Nadia smiled but shook her head no. “Well, you sure are glowing,” Mrs. Johnson continued. Nadia smiled again and thanked her for the compliment. When Mrs. Johnson indicated she was ready, Nadia had to stand as far away from the washbowl as she possibly could while still being able to rinse out the relaxer and give the woman a thorough washing and conditioning. After she nished and passed her o to another group of students working on styling, Nadia rushed through cleaning up her station, which reeked with chemicals. The unease in her belly waved through her body and threatened to erupt on land. It only grew worse when she left the school and boarded the rst bus that would carry her back to the South Side. She was beat. Every week for the past four months Nadia’s education consisted of three days of instruction, two days of practical application in the beauty lab, followed by an all-day Saturday a air split between the women’s cashier station and the salon at Carson’s in Ford City. Her plan to become a beautician—no, a licensed cosmetologist—no, a small business owner—was in action. She wanted to sle ep, but nausea forced her in and out of consciousness, catching rest by the coattails as her only means of slumber. After three bus rides and an aggravating walk where she baked in her all-black uniform, Nadia collapsed on the couch overlooking the picture window in Toya’s rst- oor apartment. She understood why crime was high in neighborhoods away from the lake. Su ering beneath the sun all day made any number of slights and insults that much more acute, inviting immediate response, st or trigger nger. “Nadia, that you?” Toya called from her bedroom. “Yeah,” she yelled back. “Why? Lou on his way over?” “In a little bit.” Toya walked into the living room sporting light denim daisy dukes and a yellow crop top. She looked out over the neighborhood, where kids zoomed up and down the block on legs, bikes, scooters, skates, and skateboards. It was the beginning of the school year, where homework was minimal enough to allow kids uninterrupted hours outside before the streetlights came on and their mothers yelled for them to get their asses in the house.
Nadia moaned from the couch. Toya looked at her spread across the cushions, her book bag and purse still attached to her arms, and asked, “What’s wrong witchu?” “Tired.” Nadia sni ed the air. “You don’t look tired witcha face all glowin’ and shit.” “That’s what the last lady in my chair said to me.” She sni ed again. “Was it an old lady?” “Yeah. Why you ask?” “Because you know old ladies don’t hold no cut cards. If she gave you a compliment, then you know it’s true.” “I guess.” Nadia smacked her lips. “She asked me if I was wearing Fashion Fair.” “I’m telling you. You look good. All sun-kissed and what not.” “If you say so.” Nadia sni ed and tasted the air around her again. “What the hell is that smell?” “It’s my perfume. You don’t like it?” “Smells like spoiled milk covered by dead roses.” “Well, damn. Let me get the hell away from you. You tired and irritable.” “I’m not irritable.” “If you say so. For a second, I thought you was pregnant.” Nadia jolted up on the couch as another wave rolled through her body, her stomach a tide of unseen rip currents at Lake Michigan’s de epest d epths. Instinctively, she cupped her hand in front of her nose and mouth. Nothing came up. “I can’t be pregnant,” she said. “You can’t be pregnant, or you don’t w a n t to be pregnant?” Toya sat on the navy leather love seat opposite her. “Both,” Nadia answered. “I de nitely don’t want to be pregnant. And I can’t be pregnant because I haven’t had sex.” “Not recently.” “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” “You know exactly what the hell it means! When’s the last time you had a period?”
