Page 90 of Crash: Love in Scrubs
I’d finally pulled myself together enough to function like a normal human being. The constant crying had slowed to manageable tears, and I’d managed to keep my breakfast down for three days straight. There was an innocent child growing inmy belly who needed me whole and present, not drowning in my own drama and despair.
I was still in disbelief about the pregnancy, but the happiness started to outweigh the shock. I just prayed there wouldn’t be any complications. At thirty-seven, I knew the risks were higher than they’d been with Samaj twenty years ago. Everything was already different. The nausea came in waves, and my emotions were all over the place. One minute I was crying at a commercial about puppies, the next I was laughing at absolutely nothing, then crying while laughing. It was a complete mess.
And through it all, I missed Malik something fierce. That hadn’t changed at all.
He’d been giving me the space I’d demanded, checking in with occasional texts that were sweet but careful. I could tell he wasn’t just sitting around sulking or waiting for me to come to my senses. If I knew my man, and I had some nerve calling him that when I wasn’t acting much like his woman, he was probably working on something to set our future up. That’s who he was. Even when I was pushing him away, he was still planning for us.
I was keeping him at arm’s length because I knew if I let him get too close, I’d give in completely. And part of me wasn’t ready to forgive him yet, even though I missed the way he held me at night, the way he made me feel safe and cherished. I needed some order and some of my control back. Childish? Yes. Did I care? No. Malik had brought this on himself.
The lecture hall was packed with students furiously scribbling notes as Professor Bevere discussed childhood trauma responses, but Malik was all I could think about. My mind kept wandering to our brief text exchanges, his daily check-ins about whether I was eating enough, his reminders through Samaj to take my vitamins.
He’d also made it clear nothing had changed. I was still his woman, and our fight hadn’t altered his feelings for me. I wasthe only one still stuck in this limbo, too proud and too scared to admit I was ready to work things out.
“Ms. Andrews, can you give us an example of how unresolved trauma in childhood might manifest in adult relationships?”
I blinked, realizing the entire class was staring at me. Heat crept up my neck as I tried to focus on the question instead of the conversation I’d been avoiding.
“Um, well,” I started, my voice steadier than I felt, “unresolved trauma can lead to patterns of either complete avoidance of intimacy or the opposite—rushing into relationships without proper boundaries. The individual might struggle with trust, constantly expecting abandonment, or they might push away people who are trying to help them because they’re afraid of being disappointed again.”
As the words left my mouth, I realized I could have been describing myself. The way I’d been pushing Malik away, waiting for him to disappoint me like Ashe had. The way I’d been so focused on his betrayal that I’d missed the love behind his protection. A man standing on business behind me, who wasn’t my daddy, had never been on my bingo card. Malik had done nothing but make sure I was safe and protected.
“Excellent example. And how might someone begin to heal from those patterns?”
“First through honest communication,” I said, ready for her to move on. “Learning to trust again starts with being vulnerable enough to express your needs and fears.”
Professor Bevere nodded approvingly before moving on, but I barely heard the rest of the lecture. My hand unconsciously moved to my stomach, thinking about the little life growing inside me and the man who was probably going crazy trying to give me the space I’d demanded.
When class ended, I sat in my car for a long time, staring at my phone. I felt stupid for punishing him for trying to protectme. Even more dumb for letting my pride and fear keep me from the man who’d proven over and over that he wasn’t going anywhere. That he wanted me, my baggage, my mess, and even my son.
And while I was mad at Malik, I was having my own dark thoughts about Ashe. This man was hellbent on making my life miserable, and I couldn’t understand why—I’d never been anything but good to him. I didn’t deserve this mess. But the more I thought about it, the clearer it became: Ashe was desperate, which made him dangerous. This was all about him and his problems. One thing about bitter baby daddies—they’d rather see you struggle than watch you thrive. Which was beyond me, he left me, it wasn’t the other way around.
My pregnancy app notification popped up:Your baby is now the size of a sweet pea.
A sweet pea. Our sweet pea. He was going to be such a good father. I knew no matter the outcome he’d be here in our life. I thought about what Halo had said about not losing something real because I was confused about what a man was supposed to do.
Oh, and I still hadn’t even told my parents about the pregnancy. The irony wasn’t lost on me that I’d spoken to his mother before Lorana. I was protecting Malik; I knew my dad. The minute he got wind that something was wrong, he’d be ready to pull up on Malik and tell him a thing or two. I didn’t want that. Malik had made a mistake, but not a big enough to involve my dad, who could and would hold a grudge. And I couldn’t tell Lorana because she couldn’t hold water for shit.
When Yolanda called me after Malik told her, I cried for twenty minutes straight. She was so clear that I was still the daughter she never had, and she was just as upset with Malik as I was for keeping secrets. But she also reminded me that goodmen sometimes made bad decisions when they were trying to protect the people they loved.
Before I could change my mind, I typed out a message.
Me: Thank you for still checking on me. Even when I’ve been difficult.
The response came back almost immediately.
Rommy: You’re carrying my baby. You could ignore me for a year, and I’d still make sure you’re good. I hope you won’t, though.
Me: She’s the size of a sweet pea, and I don’t want to ignore you for a year. I just need some time to process everything.
Rommy: She? And it’s been a week, LT. I’m on whatever timeline you need, but I’m ready to reconcile.
Me: Patience.
Rommy: I got patience for you. Always.
I started the drive home thinking about how much life was going to change in a few months. My body was about to transform, our living situation would need adjusting, I’d have a car seat in the back, and sleepless nights were ahead. Two kids, seventeen years apart, I was either brave or completely insane.
“Lord, give me strength,” I said with a sigh, one hand unconsciously moving to my stomach. I was doing that a lot now.
