A laugh, along with a little water, snorts through my nose. Grip does his damnedest to chastise me with a look, but he can’t hold back his smile. It’s brighter than I’ve seen in weeks. We needed this—to get out of LA, away from home. We can’t escape the pain. I carry that with me. Even the little joys, like feeling the first kick, will be overshadowed by the inevitable outcome, but something about packing a bag and flying out here to DC lightened things for us some.
Grip and Dr. Hammond are being honored for their work with community bail funds. I wasn’t going
to come, but I haven’t seen Dr. Hammond—he keeps telling me to call him Iz, but I’m not quite there yet—in such a long time, only a few times since the wedding. He and Grip haven’t really revisited his views on interracial relation- ships, but it’s obvious that his perspective has evolved, at least as far as Grip and I are concerned.
An hour later, the three of us are in the hotel suite Grip and I booked. Iz does the honors behind the bar because apparently he put himself through college bartending. He makes a Godfather for him and a vodka martini for Grip. Meanwhile, I’m sipping yet another water.
I miss liquor. I mean, liquor has been good to me in hard times.
Hello, vodka, my old friend.
I take a deep inhale from the bottle behind the bar, and Grip looks at me like Don’t even think about it.
“Just sniffing.” I laugh and reluctantly replace the bottle.
“Since you can’t drink, did you at least make Grip give up weed?” Iz asks from the leather couch in the suite’s sitting room.
“I volunteered, thank you very much.” Grip settles onto the couch facing Iz with his drink in hand. “No easy task in my line of work where you get high walking into every studio.”
“Well Bris has the hardest part.” Iz offers a sympathetic smile.
“And then even after delivery you still can’t drink for a while. I assume you’ll breastfeed? Hope it’s not awkward, but I’m in the daddy club. Ain’t no going back after being in the delivery room.”
He chuckles, not noticing that my smile and Grip’s have slowly faded to ash, burned by reality crashing back in on us. I won’t breastfeed. My breasts are the biggest they’ve ever been, and my milk will come in . . . then dry up. It will come and go, just like this baby.
“I’m gonna . . . um . . .” I stand, adjusting the neckline and the hem of the dress I wore to the banquet, keeping my hands busy while my heart recovers. “I’ll be back. Just need to . . .”
I can’t. I speed walk faster than a woman six months pregnant probably should, going back to the bedroom and flopping onto the bed, spread out like a starfish on the luxurious comforter. I stare up at the ceiling, hot tears flowing freely from my eyes and puddling in my ears. The sadness hovers over me. I’ve never lived with a constant promise of heartbreak, and many days, it’s too much. I often slip away to indulge in something my mother-in-law encouraged me to do when she first heard the news about the baby’s fate.
I count my blessings.
It is a well-documented fact that I’m not religious—never have been, and probably never will be, but I understand why some turn to it. I see why it is such a shaping force in Kai’s life. Believing there is something bigger than you must be comforting when you feel small, dwarfed by circumstances out of your control.
Blessing number one: Grip
Blessing number two: Grip. He’s so good, he counts twice.
Blessing number three: friends and family who love me. Rhyson and Kai and Amir and Shon and Ms. James and even my parents—all have been a source of comfort for us. My mother didn’t understand my decision and urged me to terminate. At first I thought it was the automatic feminist response, that she assumed I was keeping the baby for reasons that I’m not. Pro-choice is just that: I get to choose. It’s my body, which I’ve chosen to share with Grip, and we get to choose. Yes, the path we’re on is painful. To some, unnecessarily painful, but it’s what we’ve decided to do with this body. We have our reasons, and they’re just that: ours. I kept wondering how my mother could be so cold about her own granddaughter. Of course, it took Grip pointing out my mother’s fear for me to understand, noting that her concern for me far outweighed her feelings for this baby. She sees how hard it will be and doesn’t want me to go through what’s ahead.
“You and me, both, Mother,” I mutter.
The ceiling hasn’t changed, but my perspective has . . . some, enough to gather my emotions and go back out. I don’t get to see Dr. Hammond much, and I don’t want to spend the rest of the night in here brooding.
“I’m back.” I settle beside Grip, huddling under his shoulder and taking in his scent. When neither of them responds, I feel the heaviness weighing the air and note their somber faces. I know what they discussed while I was gone.
“You told him?” I ask Grip, vulnerability softening my voice.
We don’t tell everyone. It’s bad enough this shit cloud hangs over the next three months and dampens so many moments that should be reasons to celebrate. We don’t want to field everyone’s awkward questions and responses the whole time, and we also don’t trust everyone to understand.
“Yeah.” Grip scatters a few kisses along my hairline and squeezes my shoulder.
“I’m sorry this happened to you guys.” Iz grimaces. “Dammit, that came out wrong. I can’t believe I’m one of those awkward people who says stupid things at a time like this.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “We’ll be okay.”
I muster a smile to make him feel more at ease, something I find myself doing all the time lately once people know. I didn’t realize how much time and energy you expend making others feel better about how bad things are for you. Things are heavy enough without the burden of their discomfort and pity.
“I know you will. The two of you . . . you guys have something most people never find. My ex and I certainly didn’t have it.” Iz drops his eyes to his drink, rolling the tumbler between his palms before looking back up to split a glance between us. “I’ve never apologized for my views before you married, for the things I thought.”