Love Delayed (39 page)

“
He definitely has identifiable features,” I agreed.

Zoey
tossed her head back on the pillows with a big ass smile plastered on her face.

My nose wrinkled.
“You’re sure a different being from just minutes ago when I walked out of the bathroom.”

Zoey
giggled. “That’s because I’m a medicated momma. See here?” She lifted a device that was attached to tubes. “This is a medication dial. When I feel pain, I turn it up. I turned it up while you were in the shower. My lower back was killing me, competing with my no-no-special place.” She giggled.

Why the hell did she have to mention
that
place? Thanks to her, I’d be preoccupied with thoughts of it.

“
Your giddiness is reminding me of,” I twisted my neck over to the other side of the room to be sure her parents hadn’t arrived unannounced. “...your experience in the Caymans.”

She smacked her teeth. “
Oh, when I was hiiiiiiigh?” We both busted in laughter. I grabbed my stomach at that one.

“
Yeah. Then.”

“
Naw! That was a different type of intoxication. The best of my life. I doubt if anything could top th—”

Zoey
halted her words. She must have known she was crossing into gray territory. I, on the other hand, was pleased that she at least acknowledged our better days. It made me give myself permission to escape our reality, the mess I’d made.

I sat up in my chair, facing her square on. My eyes were leveled with hers while my back stretched broad, ready to catch whatever she threw my way, metaphorically speaking. I remembered Sarah
’s words of advice concerning Zoey. She said Zo needed time to figure out what she wanted and who she was.

“
So much has changed since then, Zo. I’m sure the pregnancy, and now birth have given you a new perspective on life. What do you see for us...you, me and little Jordan down the road?”

Silently, I begged for her to speak of a family unit, something that would include us
…together, officially.

Zoey
shrugged. “I don’t know...I just see me doing whatever I need to, to make a wonderful life for the little guy. I’ll do whatever I can to provide, as much as possible, the stability my parents have given me all these years.” Then her eyes returned to me. “And I’m sure he’ll learn early on that he has one cool dad.”

My chin
dropped, body sagged as a crisp shiver swarmed over my back, and my chest squeezed at the picture she just drew. I was secondary to her plans with our son. She still didn’t want us to resemble a traditional family. Zoey wanted no semblance of tradition. We were still at a blatant impasse. My heart was still on hold.

Just then, there was a knock at the door and right after, Jordan
’s bassinet was being wheeled back in. That stole both our attention and blocked the somber pit I was about to fall into.

“
Let’s try to feed again. Come, Jordan,” Zoey called out excitedly with outstretched arms. “Come feed from your momma finally.”

The nurse placed Jordan in
Zoey’s arms advising of a football hold. I watched absorbedly as Zoey released her left breast from her gown and placed her dark and enlarged nipple over Jordan’s sealed mouth and soothingly cooed words of encouragement to eat. I had no idea what the hell this was about, but I soon saw my son open his little jaw and eventually start to draw from Zoey’s breast.

Just then,
Zoey’s cell chirped next to me.

“
Could you check that for me, Stent?” she called back to me, not removing her eyes from our son or sounding pressed about answering the text that came through.

Slowly, I reach
ed for it on the table next to the bed. Even
my
eyes were glued to the event in Zoey’s arms. It was weird as shit to watch another mouth on my Niña’s boob, even though it was my son’s. But he was so damn precious as he wrapped his miniature lips around her and pulled. Zoey giggled happily.

“
You’re doing it, Elizabeth!” the nurse cheered them on and threw me a happy glance as well.

So fucking proud of her
was what went through my mind as I turned my attention back down to her phone. I slid the bar to the text app.

Bernard:
Is it super weird that I want to meet your son? I would really like to stop by the hospital to check on you two. If it’s cool send me the info. My prayers are with you two.

I scrolled up to pre
vious messages. None screamed Zoey had fucked him, but I still felt my anger building. I became aware of my harsh breathing through my flared nostrils, and a wave of heat flushed through my tensed body. Why would this little fucker still be pursuing a woman who’d just had a baby?
My woman!
I knew I didn’t like the prick, but this was the moment I began to hate his soft ass.