“I don’t know. Last month?” “You sure?” S h i t . Nadia recounted the last three months. The last time she saw Roman. Arguing with Gladys. Enrolling in school. Transferring to the Ford City store. Taking the bus out to the West Side or up to Cicero. In none of those remembrances did she recall the ow of blood from her body. “Shit,” she said aloud. “Mm-hmm,” Toya humphed. “Are your titties tender too?” Nadia pressed a hand to her chest and tried not to wince from the sore feeling. The swelling was apparent in her bras, which cut across the fatty tissue leaving the outline of a mu n top beneath all of her shirts. She began to understand why she hadn’t been able to sle ep on her stomach and spent half the night ipping from side to side. Toya sat beside her. “So, are you pregnant?” She calculated days, weeks, and months. Went over her symptoms again and again. The only con rmation missing was Gladys calling to tell her she’d dreamed of sh. But they weren’t speaking, so she would never know. Covering her face with her arms, Nadia wailed, “I don’t know.” “You need to get a pregnancy test,” Toya said. “They got ’em up the block at the corner store. You want me to get it for you?” Nadia nodded. Without another word, Toya got up from the couch, picked up her shoes and purse, and walked out the door. Nadia laid against the leather, as her mind went in reverse to the last time she was with Roman. W a s I a l r e a d y p r e g n a n t t h e n ? She tallied di erent dates. Tried to count the number of times they were together skin to skin without any barriers of protection. D e b o r a h ... S h e ’ s p r e g n a n t . His voice came rushing back from the revelation at the kitchen card table. Followed by her own. E v e n i f I a m , I d o n ’ t h a v e t o k e e p i t . Fixed on a way out, Nadia sat up on the sofa and waited for Toya to return. Looking out the window at the kids still playing on the block, she remembered when Bryan and Terry were babies. How Gladys fussed over them as if they would break. She’d put her ear to their lips and noses to make sure they were still
breathing, and she always had to touch their bodies to make sure they were warm. She barely let Nadia come near them until well after they’d turned one. Playing with them then was fun. When she only pretended they were hers. Gladys had carried Bryan while she was in night school for nursing. C o u l d n ’ t I d o t h e s a m e ? she wondered. The thought surprised her as she vacillated between es cape and acc eptance. Her divergent trains of thought ran parallel. C a n ’ t I d o b o t h ? D o I e v e n w a n t k i d s ? H i s k i d ? Outside the window, Nadia noticed parents pockmarked throughout the block. A grandmother who sat in an old chair watched from one end of the street to the other. A father cut grass for himself and his neighbor. A mother used a water hose to manually hydrate her hydrangeas even though their blooming season was coming to an end. Toya maneuvered past them all as she pushed through her gate. When she nally got inside the apartment, she shoved the brown paper bag toward Nadia’s face. “Go,” she commanded. Nadia trudged to the bathroom at the back of the apartment like it was her last walk. She took the test and prayed for a negative result. Outside, she heard the door open and close as she ushed. Heavy feet walked the hard wood followed by a de ep voice, kissing, and silence. “Hold on,” Toya said. “I gotta check on Nadia before we leave.” She hurried to the bathroom and knocked on the door. Nadia let her in. “Soooo?” Her eyes bounced from side to side as she rebounded on her heels. Nadia pointed to the top of the medicine cabinet. Toya reached for the stick and then grabbed the box for instructions on how to read the test. “Congratulations!” she said gently. “I’m not pregnant?” Nadia asked expectantly. Toya bit her bottom lip. “I’m sorry.” Nadia’s face fell, her body a ripple of reaction at the realization that she was pregnant with a married man’s baby. “I hope you have a girl,” Toya said. “Who says I’m having anything!”
