“What is going on up here?” My mother managed before she even entered my room. “Angela, get your finger out of her face! What is your problem?”
“She is, Aunt Sar! She betrayed me. She’s sneaky and grimy!” Angela spewed as my mother shuffled her out of my personal space and made herself a wedge between the two of us. When her eyes landed on my grasped belly she jumped into action.
“Angela, go home and take care of Brooklyn. I understand you and Zoey need to talk, but not like this and not now.” My mother took her by the shoulders and urged her to the door.
“I hate you, Zo! Don’t you ever call me, speak to me or look my way! I hate you!” Angela screamed all the way out of my small bedroom.
“Go, now!” My mother yelled, something she isn’t known to do.
I heard Ang’s threats and rant until she pulled out of the driveway.
Still stunned by the little melee in her home, my mother finally spoke.
“You okay?”
I shook my head. “I was until this,” I murmured, as my eyes were trained to the floor.
“Should I take you to the E.R.?”
“No, Momma.”
“Zo,” she sighed. “You’ve been doing so much better with your disposition these past few days. I don’t want you back in that slump. You have everything to look forward to, only now you have a bit more.”
As much as I wanted to take to her every word, I couldn’t. I was still blue. I knew I had to face Angela, but I’d been taking the cowardly route by putting it off. I only needed to get out of the black hole to do it. My mom was right: I had been improving. The nap Angela just awakened me from was evidence of that. I’d been restive for weeks now.
“Is there anything I can do to make it better? Can I rub your belly? You want me to pray for you? I can go get my oil.”
“No thanks, Momma. I should be fine. I’m just going to lay down and ride out the pain.” That didn’t apply to that pain in my heart.
She came over to my bed and kissed me. “Call me if you need me. I’ll be back to check in on you. I’ll call your dad and have him pick up your favorite seafood bisque.” I watched her walk out and close the door behind her.
That made me smile…somewhere within. I’d developed a better appreciation for food being pregnant. Eating was something that brought me happiness—temporary bliss, but bliss nonetheless. I’d gained a few pounds and welcomed that, too.
I spent most of my days on my parents’ couch or in my bedroom, painting my numbness away. It was either that or church. I felt lonely even there. Being there was especially hard, considering Angela wasn’t speaking to me. And eventually the whispers subsided, but the judgment didn’t. Our pastor even noted one Sunday morning how attendance had increased in the past few months. I knew it was due to spectators, curious about the rumors of who my “alleged” baby’s father was. Although our church was modest in size, it wasn’t like I or my parents made a public announcement that not only was I pregnant outside of being wed, but the father so happened to be three-time MVP, Stenton Rogers. I didn’t know how long we’d be able to keep it concealed, but we agreed that we would.
Nonetheless, after that experience with Stenton when we learned we were having a boy, I didn’t hide my face or my growing belly anymore. I was reassured that this child was conceived out of love. It didn’t matter that his father’s love didn’t last as long as his mother’s. My child was and would be loved.
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February 2008