Page 85 of Crash: Love in Scrubs
My phone rang, Mama’s contact lighting up the screen. I almost didn’t answer, I wasn’t ready to explain how badly I’d messed up what she’d called “the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“Hey, Mama.”
“Hey son.” Her voice was warm but cautious. “You sound heavy. You wanna talk about it?”
I laughed bitterly, taking another drink. “Everything’s wrong, Ma. I fucked up. Bad.”
“Watch your mouth and tell me what happened.”
I told her all of it. The blackmail, the suspension, the fight, the pregnancy news. By the time I finished, the silence on the other end stretched so long I thought she’d hung up.
“I warned you, Malik. I told you to handle your business. You can be so bullheaded sometimes.”
I inhaled deeply, the weight of the day weighing me down. “Mama, I know. And I could’ve paid him, but she’s not a possession. What I look like paying for my woman? And I even caught him outside my home, stalking us, taking pictures. I spared him.” I paused, my voice getting rougher. “I really thought I was protecting her by handling it myself.”
“Son, protecting her and keeping secrets are two different things. You should’ve told that woman what was happening so she could make her own decisions about her safety.”
“I was trying to keep her stress-free…”
“By keeping her in the dark about someone violating her privacy? Taking pictures of her in intimate moments?” Her voice sharpened. “That wasn’t your call to make, Malik.”
She continued not letting up, “You think that woman survived seventeen years as a single mother, built a career running into burning buildings, and raised that beautiful son by being some fragile little flower who can’t handle the truth?”
“Mama,” I started.
“No, you listen good. I raised you better than that. I raised you to respect women, to treat them as partners, not children who need managing.” The disappointment in her voice hurt like hell. “That woman trusted you with her heart, with her son, with her body. She let you into her life, into her family. And you repaid that trust by deciding what she could and couldn’t handle like she’s some helpless little girl instead of the strong woman who’s been handling everything on her own just fine before you and all your misogyny came into the picture.”
I slumped forward, elbows on my knees, the phone pressed against my ear. “Dang, ma, I know. I know I messed up.”
“Do you? Because it sounds like you still think your intentions justify your actions.” She paused, letting that sink in. “You violated her trust and treated her like she ain’t got good sense. That woman is carrying your child now, fix it or you’ll have to deal with me.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“I don’t care what it takes. That woman deserves better, and I want my grandbaby coming into this world with and from a happy, loved, and cared for mother and home.”
“Yes ma’am. I hear you.”
The line went dead, and I stared at the phone for a moment before setting it down. Damn, she’d hung up on me. Even Mama was disappointed in me. I shook my head as I cleaned up the spilled liquor and swept up the glass.
Tomorrow was a new day. I’d take my L tonight and figure out how to earn back what I’d lost.
I headed upstairs and turned the shower on as hot as I could stand it. Steam filled the bathroom as I stepped under the spray, letting the water run down my back, trying to wash away the weight of the day. But all it did was bring back flashes of our nights together, her hands on my back, her body pressed against mine under this same water, the way she’d whisper my name.
I already missed her. My heart hadn’t slowed down since she’d screamed for me to leave. I never wanted the woman carrying my child, the woman I’d planned to propose to, to look at me like that. Like I was just another man who’d disappointed her.
I couldn’t lose her. I wouldn’t.
I finished my shower and slid into bed, the same bed where we’d made love, where we’d talked about our future, where she’dfallen asleep in my arms just days ago. The sheets still smelled faintly of her Cecred shampoo and oil, and it made my head spin.
I picked up my phone and typed out a message, deleting and retyping it three times before finally hitting send.
Me: Baby, I know you want space, and I’m going to give it to you, but you gotta know I never lied about how I feel about you. I love you, Sametra. I love our child already. I love Samaj. And I’m going to spend every day proving that I can be the man y’all deserve. I’m sorry I failed you today. I won’t fail you again.
I stared at the screen for a long time, waiting for those three dots that never came. Finally, I set the phone aside and closed my eyes, praying that when I woke up, I’d know how to fix what I’d broken.
Because losing her wasn’t an option. Not when everything I’d ever wanted was finally within reach.
The vibrating phone wasn’t letting up. With one eye slowly opening, I grabbed it and answered.