“Are you serious?” They stared each other down. “Don’t tell Lou.” “Nadia!” “Don’t. Tell. Lou. Not until I tell Roman. I have to gure out what I’m gonna do.” “Fine,” Toya agreed begrudgingly. “We gettin’ ready to go out, but you need to page your boy.” Nadia promised she would as Toya and Lou left her to lament. In the silence of the bathroom, she scrubbed the skin on the backs and palms of her hands, trying to wash o what was never there. Not dirt. Not guilt. Not shame. She had never felt wrong in the moments with Roman, as if she’d taken something that wasn’t hers. She’d fucked and sl ept without remorse. They hadn’t discussed the de ep, the future or past. Only the moment. Bile rose, and Nadia spat in the sink. A buckshotted spray she rinsed down the drain. Her mouth was coated with a bitter aftertaste, like fermented fruit left too long in the sun. She emerged from the bathroom and grabbed Toya’s pink phone from the wall. Entangling herself in the long cord, she dialed the number she knew by heart and waited for the familiar voice. His baritone was arresting. If her baby hadn’t already sent her stomach somersaulting, it surely would have leapt at the sound. Nadia held herself as she waited to speak, moisture inconspicuously gathering between her thighs. Reaction visceral. Not cerebral. Voice steady and even, she introduced herself as if they were strangers. U h s and u m s p eppered her speech. Potholes on pavement, her request was broken apart into barely intelligible pieces. Only at the end did she manage an unbroken phrase. “Please, call me back.” She cradled the phone in the crook of her neck before she hung up and dialed again. At the be ep she blurted, “I’m at Toya’s,” then hung up. Only to dial again to say that she’d left him Toya’s phone number. “Call me back. Please,” she pleaded. She hung up. The apartment was silent. There weren’t even the sounds from outside anymore. Hovering mothers and grandmothers had gone inside behind children disappointed by the day’s end. Fathers, for the houses that had fathers,
parked their cars, be eped their alarms twice to ensure they were locked, and went inside. The streetlights were on. Nadia lay back on the sofa still in her uniform, the remnants of no-lye relaxer in her nose. She fell asle ep with one arm draped across her future. The scent of co ee lled the con ned space in the morning. Nadia awoke ready to retch. She pushed o the sofa, yawned and stretched, and headed toward the bathroom. Toya was in the kitchen. The loosely tied sash of her purple robe barely hid her nakedness. “You want some?” she asked. Nadia shook her head no as she rushed into the bathroom and dry heaved into the toilet. There in the trash beside the sink and toilet was the pregnancy test with its positive pink lines. She retched again. When Nadia nished, she st epped out to see Toya leaning against the sink. A steaming cup of tea sat in front of an empty chair at her small round table. The white wood and matching chairs had an ornate design along the legs and backs. Nadia stared at them, avoiding Toya’s gaze. “You talk to him?” “Paged him a few times. He hasn’t hit me back.” Toya stared at Nadia as she lifted the mug and sipped her tea. Her eyes begged, L e t m e t e l l L o u , but Nadia shook her head. “I had to move the evidence when we came home last night so he wouldn’t see.” “Thank you,” Nadia mumbled. “Get better at ke eping secrets.” Toya pushed away from the sink with two cups of co ee in hand and went into her bedroom. The door slammed behind her. For the next ve mornings they met in the in-between. Nadia coming out of the bathroom. Toya emerging from her bedroom. The kitchen was Switzerland. They stared out the window until their eyes would nd one another, and Nadia would shake her head no. Toya wanted her to be reasonable. Nadia wanted Roman to answer her pleas of please on his own. Day six.
Toya made co ee, hu y in her disgust. Nadia sat with her elbows on the table. Her arms covered her face, hands ste epled in pliant supplication. “Tell him,” she said, with her head bowed. Toya whirled around. Nadia lowered her arms. “Tell him. But don’t tell him.” She sighed, defeated. “Tell Lou to have Roman call me.” Toya nodded. “Don’t tell him about the baby.” “I won’t,” she said, her voice light with relief. She hurried back to Lou on the other side of the door to carry a message that had already been delivered. Day seven. In Switzerland, Toya arrived with news from the other side. “He said meet him at the library before it closes.” Nadia nodded. “I’ll be there after class.” B ACK WHERE THEY BEGAN , N ADIA browsed the rows of Woodson as she waited for Roman to arrive. She could see from the second- oor windows the moment he entered. Navy pants, a black silk shirt, his short Afro—patted into place— shiny with sheen. His stride was strong and impatient as he breezed into the library looking around for wherever she may have been. By the time he spotted her, she was on the stairs, returning to the rst oor in the middle of the ction section. She o ered a small smile. Cleared her throat. “You wanted to see me?” he asked, forgoing pleasantries. “Hello to you too,” she said, stomach a utter. “What is it?” His jaws worked overtime, chomping gum to sticky mush. Across his forehead, a ve-paragraph essay on the tensions caused by women were written in his wrinkles. His face was rigid and sclerotic. It held none of the easy, smiling charm of the experience curator who had willed his way into Nadia’s life. No, this was a man in penitent purgatory, trying hard to walk the straight and narrow path back to Deborah. Nadia swallowed her urge to spit. “I wanted to talk to you. No...” She stopped. “I n e e d to talk to you.”
