He shakes his head. “Why we need all them muhfuckas there? I thought you said this was going to be a small wedding.”
“It is,” I tell him. “It’s still small enough for it to be intimate.”
He smiles. “Yeah, aiight.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Yo, it’s your day,” he says thoughtfully, “so do it however, beautiful.”
“No, it’s our day,” I correct him, reaching over and touching his hand. He takes mine into his and brings it up to his lips, kissing it.
There’s a moment of silence between us before he asks, “Are you happy?”
Though his question catches me by surprise, I nod, smiling. “Do you even have to ask? I’ve waited my whole life for this. To be married, have my own family. I love a man who I
“You sure about that?” he asks, sounding almost skeptical.
I tread lightly. “Jasper, please, let’s not ruin a potentially wonderful evening with this. Of course I’m sure.”
“Oh, aiight; just checkin’.”
“And if I told you I wasn’t?” I ask, pushing the envelope.
He smirks. “Then I’da told your sexy-ass to get over it; too fuckin’ bad. You’re stuck wit’ me. And that’s what it is. ’Til
His emphasis on death makes me jittery and on edge. I shift in my seat, relieved when the waiter returns to the table with our pan of homemade cornbread.
“You know I love you, right?”
Cautiously, I nod, cutting a slice of cornbread. “I know you do. I love you, too.” I bite into the buttery sweet bread, practically moaning. It’s delicious.
“This, you and me,” he says, cutting himself a piece as well. “Is real, baby. You do understand there’s no turning back, right?” He keeps his stare locked on mine, placing the knife down. The way he’s looking at me, there’s a mixture of love and something else I can’t quite put my finger on—suspicion, yeah, that’s it—in his eyes.
He takes a bite into his bread, and smiles. “Yo, this shit is bangin’.”
I agree, hoping it changes the course of this conversation. “It tastes like cake. I could eat this whole pan,” I add, cutting another slice.
“No doubt. Listen,” he pauses. His intense stare dashes any hopes that this discussion is. “You got anything you wanna tell me? No jokes, no games, keep it a hunnid.”
I blink, shocked at the question. I am relieved when the waiter returns with my salad and Jasper’s cell rings. He ignores it. I share half of it with Jasper. Jasper tells the waiter he would like to order a Chimay Grand Reserve, then looks over at me to see if I want something. As bad as I want one of their mango mojitos, I decline. Order myself a passion fruit punch instead.
While I’m eating my seafood salad, it gets quiet between us. I find myself wondering why he asked if I had something to tell him. Other than being pregnant, what else would he think I had to tell? I shake it from my head, shifting to thoughts of being a mother. I try to imagine what our baby will look like. Will he or she have Jasper’s dark beautiful skin tone? Will he or she have my eyes, or Jasper’s? I wonder what kind of baby Jasper was. Was he a happy, always cooing-and-smiling baby, or was he one of those fussy, whining-colicky babies?
I steal glances at Jasper and smile. In less than three months, I’ll be almost five months pregnant and Jasper and I will be married. Of all the bitches he’s fucked, I’m the one who’s giving him a child; I’m the one he’s wifing.
He looks up from his plate, catches my smile. “Why you smilin’?”
“When you asked me if I had something to tell you, I do.”
He leans up in his seat, resting his elbows up on the table as if he’s waiting for me to drop a bomb on him. “Oh, word?”
“It’s a secret I’ve been keeping; actually a surprise for you,” I say, grinning now from ear-to-ear. “I was going to wait a little longer to tell you, but I can’t hold it in any longer.”
“And what’s that?”
“I’m pregnant.”
His eyes widen. “You’re pregnant?” he asks, clearly surprised about the news. I nod. “Stop playin’ wit’ me, yo. You carryin’ my seed for real?”
“Yes, baby. That’s why I was going to the doctor’s a couple of weeks ago. I went to get tested. I’m five weeks pregnant.
His face lights up with a wide Kool-Aid smile. “Oh, shit, that’s wassup, baby.” He pulls me toward him, leans in and kisses me on the lips. “Yo, you just made me the happiest man alive, word up, yo.” He flags the waiter over. “Yo, my man, skip the beer. Let me get a bottle of that Dom P. My wife’s pregnant, yo.” The waiter congratulates us, and the couple sitting in earshot next to us does the same. Jasper goes to pull out his phone to call all his people to share the news, but I quickly stop him.
“No, baby, let’s wait,” I say, grabbing his hand. “I want to keep this between us for now. Let’s surprise everyone in a few more months.”
“Oh, aiight. No doubt.” He leans over and kisses me again. “I’ma be a father. I love the hell outta you, girl.” When the waiter returns with the bottle of champagne, he pours it into flutes. Jasper waits for him to walk off, then raises his glass. “To us. Me, you and our beautiful baby; together forever.”
Our glasses click. And for the rest of the night, Jasper talks incessantly about our life together and how nothing will come between us; how he’s going to give his child everything he never had; and be what his father could never be: A dad. A tear slides down his handsome face. He quickly brushes it away. I reach over and grab his hand; kiss it. It is the first time I’ve ever seen my man cry.
TWENTY-EIGHT
It is after two A.M. when I slyly slip out of bed, careful not to wake up Jasper. We finished our nightly fuck session almost two hours ago, and I’m still restless. Jasper collapsed over on the side of his bed and passed out sweaty shortly after he busted his third round up in me. I can hear his heavy breathing and light snoring, letting me know he’s in a deep sleep—one I fucked him into. One I should be in as well. But I am not. Instead, I have been lying in bed staring up into the darkness. I steal one last peek at Jasper as I ease out of the bedroom and saunter into the spare bedroom, quietly shutting the door behind me.
My laptop is sitting over on the cherry wood desk in sleep mode, but quickly comes to life with the touch of the mouse. I sit at the desk, closing my eyes and taking in a deep breath. It’s been almost three weeks since I’ve shut down my Nastyfreaks4u page and close to two weeks since I’ve logged onto my AOL account to check my emails.
I open the first email.
I delete, going to the next email.
Although the email is two weeks old, I decide to send a reply, anyway.
