Page 6 of Lily In The Valley
I rolled my eyes playfully, smirking. “I don’t know why y’all think I’m in a relationship. I’m in a faithful marriage with my job, and let me tell you. It’s the most demanding spouse ever.”
“Well, at least that spouse is dependable. Can’t say the same for some of the real ones out here,” Nyah complained.
“Then leave, Nyah,” I suggested, waiting for whatever excuse my friend would give this time around.
“It’s not that bad,” she voiced, looking off into the distance. “Y’all know how I get when I’m PMS-ing.”
“Ugh, tell me about it. I had to sit through three meetings today with the worst cramps,” Lynn whined. “Nessa, I know you made a pan of brownies. I’m coming over tomorrow to indulge and watch black rom-coms.”
“I, uh, forgot to make them.” Vanessa walked away from the phone. I was puzzled. How could she forget about the brownies? The THC-infused goodies were a staple to our sisterhood ever since our cycles synced after college. “We should make something else. And I found these mocktail recipes that taste almost like the real thing on social media.”
I bet this bitch is pregnant.
“What gives, Nessa? You’re being weird.” Lynn asked, peering over her large frames. “Why would I drink a fake drink when I could have the real thing?”
Vanessa smiled even wider, biting her bottom lip like she was trying to keep it in. “Okay, okay – I wanted to tell y’all in person, but I couldn’t wait anymore.”
She held up a roll of black-and-white images with small white text that said, “Baby Morris.”
My jaw dropped.
“I know that’s not what I think it is!” I shrieked, immediately sitting up straighter.
“Bitch!” Lynn screamed. “You’re pregnant?”
Vanessa nodded, grinning so big she could barely contain her excitement. “Nine weeks today. We heard the heartbeat this morning.” All to be heard was the spinning of my ceiling fan and a kid’s show echoing in the distance from somewhere deep inside Nyah’s house.
“Nessa,” Nyah gasped. “Girl, spill it. I need the details.”
“Wait–” I counted back ten weeks, mentally replaying every event, every get-together, every drink that touched Vanessa’s lips during that time. “How the hell are you ten weeks? You were just drinking at your engagement party.”
“And your gallery opening,” Lynn added.
“I pretended to drink. Zay finished it for me.” Vanessa laughed, tears in her eyes. “I told Zay we’d wait until I was out of the first semester, y’all are my sisters, so y’all don’t count.”
“Aww, Nessa,” Lynn cooed, ever the softie of our group. “I’m so happy for you. You and Zay.”
Nyah nodded. “Another baby,” she squealed. “TJ’s getting so big, I can’t wait to have another one around to cuddle.”
I smiled, too, fighting to make it reach my eyes. If there was anything I hated about myself, it was that even in happy times, there was a piece of me that stood off to the side, arms crossed, like it deserved to sit out of the fun. Of course, I was thrilled for my sister, but something tugged at me. I shook off the feeling, leaning closer to the screen, letting my friend's excitement wash over me.
“And before y’all start fighting over who’s the godmother, just know that’s my baby,” I said, sipping my wine. “Nessa, you’re going to be an amazing mother,” I added, with more warmth in my voice than the alcohol hitting my chest.
“I hope so,” she said, looking down at her still-flat stomach. “Honestly, I just hope I don’t fuck them up. It didn’t feel real all these weeks. But hearing the ‘whoosh, whoosh, whoosh’ sealed it for me. Last year was so tough. I felt like I was crying every other–”
“That’s because you were crying every other day,” Lynn said, cutting her off.
“Anyways.” Vanessa rolled her eyes and continued. “But this year…It feels like everything is lining up for me.”
There it was again–an annoying buzzing in my soul, a gnat flying around, evading my attempts to squash it. Everyone else’s puzzle pieces were snapping into place while mine were jumbled in the box.
But at least I had a box with all the right pieces, while others were left to scrounge the deepest, darkest basement, looking for a piece of the cover to determine how it should fit. I have things going for me. I was damn good at what I did, respected, the one younger residents came to for advice. But for the past year, I felt I was on autopilot, all the years of living up to the expectations of being me – being the best, hardworking, smiling on cue even though I was crumbling inside. It was as if my limbic system had decided to go on vacation even though the rest of my brain denied its PTO request.
“Speaking of life changes,” Nyah said. “Kelly, have you heard back about your fellowship match?”
“Nope,” I said, shaking my head. “They announced results will be emailed next week.”
“Girl, you know you got it. Look at her,” Lynn said, pointing to her screen. “She’s not even stressed about it.”
