“Thank you,” Rio said, his arms still wrapped around my chest. “Can we have some time alone with her, please?”
“Certainly,” Dr. Ford said. “Let’s clear the room.”
The medical staff filed out, and Rio finally released me. I rushed back to my mother. While I felt so lost and alone, she looked so peaceful, like she was sleeping and didn’t have a care in the world. I finally swallowed the lump in my throat, and the tears began to flow.
“Mama, damn.” I touched her face. “What am I gonna do now?”
“It’s okay, Roman. I got you,” Rio whispered, putting his hand on my shoulder.
I shook my head. “I don’t have nobody else. Aunt Coretta is dead. My mama is dead. I’m alone.”
“Roman, listen to me.” Rio turned my body to him. “You’re not alone. You got me, and you got a family. I promised Miss Margaret I’d take care of you, and I will.”
I stared into the face that looked exactly like mine—even more so now that we both had tears streaming. I still hadn’t processed everything my mother told us, and I didn’t know what was going to happen from here or how I was going to handle it. But I was glad that I wasn’t alone.
Chippy
57
“Is it almost ready, Grandma?” Paris’s son, Jordan, asked as he hopped in the kitchen.
I stirred the pot of homemade sauce. “Almost, baby. Just a few more minutes. Aunt London is making the salad.”
“Ewwwww, salad.” London’s youngest daughter, Ria, as we called her, was right on Jordan’s heels. She turned her nose up. “Grandpa says salad is rabbit food.”
“Girl, don’t even try it. You love salad.” London laughed as she cut up vegetables. “Your grandpa loves it too.”
“Yes, he does.” I smiled.
“Can I have a carrot?” Jordan asked. “I like rabbits.”
“Here.” London handed both children a carrot. “Now, go wash up and get ready.”
“What do you say?” I asked.
“Thank you,” they said simultaneously.
As I turned to take the pot of noodles off the stove, I heard the front door opening, and a few seconds later, Rio’s voice.
“Hey, Ma.”
“Uncle Rio!” Jordan yelled.
“Jordan, what did I tell you about being so loud?” I warned, my attention still on the hot stove.
“Whoa! It’s two Uncle Rios,” Ria said.
“Cool,” Jordan said.
“Rio, who is—?” London stopped mid-sentence. “Oh my God. Talk about creepy.”
I finally looked up to see what she was talking about. Sure enough, standing near the doorway was Rio and another man who looked exactly like him with a mustache and goatee. The resemblance between the two was so strong that it was scary, and if I hadn’t given birth to Paris myself, I would’ve thought that it was his twin brother.
“Ma,” Rio said. “Uh, this is Roman. He’s my, uh, brother.”
“What do you mean, your brother?” I asked, the pot of noodles now in my hand.
I knew damn well LC didn’t have a baby with some other woman and now his indiscretion came home to roost. Surely, that couldn’t be what was happening. But there was no doubt this boy was related to the Duncan family somehow. Anyone with eyes could see that.
Rio swallowed so hard that I could see the movement of his Adam’s apple. “He . . . he’s your son.”
I frowned. “Rio, I don’t know what kind of mind game you’re trying to pull here, but I don’t have time for your foolishness. You two do look alike, though.”
“It’s not a game, Ma.” Rio stepped closer.
Something inside me understood that this moment was huge, but I was still resisting it. “Stop, Rio.”
“He really is your son. You didn’t give birth to twins when you had me and Paris. You had triplets.”
“Rio, that’s not funny, and this is a horrible joke,” I said, fighting against the awakening that was happening inside of me.
He shook his head. “It’s no joke, Ma. He was born the same day as me and Paris in the same hospital.”
My knees began to wobble, and the pot slipped from my hands, crashing to the floor with a loud clang. The hot water splashed all over, and I felt a few drops scalding my bare ankles, but I couldn’t move.
“Ma!” London grabbed me.
“Grandma!” Ria gasped.
“Ria, Jordan, go upstairs. I’ll call you when dinner is ready,” London ordered the children.
“But—”
“Now!” she growled, and they scurried out the door, both of them still staring at their uncle and his duplicate as they passed.
“Mom, come and sit.” London touched my arm.
“I don’t want to sit.” I snatched away. “I want to know what your brother is talking about.”
My eyes went from Rio to Roman, who was still silent. Other than the hair color, they looked identical. But there was no way I could’ve had three babies. Granted, it was a difficult birth, but that’s something I damn sure would’ve remembered. How could I have given birth to a son and not have known?
“His mother—well, the woman who raised him, was the nurse in the delivery room,” Rio explained. “Her name is Margaret Johnson.”
“Margaret Johnson,” I repeated. I remembered her very well, because she was so nice. She took excellent care of me the entire time. I vaguely remembered LC even offering her a tip after the delivery.
“After you had me and Paris, you were sedated and didn’t even realize you had another baby. She took Roman right after you pushed him out,” Rio said.
I closed my eyes and tried to recall everything that happened that day—the birth, the exhaustion afterward, and then Margaret helping me while no one else was in the room. I’d had a bowel movement, and she cleaned me up. Or had I? It was such a long time ago, but could it have been possible that it was another baby I’d pushed out?
“Who told you all of this?” I asked.
“My mother.” Roman finally spoke. “A little while ago, before she died.”
“Margaret is dead?” I whispered. “And she said all of this?”
“She did, Ma,” Rio confirmed.
“Oh my God,” London said. “This is crazy.”
“So, you’re my son?” I stepped closer