I had to calm down. I felt I had every reason to and none to b
e insecure about. I had Zoey where I wanted her. She’d just given birth to
my
child. That made me the permanent fixture I’d desperately wanted to be. I couldn’t get hung up on the fact that the Bernard kid was after her ass. I’d laid claim to it when we conceived the life that was now lying in her arms, feeding from her. I had my child.

I
officially have my Zoey.

“
Who was it?” Zoey paid me a fleeting glance and returned it back to the man of the hour, not wanting to lose a moment of this milestone.

I quickly tapped away, deleting that message from Bernard
the Queen of the Golden Arches
.

“
Your mom, checking in,” I tossed back at her.

“
Oh, she’s going to be upset that she missed this.” Zoey couldn’t hide her excitement.

And I had to get back in the ring to regain mine.

Fuck a Bernard!
Fuck kinda name is that anyway?

I placed the phone back on the side table and stood over the bed to watch
the festivities. Out of nowhere, I felt a caressing swipe of my cheek. I looked down to see Zoey beaming up at me. Never before had I experienced joy and disappoint in the same event.

I
’d have to get used to this. My Niña wasn’t ready.

Then

April 2008
                                                                                                               

~
Zoey
~

We were discharged from the hospital two days after I delivered Jordan. Apparently, Stenton and my mother agreed that for the first week, while Stenton was relieved of playing, we’d stay at his home in Alpine. It was big enough to accommodate my mother
, who would be staying with me. Stenton wanted full access to his son and didn’t feel comfortable staying at my parents’ where there was no room for him anyway. In Alpine, he could still train while helping out with Jordan.

Things were weird between Stenton and me because we assumed different roles. We were now parenting partners, no longer lovers…or best friends. His good energy was with me, but he seemed more formal and timid. Nonetheless his exuberance around Jordan melted everyone’s heart. He stayed in the bab
y’s face, constantly talking about nothing at all. 

Two
weeks after I had Jordan, I moved into the Philly apartment. I figured the way to go in was head first. I needed stability for my son and that wouldn’t happen in good time if we’d stayed with my mother for a few months. I made my bed and had to sleep in it, so to speak.

It was hard because my mother was still working and couldn’t stay with us very long. She was killing herself, trying to prepare meals for two households, helping with Jordan and going to work every morning. So many nights I had to kick her out, which was the last thing I wanted. I needed my mom more than ever. She would assign Ruth
responsibilities, but at seventeen and with no driver’s license, she had to be transported and would keep the same hours as my mother when she visited.

The upside to the isolation was the bonding that took place between Jordan and me. He was the most beautiful baby I’d ever seen. It amazed
me how I could soothe his cries with just a diaper change, burp, feeding from my breasts or simple cuddling. I never imagined what I’d be like as a mother; it had all come so soon, but Jordan forced me into this realm of love I never knew existed. And while I thought I loved and appreciated Sarah Barrett before this experience, I could now honor her with a fresh perspective. I’d been a mom for two short weeks and could see what the fuss was all about every year, leading up to the second Sunday of May.

Jordan slept a lot. He was still a newborn, and with having to be prepared for his every demand, I couldn’t exactly relax. That bull crap about sleeping when the baby sleeps was the most invalid advice
anyone could give. There was always laundry that needed to be done, food that needed to be prepared and other household chores. I’d wipe those things out and then look for more to do before Jordan’s next scheduled feeding. Sometimes I moved too fast for my own good and became antsy. 

One night,
I stalked Stenton online…again. I went to Facebook and Twitter to see if I could catch up with him. We still weren’t as communicative as we once were. Now, everything was about Jordan. I’d set it up that way. I had to protect the place of emotional stability I’d been able to find vacancy in. As I did my social media voyage like a fan of his, I clicked on dozens of pictures of Stenton, posing with our newborn son. If the number of teeth he exposed in each picture could measure his elation, the amount of them he shared made his joy palpable. He was revealing his private life, something he was reputed for not doing. His beaming smile in the hospital, next to an hour-old Jordan in a plastic bassinet; his sheer happiness when holding a sleeping Jordan on his bare chest covered in graffiti, were all telling of his absolute contentment. In the last photo of them skin on skin was the perfect contrast of purity against rugged art.

