Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74794 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74794 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
“Oh, at least you had that.”
Her cheeks flush, and she looks at me incredulously. Okay, so that’s on the list of not-so-hot things to say while someone is basically pouring their heart out to you, you dumbass. That was a pretty stupid thing to say.
“I mean, it’s not a woe-is-me contest or anything, but if it was, seeing as you had your dad, and he might be extremely scary to everyone else, but he always had your back, I think I’d win.” Right. Keep going. Keep going with the dumbest shit of all to say. Just to be clear, I don’t talk about that shit with anyone but Granny and my brothers.
Ayana doesn’t seem like one of those people who can get easily ruffled. She lets me have a pass at that one, at least on the level of one to ten range. I’d say she’s still just firmly annoyed and hasn’t jumped the gap to wanting to kick my ass herself.
“I’m sorry to hear that, but, as you just said, it’s not a competition. I was going to say that I only had one parent, but he was the best damn parent in the world. My dad promised me that he would never leave me and that he’d always fight for me and protect me. He always has. Maybe a little bit too much, but he’s always kept that promise to a scared little four-year-old girl who watched her mom walk out of her life and never come back. The thing is, my mom never wanted to be a mom. She never wanted me, but my dad did. Also, I was a surprise child, but Dad fought for me then too. He loved my mom, loved her so fucking much, so it broke him when she left. It broke him into a thousand and one pieces, but he picked them up and glued them back in place, even if they were all wrong and he was still sharp edges and things that didn’t fit, things that were in the wrong place. He tried. That’s my point.”
I stand there looking like a dummy for so long that Ayana has to spell it out again.
“I’m trying to say that if my dad hadn’t fought for me, I wouldn’t be here today. I’m loved. I’ve been loved. I know my mom leaving wasn’t my fault, but sometimes I get funny ideas about her not wanting to stick around because she never wanted a kid. That sucks. It sucked when I was little, and it sucks now. Anyway, she still had me, and I’m thankful for my life. I’m thankful for my dad, who has always loved the utter hell out of me. So, after this really long-winded, roundabout way using explanations of my own life that are hard and sad, I guess I’ll just try and say it clearly now since you’re obviously not getting it. I’m pregnant, and I’m keeping the baby. I’m going to love this baby like how my dad loved me. A crazy damn amount, so crazy and with so much heart overflowing that you think it’s going to kill. I know what happened was basically supposed to be a one-night thing, and you’re just a step above a sperm donor at this point, but I think it’s the right thing to let you know it’s your baby. If you want to be a part of this, I’m all for it, but no walking out. No one is ever going to do to my child what someone did to me. No. One. If you’re in, we need a plan. And if you’re out, let’s just hope my dad never does a sneaky DNA test and hunts you down.”
I find myself gulping down the excess amount of saliva rushing like a river at the back of my mouth. “Fuck. Your dad is going to find out that I kumquatted in your kumquat, and he is going to kill me.”
Ayana can’t keep her poker face after that. She bursts out laughing. She puts her hands on her stomach because she’s laughing so hard, and I can’t stop my eyes from tracking there. There. To her stomach. Well, to her womb, at any rate, where she’s carrying our child. Our child. It might be the size of a speck of dust right now or…or something, but it’s there. It’s real. Oh, holy guac with extra avocados and garlic and onions. Holy spicy guacamole.
“No, he won’t,” she insists when she’s not laughing anymore.
Fuck. All that transcendental sex was transcendent, alright. We transcended all sorts of boundaries, including the ones of the condom, apparently.
“This changes everything,” I gasp-cough like a lawn mower that just won’t start. You can pull and pull and yank on that thing or curse it as you will, but it just won’t fire up. I guess, in this case, that’s more of my brain and not my voice.