“The time to talk was before you walked out my door. I haven’t heard from you since then. Why you blowing me up now?” “So you have gotten my messages.” “I got ’em.” “Why didn’t you call me back?” “I hadn’t gotten around to it. I’m still getting settled...” A t h o m e . Nadia heard what he didn’t say regarding Deborah. His pregnant wife. And their two children. “How’s your son?” she asked. “He should be getting his cast o soon.” “Nadia, I know you didn’t drag me all the way over here to ask me about my son’s cast. What. Do. You. Want?” “How’s Deborah’s pregnancy going?” “I’m gone.” Roman turned and walked to the door. “Wait!” “What?” He whirled around. “I n e e d to talk to you.” “Then talk.” “Come here.” He didn’t move. “How’ve you been?” she asked. “Nadia, stop bullshitting. It’s not your style. Never was.” “Damn! Can’t I just ease into it? This is not easy for me.” “I never knew you to ease into anything.” “Did you ever really know me?” “There she is,” Roman said. “Now what is it? I gotta go.” F u c k i t . “Fine.” She sighed. “The reason I’ve been trying to get in touch with you is because I’m pregnant.” “Is that right?” His favorite line, which at one time had felt so familiar, was acerbic and biting. Gone was the playfulness from when they used to engage. Instead, there was a sharpened bitterness that cut through calci ed cartilage. “Yeah, that’s right,” she said, nding some strength.
He paused a moment and looked her over. Her ushed skin and black uniform. The grip of her hands on her book bag. His gaze lingered on the midsection of her body. “So what.” He shrugged. “What’s that got to do with me?” “Don’t play me. You know this has everything to do with you.” “If you say so.” Roman turned again toward the entrance of the library. Betwixt the aisles and between the tables, he didn’t stop until Nadia lunged for his shoulder as he damn near goose-st epped across the parking lot toward his Cutlass. “That’s all you got to say to me?” she demanded, holding him back. He shrugged her o . Turned around. “What else you want me to say? Your pregnancy. Your problem. I ain’t seen you in months. I don’t know where you been or who you been wit’.” “So it’s like that now.” “I’m married.” “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” “My wife is pregnant.” “I can’t believe this shit.” “I already got two kids.” “You wasn’t talking this noise when you were laid up with me.” “C’mon, Nadia, you know what it was.” Arms folded across her chest, her foot tapped the cadence of her anger as her stomach ipped front to back. “So what you sayin’?” she asked. “I’m saying your pregnancy don’t have shit to do with me,” he sneered. “I mean, like, for real, can you even a ord a baby right now? You don’t even have your own place.” She nodded in understanding. His life came rst. Deborah’s pregnancy trumped anything she would ever have to say. He hocked the gum in his mouth across the parking lot and reached into his pants pocket for his pack of cigarettes. As he lit his square, Nadia ipped the book bag on her back around to her front and took out her own pack of cigarettes from the small pocket. She lit her private peace and exhaled in his face.
