Page 30 of Sunday

“I am.”

“How about I make you a quick bacon and egg sandwich and then later cook brunch after we’ve had some rest?”

“That sounds good.”

“Take ya seat, ma’am,” I instructed and pointed to the window seat in the breakfast nook.

The smile she gave me snatched my heart in a chokehold. I watched the sway of her hips and ass as she padded over to the window seat and picked up a book. I glanced over my shoulder again as I broke the eggs in a silver bowl she had already set on the counter.

“What’s that you’re reading?”

She lifted the peach and cream book in her hand and answered, “It’s a book that has a list of baby names.”

“Oh, yeah? What have you come up with so far?” I sprinkled salt and pepper into the eggs, added heavy whipping cream, and then whisked them.

“Just a few names for a girl and a couple of names for a boy. Unless, of course . . .”

“Unless what?”

“You wanted him named after you.”

I sprinkled smoked gouda and sharp cheddar into the eggs as I thought about what she said.

“I mean, yeah, I’ve thought about it, but I didn’t know how you felt about it.”

“Cedar, I know that we’re not in a relationship or anything, but that doesn’t mean that you don’t have as much say about our child as I do. Sometimes, women get so caught up in that whole thing about this being their body and carrying the baby for nine months and having more rights and say-so about their babies than the father does. I don’t want to be that woman, Cedar. I want you to feel a part of everything that I go through, as integrala part of our child’s life as I am, and as comfortable enough to make decisions as I am.”

“That’s wassup, Sunny. Trust and believe that I will feel comfortable making major decisions about our child. When it comes to naming our baby, though, I’m not tripping too much.”

“Have you ever wanted a junior?”

“Maybe a second. That junior shit sounds country as hell.”

I grabbed the bread from the breadbasket and proceeded to butter them for toast.

“I don’t really see you as a first, though. You’re not that type of nigga either.”

I chuckled as I whisked the eggs. “Nah, I’m not. But I ain’t feeling that junior shit either.”

“Maybe we should come up with something different.”

“Like what, Cedar Omarion Jackson Deuce?”

“Or Cedar Omarion Jackson Duo?”

“How about Duet?”

“Or twin?”

“Or Cedar Omarion Jackson Next Level?” She giggled so hard at that. “What? You don’t like my next level?” I asked.

“Oh, my goodness. Can you imagine us calling him Next?”

“Or level?”

“How about Tree? I mean, if he’s like his daddy . . .”

“Nah. That shit used to piss me off when I was a kid.”

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