Sia reached for my hand, pulling me inside and shutting out the world behind me. The living room smelled like lemon candles and incense.
“Girl,” I started, voice still shaky, “y’all are not gonna believe what the fuck just happened.” I told them about Meja coming by and ruining my day, and Sia sat there shaking her head while Mikki paced the floor.
“Oh, hell no! The bitch wore a trench coat and heels to a nanny interview?”
“Exactly! And Knuck stood there looking lost until it finally clicked in his head who she was!”
Sia folded her arms. “That sounds dumb as hell. Knuck is smarter than that. What if…?”
“Sia, donotdo the rational thinking shit right now.”
“I’m just saying,” she said, raising a brow. “Maybe hetrulydidn’t clock her. I mean, his assistant had it all worked out, right? What if she really didn’t run the names and resumes by him, Ny?”
“I don’t care! That’s even more of a reason to be mad because what the fuck? You just got random people showing up to my house to potentially be responsible for my fucking son? Then, he made me feel likeIwas overreacting. It’s the audacity for me.”
“You weren’t,” Mikki said. “I woulda spit on the hoe..”
“Dramatic ass,” Sia muttered, but she was half smiling. Holding up both hands, she went on to say, “All right, I get why you flipped. But Ny… before we keep dragging the situation… can I say something?”
I pulled a throw pillow to my chest. “What, Sia?”
She walked over and lowered her voice. “Your emotions have been all over the place since you had Kassim. Happy one day, crying the next, and mad right after. It might be postpartum related.”
“I’m not depressed, though,” I quickly replied, my shoulders tense. “I’m just dealing with a crazy fiancé, letting my lash team take the lead on somethingIbuilt from the ground up… oh, and I have a newborn. Stressed, maybe, but depressed? I think not.”
“Postpartum doesn’t just mean depression,” she said gently. “It can be rage, anxiety, irritation…”
Mikki nodded. “Nah, she’s right. They got a whole list. Mood swings, feeling on edge…”
I pulled the pillow tighter. “Knuck tried that line, too. Said I needed to hit up my doctor, but… I assumed he was just being petty.”
Sia shook her head. “He’s not wrong, friend. Hormones drop after birth, sleep’s up and down, and your body’s still healing. It can make you feel like you’re spinning out of control.”
I swallowed back the lump in my throat as images flashed in my head. I remembered laughing with Knuck in the kitchen less than an hour ago, then crying in the shower ten minutes later, yelling over nothing, then feeling guilty. Waking up at night, panicked that Kassim was too quiet. My emotions seemed to ricochet—Happy. Sad. Angry. Frustrated. All in one day. For the first time, I admitted how I really felt.
“Damn. I guess… I guess I do feel scrambled,” I finally admitted.
“Postpartum rage is real,” Sia reassured me, patting my hand. “So is postpartum anxiety. There are screenings and support groups. No shame in getting checked.”
I squeezed the pillow until my knuckles hurt. “I don’t like feeling out of control.”
“Control is overrated,” Mikki murmured, patting her box braids. “Getting help ain’t.”
I exhaled, the breath shivering out of me. “Maybe I should talk to my OB.”
“You gotta talk to Knuck, too,” Mikki added, laying her head on my shoulder. “This back and forth, up and down ain’t good.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t be getting married…”
“Lies,” Sia chuckled. “You’re just going through something right now, and it’s making shit a little worse. If he’s trying to be better and not all crazy and shit, then you need to get some help too.”
“Balance, bitch, balance,” Mikki laughed, and Sia and I joined in. “We love you.”
“Love y’all too.” Maybe Ididneed help. Maybe Knuck needed grace. But right now, wrapped in my girls, I could breathe.
B r u h ,Iw a sfuckin’ tight. I stood in the middle of that quiet ass house, jaw clenched. Kassim was halfway asleep in my arms, lips all droopy like his damn mama’s when she mad. My fuckin’ head was bangin’, and I needed a fuckin’ blunt. Shit, a couple drinks too. My patience was gone.
I walked around the house tryna calm myself down, tryin’ not to replay that dumb ass nanny shit over and over. Tryin’ not to replay Nyomi slappin’ the fuck outta me. She hit me like I wasn’t the same nigga who stood ten toes behind her through every mood swing and every damn postpartum breakdown. Like I wasn’t the same nigga who held her through contractions wit’ no medicine.