Page 107 of Ask Your Mom If I'm Real

“I’ll go change, too,” he said. “I’ll bring some beer back.”

“No beer for me,” Jeremiah grumbled.

Chris walked away without acknowledging him.

“He’s totally bringing you a beer,” Neesha added.

“He just refuses to adhere to the no beer during the season thing.” Jeremiah sighed and led the way out of the room.

Neesha fell into step beside me and explained. “Jeremiah tries to do the whole ‘my body is a temple’ thing, but his family refuses to allow him to do that during the holidays. They’ll let him during the regular season, but they totally expect him to unwind with them during Christmas time. Being a professional runner, I completely understand the whole ‘staying in shape’ thing. But Chris doesn’t even let me have a pass. This family bonds with food and drink. And they won’t let you get out of it.”

“Not even when you’re sick,” Jeremiah mumbled. “I…”

He trailed off when he came into the main part of his apartment.

I looked to where he was heading and saw my girl awake.

She was staring around, not crying—because my daughter didn’t cry—and had the saddest look on her face.

My heart pinched.

“She’s beautiful,” Neesha whispered as she watched Jeremiah head over to my daughter. “I love her curly hair.”

I did, too.

It was the one thing that she’d gotten from me.

The rest was all her father.

“The only thing that she inherited from me,” I admitted.

“Her father was fair?” she asked.

“Yes,” I admitted. “Blonde hair, blue eyes.”

“She’s gorgeous,” she said. “But she has your eyes and your nose.”

“Maybe,” I agreed as I studied her. “I kind of expected her to take more after me since I’m half Native American, but nope. She came out with blonde hair and those blue eyes, and she’s never changed.”

“I’ve been wondering what this one will look like,” she said as she patted her belly. “I’m half Black. I got my hair from my mom—who is White. My skin tone is a beautiful mix between the two. But my siblings all look like my dad. They like to tease me that I was adopted.”

“Genetics are definitely crazy,” I said. “My mom was Native American and my dad is Scottish. Then throw in the touch of Italian. I’m a real mixture.”

“Wow,” she said, rubbing circles on her belly. “Man, I’m so excited. I have a few more weeks left until she’s done cooking.”

“You have a few more months,” Chris corrected. He had a gleam in his eyes as he added the next part. “And that’s if you don’t go overdue.”

“Don’t wish that voodoo on me.” She pointed her finger at him. “I’m hoping she decides in two weeks that she’s ready to come meet me.”

Jeremiah came over with my daughter in his arms.

I held mine out to her, and she shook her head.

“I think she’s ready for more meds,” I said. “It’s about the time for her to get more ibuprofen.”

“I’ll get it,” unperturbed that she’d chosen to stay with Jeremiah.

To be honest, I would’ve chosen to stay, too.

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