Page 49 of You Deserve Good Things

She rolled her eyes, shoved my chest. “Shut up, Jacory.”

But I could feel it. She was overwhelmed. We both were. This was a dream we built with our scars.

We’d barely stepped into her office when her face shifted. She froze, her hand flying to her stomach, her breath catching. Then she was gone. She took off running and headed straight to the bathroom. I stood there, blinking and trying to figure out what the fuck just happened.

Then I heard it. “Bleeehhhhhhgh.”

That unmistakable sound. She was definitely throwing up. She sounded sick as a dog, and I was concerned because she just seemed fine.

I knocked. “Baby?”

She didn’t respond to me. I heard the toilet flush and the water in the sink start to run. She opened the door, and she stepped out lookin’ like she just got slapped with a vision.

“You good, baby?”

She nodded too fast. “Yeah, yeah, just . . . bad shrimp.”

“Bad shrimp?” I repeated, eyebrows raised like they were tryna climb off my face. “Girl, when the hell did you eat some damn shrimp? You haven’t even been wantin’ any seafood lately, and that’s your absolute favorite.”

She waved me off. “Don’t start, Jacory.”

“Nah, ’cause you have been turning down lemon pepper wings and sour pickles lately, and now you ducking seafood? Uh-uh.”

She glared. “Let it go, Scooby Doo.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I’ma let it go . . . for now. But I got my eye on you, Mrs. James.”

That night, the whole block pulled up for our grand opening celebration. We had soul food trays lined up from Shari’s kitchen to the sidewalk. The music was bumping kids were dancing to them dumb ass TikTok dances that all fucking looked alike, and the uncles were talking about how they used to do real dances and moonwalk “back in the day.”

Chase pulled up in a loud-ass velvet blazer like he was hosting the BET Awards. He looked good but fuckin’ ridiculous as hell in this Texas ass weather with that shit on. I shook my head laughin’ at his clown ass.

“Aye, look at my sister and brother-in-law out here owning shit. I always knew y’all was bougie as hell.”

Daniale clapped back immediately. “Boy, shut up. You’re still sleeping on a futon.”

Chase gasped. “First of all, it’s a memory foam daybed. Respect it, gorgeous.”

I stepped in, deadpan. “Nigga, that’s a glorified pallet.”

Daniale raised her drink. “With no headboard.”

We all fell out.

But even through all the jokes, all the dancing, all the love, I kept peeping my wife. The way she kept cradling her stomachlike it had secrets. The way she looked at me, eyes soft, like she was about to tell me something that would shift the whole damn Earth. I didn’t know what it was yet. But something told me . . . life was about to get real interesting.

I should’ve known.I should’ve known. My wife had been acting funny for a few weeks, months even, talking ’bout “I’m just tired,” and “it’s something I ate.” Baby, how much bad food are you eating, the fuck?

She was waking up nauseous, falling asleep in the middle of the day, rubbing her stomach without even realizing it. I didn’t say nothing at first. But when she had the audacity to run out of a restaurant mid-bite just to throw up, I called in reinforcements.

Daniale, Chase, and I sat in the living room plotting. Shaniya’s ass wasn’t slick. She was in denial. So, we were gonna force the truth out of her pretty ass today.

Shaniya walked in, looking at us suspicious as hell. “Why the hell y’all sitting there looking like villains?”

Daniale smirked, holding a little pink bag.

“Sis, we need to talk.”

Shaniya folded her arms. “About what?”

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