In the numerous pictures Stenton appeared to be happy, on top of the world. How could this be when I was
still suffering from a broken heart? From failure.

When I Googled him like an overz
ealous fan, I found a clip of Rosci of 106&Park, who was clearly smitten with Stenton, ask probing questions, “We all know you just had a baby. How you were able to hide that from the world is beyond me. So, the
woooooorld
,” she emphasized the word, “...wants to know, who is the woman worthy enough to have Stenton Rogers’ baby?” The crowd went up in a roar, rooting and whooping.

Stenton smirked, but I knew him well enough to know he was uncomfortable. Stenton Rogers never minded attention on the court, but a telescope into his personal life brought about high levels of anxiety.

Trying to calm the boisterous crowd, Rosci hushed them before continuing. “I mean, we all know you’re a private man. You’re rarely photo’d out with anyone. But you were able to slip this past us. How?”

Stenton snorted, causing another round of
oohs
and
aahs
from the crowd, “By doing what I’m doing now: not speaking about it.”

This reserved and confident man I was
observing was far from the yielding, excitable and eager lover I experienced making the baby in question. If I was less stable, I would question my knowing the man on my computer screen. The spotlight made him supernatural.

The chorus of regrettable
awwwwww
s came. Rosci joined them.
Where is Terrance J?
“C’mon, Stent. You gotta give us something. You know these ladies aren’t going to let you out of here without something—
I’m
not going to let you off the stage without a legitimate answer!”

“
I can tell you this: the next woman you see me photo’d with will be someone I’m
dating
, but the only woman you’ll hear me speak of will be my wife.”

That set off a heavy applause and I cocked my head to the side wondering why. Was it because the audience got the riddle or because it was
cute
to hear Stenton Rogers refer to his future wife? I was then able to see just what Stenton meant when he said people don’t
see
him; they see who and what they want to see.

“Wow! Okay!”
Rocsi, too, seemed moved by that ambiguous comment. “But I have to push a little here, Stent. You and I have a mutual friend that didn’t even know you were expecting. I had to ask him if she put some kind of spell on you to cut the line.”

I gasped.

Stenton seemingly found that one humorous as he laughed. I didn’t agree.

“
Nah. No spells, no potions. Just awesome chemistry that produced the cutest and most adorable little prince. I’m a very lucky man. He has the best mother.”

That was issued without humor. Did he mean that? Was that a ploy to appease his legion of
crushees? Did Stenton feel something more for me than the young girl that was so inexperienced, she got pregnant by him? Was I overthinking this?

The sounds of Jordan stirring next to me in his bassinet stole my attention.

And there was my life: me and this precious new being, forcing me to learn new things about myself and propelling me to develop others. When you have a baby to care for, you reflect on the times of leisure before the baby when you thought you had no time and realize you had it in abundance. You wonder when you’ll be able to get back to some level of normalcy or whether you should say goodbye to what you knew as normalcy and expect new normalcy. You wonder if you’ll be able to relax and not always be on guard for a disgruntled baby.

You also wonder if you’re providing the best for your child. I had Jordan outside of the cushion of a marital partnership. It was just the two of us. Yes, Stenton was around as much as his schedule would allow—and sometimes when it didn’t; he made so many concessions in his schedule—but he wasn’t here every day.
Ultimately, it was me and my baby boy. Don’t get me wrong, I thoroughly enjoyed exploring this new life. I took joy in observing his ever changing features the first weeks of his life. We’d get out for doctor appointments and walks when the weather permitted. My mom, sister and Karen would come by when they could, but the distance isolated us. Yes, we were closer to Stenton and his job, but it was a complete culture shock not having family just a stone’s throw away.

Angela still
wasn’t speaking to me. That hurt when I thought about it. Thankfully, I didn’t think about it often. Having a baby will prioritize your mind, and Angela wasn’t a part of my day-to-day struggle. I didn’t go to church for the first few weeks of Jordan’s life because I wasn’t ready for the fanfare, seeing everyone was aware of whom Jordan’s father was.

