tells me seltzer water with very little ice. A few minutes later, I’m handing her a glass. I sit across from her; watch as she takes a sip. “So what is it you want to talk to me about?” I ask, wanting this to be over with as quickly as possible.

  “I thought it was time you and I have a nice, l
ong chat. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  I raise my brow. “A chat for what?”

  “It’s time for you and me to clear the air before Pasha’s wedding next weekend. I’d hoped to do it a few months ago, but after how rude you were during brunch, I decided to ignore you.”

  “So then why are you here now?” I ask, folding my arms across my chest.

  “Because I decided that it was time for me to confront you. There’s going to be a lot of family at Pasha’s wedding that we haven’t seen in a long time. And the last thing I want is for there to be any mess.”

  “And what makes you think there would be any mess?”

  “’Cause you can be messy, Persia. It doesn’t take much for you to go off. We both know how nasty your attitude is.”

  “And we both know how messy your mouth is.” I snap defensively. The nerve of her! “My attitude is fine as long as you don’t say anything crazy.”

  She tsks. “And I’m hoping you leave it at home and not do or say anything to ruin Pasha’s day. I realize how you can be when all the attention isn’t on you.”

  My mouth drops open. This fucking… I stop myself from telling her to get the fuck out of my home. “She’s our mother,” I hear Paris say. Big fucking deal! “Excuse you? You’re hoping I don’t do anything to ruin it. Are you serious? You’re the messy one. All you do is sit around and talk about everyone, including your own daughters. When have I ever said or done anything to ruin a family event?”

  She tilts her head. “Persia, you heard what I said,” she says, ignoring my question. “Leave your attitude here, or don’t show up.”

  I laugh at her. “Who are you to tell me to stay home? It’s not your wedding, nor are you in control of the guest list. And you’re definitely not in any position to stop me from going anywhere. Sorry to burst your bubble, Mother. But I’m going to be there. Bottom line, the problem isn’t me; it’s you.”

  She glares at me. “You know what, I’m going to forget that I’m your mother for one minute and deal with you on the level you seem to want me to be on. So let’s finally get this out in the open. Since you’re so gully and wanna treat me like I’m some street bitch, from one bitch to another, what the fuck is your problem with me?”