Page 305 of Invisible Bars
Imanio chuckled softly under his breath.
“That’s cool, baby; we’ll sacrifice the panties for the greater good,” he replied, shooting me a quick, reassuring glance as he yanked open the back door. “Besides, they were cute, but they’re not built for war.”
I groaned, both from the spike of pain that coursed through me and from his lighthearted teasing when the situation felt so dire.
Imanio reached into the trunk and grabbed a clean towel with the urgency of someone who had been preparing for a mobile birth situation his entire life. He laid it down carefully and eased me into the backseat, ensuring I was as comfortable as possible given the circumstances.
My mom jumped into the passenger side, her presence providing a sense of relief. My dad and Chiamaka piled into the back with me, their legs forming a makeshift mattress that I could stretch across, trying to breathe fast and loud in a futile attempt to manage the mounting pressure.
“Y’all better pray I don’t deliver in this d-damn car!” I warned, the anxiety laced with a hint of humor breaking through the tension.
Another tic snapped out of me, this one high-pitched and panicked.
“The devil is dilated! I rebuke this contraction in the name of ginger ale!”
My mom reached back and rubbed my belly, her touch meant to soothe, while Chiamaka kept yelling words of encouragement.
“Breathe, sis!”
Then there was my dad, who was clutching the seat, his eyes wide as if it were the only thing keeping him from passing out.
Imanio was behind the wheel. His focus was locked on the road ahead with an intensity that suggested he felt it had personally disrespected his wife.
Five hours later, we welcomed our handsome son, Imanio Zaire Kors Jr., who was born with thick, dark curls framing his tiny face and let out an angry little cry that echoed through the room, just as I imagined. It was crazy how much he resembled Imanio. His lips were full, his nose was slightly upturned, and he had that same unmistakable “I run everything” expression like his daddy that instantly made him both terrifying and adorable.
Imanio had been right by my side through the entire labor, gripping my hand tightly and trying his best to coach me through every contraction. But the truth was, he was panicking, too. I could hear him whispering quiet curses under his breath, his grip tightening as he squeezed his own thigh as if absorbing my pain.
Thankfully, my mom was also there, providing invaluable support. Her calming presence made a world of difference. She offered the encouragement I desperately needed during those exhausting hours. I found an unexpected depth of gratitude for her at that moment, recognizing how much her support meant to me.
Tears glistened in her eyes as she marveled at her new grandson. My dad leaned in over her shoulder, completely silent but attentive, as if he were trying to memorize every wrinkle on his face and the soft sounds of a newborn's breath.
They weren’t perfect parents—at least, not where it concerned me—but they were here now, ready to love and support this new life. Maybe,just maybe, they would be better grandparents than they had ever been in any other role.
Imanio and I chose to keep me being in labor a secret until after the baby was born. So neither Dessign nor Chi had a clue what was happening. As soon as the baby and I were settled, I snapped a picture and sent it to Dessign. I didn’t even bother with words—the photo said it all. I knew it wouldn’t be long before my phone lit up, and sure enough, five minutes later, an incoming facetime call with Dessign’s name flashing across the screen told me exactly what I already knew… the storm of questions was about to begin.
I weakly tapped to answer, still sore and floating somewhere between exhaustion and disbelief.
“Hey, sis,” I said, voice raspy and soft.
Instead of Dessign’s face, Chi’s appeared on the screen.
“Let me see my nephew or I’m calling CPS because ain’t nobody told me a damn thing!” Chi joked.
I chuckled, trying not to laugh too hard through the soreness.
“I step out to make a few calls, apply light pressure, and remind folks why I still run shit; I come back and now I’m the designated FaceTime uncle.”
Dessign popped on the screen.
“Chi, get off my phone! And who are you talking to?!” she huffed.
But then her gaze shifted, and she froze. Dessign noticed the hospital gown draped over me and the tiny bundle resting in my arms. It only took half a second before she screamed so loud Jr. squirmed.
“Oh my God! Naji! Are you serious right now?! You had my nephew without telling me?! How dare you… I mean,y’all?! I was supposed to be there holding your hand, braiding your hair, yelling at the nurses—and you robbed me of my moment!”
I chuckled. “S-Sis, calm down,” I stuttered through a tic, shifting Jr. in my arms. “Listen… my water broke while we were still in Mississippi, trying to finalize everything with the house for my mom and dad. We’re actually still here. That’s why y’all didn’t get the call before. It was just… t–too much going on at once. And on top of that,” I added softly, smoothing Jr.’s blanket, “Imanio’s focus was strictly on me and the baby. He didn’t want nothing pulling his attention away from us.”
Chi leaned in, grinning like the devil. “Translation: bro wasn’t about to let you FaceTime nobody mid-contraction. He had one job, and he did it.”