I was completely hormonal eight weeks into my postpartum self. I’d become
awfully high strung and too idle with my time when Jordan slept, which was increasingly less, but still a lot. At one point, I started planning his christening. I didn’t want a big, lavish event; only to get it over with and rededicate my son back to Christ. I consulted my mom on the minor details that it would take to pull off what I had in mind and before I knew it, the day had finally come.

~~~~~~~~~~

June 2008

The soft and melodious rifts of the organ rang to fill the air as Pastor Whitaker ran down the latest announcements. We’d already sat through the official announcements portion of the service that Sister Brenda does each Sunday as part of her job as the announcer, but Pastor Whitaker would always come behind her and emphasize the ones he felt were of high priority. He also took the time to shout out his seven-year-old daughter’s birthday. It amazed me that I could recall when she was no bigger than Jordan, who rested in his car seat next to me, on the floor.

Jordan. My latest obsession.

“We have a dedication on this morning before I bring forth the word,” Pastor Whitaker announced, drawing my attention from my prince. “Could we have the participants come to the pulpit please?”

My stomach
roiled. I knew this occasion would be difficult, yet a necessary occurrence. This was for my son…and my commitment to Christ. We always christened our children as an act of worship. It is a way of returning, through ritual act, your child to Christ whom entrusted you with the child in the first place. I wanted to do right by Jordan, who I secretly felt I’d let down already by conceiving him so prematurely.

As I walked down the outer aisle with my baby nestled in my arms, my body went cold and trembled. I heard and felt the hardwood hidden beneath the aged tan carpet
creak, and I quickly wondered how many times had I traveled this aisle over the years. The number didn’t matter because none of those times were as terrifying as this moment. There were never the stares and silent throws of judgment that were being cast at me and my innocent child right now. Never had I been so closely regarded as I took the walk. I told myself during the journey to the altar that it was for Jordan. He was pure and precious. I had nothing to be ashamed of or uncomfortable about. He was born out of a love that some of these hypocrites wished they had a day of.

I made it up to the foot of the
altar and observed Pastor Whitaker’s comforting smile as he descended the pulpit.

He continued,
“Amen.” Then he turned to the crowd and asked, “Who will stand with this mother and child?”

I ducked my head at
that portion of the ceremony. It was customary, but today meant much more. Usually the father, mother and baby arrived first and he’d ask,
Who will join this man, his wife and child?
But that was not the case. Even Karen and Angela had men with them to carry the burden of scrutiny. I was alone. I had no husband. My focus then became my beautiful sleeping baby.

My
father, mother, sister and Karen joined me. There was no man by my side, which was odd in this church. I glanced over to my parents who held their heads high, supporting me once again. There seemed to have been a long stretch of silence. I held my breath, waiting for that moment to pass. I glanced over at Angela who still wouldn’t look at me, but pretended to play in her baby’s hair. That hurt.

Then I heard movement from behind me. I turned to find Bernard clearing his throat and smoothing his skinny pink tie as he stood and made his way by my side. The act would have been noble if he wasn’t so dramatic about it. Bernard loved attention and this was furnishing him with plenty of it. Standing with an unwed mother and her bastard child? That’ll garner him some respect. In all honesty, I didn’t want him there. I wanted to do this alone. I
’d prepared for it. It was my life. My choice. My consequence. My blessing. My child. Bernard didn’t have to stand with me to help me save face, but there was no way I could relay this to him in that moment without being rude.

I sighed my frustration.
Yet another circumstance of not wanting traditionalism
. Not wanting marriage.
I’m a single mom and here’s my path. This is the road I have to travel.
I would make the best life for Jordan…along with his dad, wherever he was.

And then I heard commotion down the middle aisle, leading to the doors of the church.
A door was yanked open and the first one crossing the threshold was a pensive and jumpy Paul. My stomach churned. His petite frame looked formal in dress shoes, fitted black slacks, dress shirt, textured vest and a skinny tie just as pink as Bernard’s. In fact, they were identical. Noticing my quizzical glare, Paul shrugged with his hands in the air, almost apologetically.