She was the only one, besides my sister, who truly saw me and loved me despite my indifference.
Every month her stomach grew, the more nervous I became.
I played it off as if I was cool with it, but secretly, I was fucked up about it all. I knew I had to get over this and was glad my sister and Ruger were coming to visit. I needed someone to talk to other than Nichelle and her family. I needed someone to reassure me that I could do this shit without feeling the need to run.
Cooking had been one of my escapes from thinking too much and too hard about shit. Ashanti taught us how to garden and grow our own vegetables. She taught us how to make African dishes and speak Swahili, just as her mother taught her.
My grandmother, Zuri, fell in love with a rich, white man back in Ghana.
My grandfather, Nathaniel, brought my grandmother here to the States after they married and had Ashanti.
Being the pretty African American with the light skin, apparently, had all the niggas vying for her attention. She ended up getting pregnant with me at seventeen, by that drug-dealing nigga Merrick, who I fucking hated. They broke up for a spell, then she got with Kenzi’s pops and, two years later, had Kenzi.
As much as I loathed that woman entirely, I was grateful for the little attention she gave me and for teaching me how to survive.
I turned the pot off and felt the firmness of Nichelle’s belly against my back, with her arms wrapped around my waist.
I smiled as I turned and kissed her forehead.
“You excited about your sister coming to visit?” she asked, smiling up at me.
“Yeah, it’s been a minute. Since all that bullshit with the Blaze Burners kidnapping Kenz went down, we hadn’t seen each other.”
Nichelle nodded. “Yeah, I miss her. I can’t wait to see her.”
“Me either. Don’t think I don’t notice you doing more than what you should be,” I said, clocking her.
“I only set the table, Ghana. Relax.” I looked down at her with my brow raised. She giggled lightly. “Okay, but I had to make sure the house was clean. I don’t want anybody saying we're dirty people.”
“Yo’ ass is borderline OCD. The house has been clean since I moved us in here. I want you to chill for the rest of this pregnancy, Nich. Just carry my baby to term. I got everything else. It’s not like they’re staying here.”
“Oh, I thought they were.”
“Nah, Ru bought them a spot last month when Kenzi said she wanted to visit. He refuses to stay under another man’s roof—visiting or not.”
“Fine. Can I have a little spaghetti? I’m hungry.”
I chuckled. “You’re always hungry.”
“No, your baby is always hungry. I already know she’s going to come out greedy and needy, just like her daddy.” She laughed. Although I smiled, I didn’t feel the humor in my heart. The nervous feeling that nestled in my stomach created butterflies that I tried to bottle up and let die.
I busied myself with making her a small portion, then set the bowl down in front of her, along with a bottle of water, just as I heard the engine of a motorcycle in the distance.
“They’re here,” I said and kissed Nichelle’s forehead, then headed for the door.
When I opened it, I saw Ruger’s Harley coming up the block with Kenzi on the back. Just to think, not too long ago, she was on his bike because he had rescued her from a rival motorcycle gang called the Blaze bitches.
He pulled in front of the house, and I stepped out on the porch. He cut the engine, got off, then helped Kenzi off. As soon as she ditched the helmet, she ran up the walkway and jumped into my arms. I received her and hugged her tightly.
“I missed you, Brother.”
“I missed you, too, Sis. Umeshindaje?” (How have you been?) I asked.
“Kamwe bora. Vipi kuhusu wewe?” (Never better. How about you?)
“Sijambo.” (I’m fine.)
“You look good. Healthy and whatnot.” She giggled.