“Didn’t you just say you were pregnant?” he asked, eyes wide and brows raised. “What do you care? You just told me you wasn’t gon’ be around for your baby, so why you care if I smoke?” Roman nodded. Dragged to the end of his cigarette then threw it down, where he stamped it underfoot. “We good?” he asked. Nadia took a drag. Blue smoke curled out of her mouth. She asked if he wanted to know anything. He shrugged. “Ke ep it. Get rid of it. Whatever you do, that’s on you.” She watched Roman stride to the parking lot, get into his car, and pull out. She watched until the car she’d known so well merged into tra c on Halsted then turned left on Ninety-Fifth Street. He was headed back to Beverly. Back to his family. Nadia smoked as she walked to the bus stop. She smoked another while she waited for it to arrive. And another as she walked from Crandon and Eighty-Seventh to Toya’s building on Eighty-Third. The music was loud when Nadia pushed into the apartment. Teena Marie’s “Deja Vu” pumped from the bedroom. Nadia covered herself on the sofa even though she smelled of outside. Bus fumes and exhaust. Ash and smoke. Old books and papers. Hair color and relaxer. Her stomach ipped, and she ran for the bathroom. One hand over her mouth, the other a st pressed against her belly, she held it down until she could release it all in the commode. Smoke-tinged throw-up gushed from her mouth as snot ran from her nose and tears owed from her eyes. She ushed it all to the city. Day eight. The smell of co ee roused Nadia from where she laid on the cold tile of the bathroom oor. On shaky hands and knees, she peeled herself o the ground, rinsed out her mouth, and splashed her face with water. It was of no use. Her pu y, red eyes and ashen skin told the story she wouldn’t. Even her hair was soggy and damp from where it had gotten stuck with sweat and grime against her neck. She knew she didn’t look like herself, but she couldn’t help but wonder when she would. “It’s just us,” Toya called from the kitchen.
Nadia st epped out of the bathroom to see Toya, in her robe, waiting for her at the table. A mug waited for her as well. The bedroom door was open. The bed made. “I sent him home after he saw you passed out in the bathroom.” “Sorry.” “Don’t worry about it. How’d it go with...” Nadia held up a hand before Toya could say his name. “I told him,” she said. “He doesn’t care.” “What do you mean he doesn’t care?” Mimicking his caustic delivery, Nadia r epeated, “ ‘Ke ep it. Get rid of it. Whatever you do, that’s on you.’ ” “He said that shit to you?” “Yeah.” Nadia sipped from her mug. “Oh, uh-uh,” Toya said, getting up from the table. “Hell nah. You need to cuss him the fuck out.” She snatched the phone from the cradle and shoved it into Nadia’s face. “You need to call his ass, now!” “It’s only his pager number. He’s not going to respond.” “Girl, you betta blow that motherfucker up.” Setting her mug on the table, Nadia grabbed the phone, dialed the number, and waited. It didn’t ring. The three-tone dial resounded, followed by a staticky, computerized message. “I’m sorry, the number you have reached has been disconnected.”
F e b r u a r y 1 9 3 5 When word reached Sampson, he had already considered going back to Land’s End. In Mobile he had no job and barely anything to eat. His clothes were threadbare, and his shoes had holes in the soles. Even though he had a degree and certi cation from the training school, it was of no use. With white men outta work, there wasn’t nary a job for him. Four years of education didn’t mean nothing if you had no food and only a little bit of water. Who had time to think about books when your stomach growled and there was only cornmeal mush to salve it? In Land’s End, he walked heavy. He had never seen so much food cover tables as they had in the fellowship hall for his grandmother’s r epast and then again on Sundays after service. Sunday meals he skipped out on to be with Ruby at the Dupree beach. When he received her letter about a baby on the way that belonged to him, it was all the convincing he needed. Sampson packed his sack, put on his best suit, and shined his shoes for one last trek. He was a man in need of his own house. Down in Land’s End, he believed he could be as his father was to him, his mother, and three siblings. Only he didn’t own anything. When he left, Claudette’s house—a falling- down quarter shack from the days of Z ephaniah Foster Dupree—h ad been closed. He thought he would open it again and build it up for Ruby like George had done for Emma, but upon his arrival he noticed the plot where the wood- frame house had stood was bare. Knocked down and picked clean for rewood by the workers and eld hands living in the neat blocks behind, where they worked the Dupree land. They saw him coming and felt no ways sorry for him. When his mother and father rst left Land’s End, years ago, it was goodbye and good riddance. Folks