Chapter 12
TWELVE
CHRISTMAS EVE
I had just come from upstairs, wrapped in one of Lucky’s hoodies, my hair in a loose silk press bun, belly warm and full from the mini late-morning breakfast Lucky snuck me in bed, when the knock came.
I wasn’t expecting nobody, especially not on Christmas eve.
The house was quiet, the kids down for a nap, and Lucky in the back wrapping one last gift that had shown up late.
I waddled a little toward the door, rubbed the growing tension in my lower back, and cracked it open.
And instantly regretted it.
There stood Mama Lucky. Face tight, arms crossed, standing like she had every right to be here after the mess she caused. She didn't even wait for an invite.
“You really gon’ uninvite me from my own grandbabies’ Christmas?” she snapped, her voice slicing through the peace I worked all morning to protect. “You just gon’ sit up in here on bed rest, lookin’ like a whole plumped-up housewife while my son plays the damn fool for you?—”
I blinked slowly. I wasn’t shocked, not really. She hadn’t said a kind word to me since the weight comments. Since she made Lucky feel less of a man for choosing family over foolishness. Since I had to remind her in not-so-sweet terms that I’m the one he comes home to, not her.
“Mama—” I started, about to correct her tone and her stance before I lost my peace completely.
But I didn’t have to.
Outta nowhere, Lucky’s voice rang out, hard and protective like thunder behind my spine. “The fuck is you doin’ here?”
I turned as his heavy steps hit the floor. He came down the hallway fast, no shirt, just those gray sweats slung low, tattoos flexing across his chest and arms like they felt what I was feeling.
“Lucky—baby—” she tried to soften.
But it was too late. He didn’t even argue. He stepped around me, jaw tight, eyes narrowed and slammed the door in her face.
She gasped on the other side. Knocked again.
He stared at the door for a second, breathing hard through his nose. Then he turned to me.
“You aight?” he asked, his tone dropping into that gravelly softness he reserved just for me.
I nodded, still stunned. “Yeah. I just… I didn’t expect?—”
“She knew what it was when she ran her mouth,” he muttered, wrapping his arms around my waist, careful with the bump. “You don’t owe her grace after that weight comment. I told her she wasn’t welcome, and I meant that. My wife’s not gonna be disrespected in her own house.”
I pressed my forehead to his chest and let out a shaky breath.
“You didn't have to do that,” I whispered.
He tilted my chin up. “Yeah, I did. I’m sick of her shit, it’s one thing to do it to me but another to do it to my wife. That shit is dead.”
He kept his arms around me for a minute longer, his heartbeat steady against my cheek. The tension of the moment was already starting to fade, wrapped up in his scent and that low, soothing voice of his.
“Go lay down, mama,” he murmured, brushing a kiss across my temple.
I leaned back just a little to look up at him, brow lifting. “I feel fine.”
He narrowed his eyes, that little line between his brows forming like it always did when he was trying not to fuss but still dead serious.
“Yeah, and you always feel fine with your pregnancies,” he said, voice dipped in knowing. “But this is different. You have never been pregnant with multiples before. That’s a whole ‘nother ballgame, Jream.”
I tilted my head, lips tugging into a slow smirk. “True but you make my pregnancies easy, lover boy. I don’t think I ever even had morning sickness.”
He sucked his teeth, laughing as he pulled me tighter. “That’s ‘cause I usually get it. Nausea, cravings, the back pain hell, I be the one damn near passed out while you still movin’ around tryna bake cookies and organize closets.”
I couldn’t help but laugh, the kind that shook my belly and made me feel soft all over. “You might be right.”
“I am right,” he mumbled against my lips before kissing me again, this time slower. “Now go lay down before I carry you in there myself.”
I kissed him once more, then whispered against his mouth, “Only if you come with me.”
His grin deepened. “Always.”
I must’ve drifted off with Lucky’s hand splayed warm over my belly, his breath slow and deep behind me.
I was wrapped in that safety only he could give.
Body heavy, mind at ease for the first time all damn week.
It was the sound of little footsteps that stirred me first, the kind that moved with the hesitancy of a two-year-old sneaking into our bed like he wasn’t supposed to.
I cracked my eyes just as Lucky Jr. padded in, dragging his blanket behind him.
He didn’t say a word, just climbed up onto the bed and snuggled up behind me, wedging himself in like a puzzle piece.
His little arm flung over my side, thumb going straight to his mouth like it always did when he was sleepy or needed comfort.
“Pop,” he whispered.
Lucky stirred, lifting his head groggy. “Huh?”
“She want Enie.”
He didn’t ask who she was, he just got up and padded down the hall without even pulling on a shirt.
A few minutes later, he came back with Jenie’s head resting on his shoulder, her tiny legs kicking, half-asleep and whining for me.
Lucky Jr. sat up and helped pull the covers back, patting the spot between us like he was saving it just for her.
By the time Lucky got back in bed, we were one big tangle of limbs and warmth, both babies curled into us.
Jenie had her cheek pressed to my chest, Lucky Jr. had his feet digging into his daddy’s side, and all I could do was smile to myself, eyes fluttering closed again under the weight of this love.
When I finally woke up again, hours had passed. The sun had shifted, golden and stretched across the wall. I blinked a few times, the sound of life hitting my ears before I even sat up.
Laughter.
Pots clanging.
Voices overlapping in that familiar chaotic rhythm of family.
I sat up slowly, brushing the sleep from my eyes as the smell of smoked collards and roasted root veggies hit me all at once.
I rubbed my belly instinctively, smiling even though I hadn’t made a single thing for Christmas dinner this year.
My body needed the rest, and my tribe came through like always.
I swung my legs over the bed and pulled on one of Lucky’s big tees, making my way through the house slow and quiet.
In the kitchen, my mama was bossing people around with her hands on her hips, my daddy manning the turkey wings with that old school apron he only pulled out for holidays.
Ms. Norma and Lucky’s pops were at the island, laughing over something and chopping sweet potatoes like they’d been best friends their whole lives.
Zayne and Monee were at the stove, Monee talking with her hands while Zayne kept reaching to taste things she swatted him away from.
Over in the living room, I could see Marlon laid back on the couch, his two teenage sons halfway watching the little ones; Zoe dancing around in her princess slippers while Minnie was laid up in her bouncer smacking her little hands together.
It was chaos.
It was beautiful.
And it was all ours.