Chapter 7 Distraction
Distraction
I unfold the paper slowly, my heart drumming in my ears, and when I see what’s inside, I freeze. A rose gold Patek Philippe watch. my mouth falls open slightly. It’s… beautiful. Expensive. Dainty but bold. Just like something he’d choose. Just like him, honestly, loud in a quiet way.
Of course he got me something like this.
I smile. I even let out a soft breath, the kind that says wow, but also the kind that tries to push back tears.
Because this isn’t what I thought it would be.
I thought it was a ring. God, I really thought it was going to be a ring.
The way he was acting… the way he looked at me.
The quiet tension. The build-up. The tone of his voice.
He made me believe it was something more, something big, life-changing.
And now I just feel stupid for thinking that.
‘You know how much money that cost? Be grateful’ I tell myself, pressing my lips together.
I am. I really am. But… I don’t know, I thought—
You forgot who Nickoi is.
He’s not the type to propose. He’s not the type to fall into someone’s fantasy. And me? I was too busy making a movie in my head to remember that. So, yeah. Let’s just take my mind off it now.
“That’s what you better do,” I whisper to myself, blinking fast.
I hug him tightly. “Thank you so much,” I say, my voice as bright as I can make it.
His arms wrap around me like they always do. Secure, warm, enough to make me forget anything outside this moment. But inside? Inside I feel the sting of disappointment, even as I try to be happy.
“You see how much money him drop on that?” Nature jokes, laughing as Nickoi pulls the watch from the box.
“Mek mi pocket heavy again,” he says with a grin.
Nickoi laughs too. “That pocket never light, man. Stop act like it,” he replies, still smiling, but his eyes find mine again.
His gaze softens, and something about that look makes my throat tighten all over again. “Let me put it on you,” he says.
I nod and hold out my hand, my wrist already trembling. I don’t know why. I’m not upset. I’m not mad at him. I just… I don’t know. Maybe I expected too much.
“This is too expensive,” I murmur as he slides the watch onto my wrist.
“But you deserve it,” he says, not missing a beat.
I smile again. It’s genuine, mostly. Moments later, he’s back to chatting with Nature, and I head into the car.
He follows a second after and throws me that classic seatbelt look he always gives when we’re going anywhere.
I pull it across my chest and click it into place.
He pulls off and that’s when the quiet hits me.
The kind that presses into your chest and makes you feel like maybe, just maybe you’re more alone than you thought.
I thought he was going to propose to me. I cried, thinking it was a ring.
God. I’m so ridiculous. I don’t even know his middle name. Or when he was born. I know the basics, a llittle bit of his story, his past, the music he plays when he’s alone, the way he zones out when something’s heavy on his mind. I know how he touches me. How he protects me. But I don’t know… him.
Like, what’s his favorite color? No idea.
Favorite movie? Couldn’t tell you.
Favorite food? Wait… is he even still eating meat?
Oh God. I just remembered he’s pescatarian. How did I forget that? What am I even doing? How can I be carrying a baby for someone I barely know in the most basic ways? Not knowing his birthday? His middle name?
That’s insane. And embarrassing.
I want to ask him things, all the time, but I’m scared.
Scared he’ll shut down. Scared he’ll think I’m prying.
Scared he’ll pull away. Because that’s what he does, he builds walls.
And the more I try to get in, the more I realize I’m still standing outside, hoping the door will magically swing open.
But love doesn’t work like that. Relationships don’t work like that.
And I don’t want to keep loving him from the outside.
“Nickoi…” I begin, my voice soft, “I’m gonna be honest with you.” He glances at me, eyes flicking off the road for a moment before locking back on it, but I know I have his attention.
“I know you’re not used to being in a relationship,” I say slowly. “I know you’re not used to people being this close to you. But… I want to know you.”
He doesn’t respond. His jaw tightens and he exhales through his nose. “I was really embarrassed,” I admit, laughing nervously just to stop the tears from forming.
“When your aunt said you were born in July and I had no clue… and your middle name is Omari and I didn’t know that either.” My hand drifts to my stomach, almost without thinking. “And I’m carrying a baby for you.”
His grip on the steering wheel shifts slightly. “Do you even understand how stupid that makes me feel?” I whisper.
Still, he says nothing.
I swallow hard. “I know maybe to you it’s not a big deal, but it is to me. It really is. And I think about it all the time, like… what’s your favorite food? What color do you like most? What’s your favorite movie? Normal stuff that girlfriends know.”
I breathe in, shakily. “But I’m always afraid to ask. Because you’re just… you.”
My voice cracks on that last word and I hate it.
I hate that I sound so fragile. “Your only focus is making me happy and running your business, and yeah… I love you for that. I do. But it can’t only be that.
You’ve got this huge wall around yourself, even though you gave me permission to love you…
you’re still so hard to reach.” I let the silence sit there, thick between us.
Then, finally, he speaks. “Ah… sorry ‘bout that,” he says, his voice low.
“Mi never really have nobody who care ‘bout dem thing deh. So it never really occur to me fi tell yuh.” He chuckles a little, but it sounds nervous.
Unsure. “Anuh like mi wah yuh feel dem way yah, but… Jah know, mi deeven know wah fi say.” He pauses, fingers tapping the steering wheel now like the words are fighting to come out right.
“Wah mi a try say is… mi never have no woman love me how you love me. Like, genuinely. Not fi mi money or mi name or fi say ‘mi did deh with Nick’ like that alone prove dem worth.” He glances at me now, and I can feel the weight of it.
“No one never ask mi them thing deh. Mi middle name, mi favorite color, mi birthday. Mi never even think seh someone would care.” He looks back at the road. “So fi you ask me dem question… mi nah lie, it new fi me, Zara.” I exhale, my chest easing even though tears still threaten to spill.
“I understand,” I say quietly. And I do. God, I really do.
He continues. “Mi a try… mi swear. Fi understand the whole love ting, relationship ting. But mi slow with it.” That makes me smile a little. He’s trying and that’s more than most men ever do.
“That’s okay, baby,” I say gently. “That’s why we’re gonna play Q and A.”
His lips twitch up at the corners. “Ah. Ask anything.”
“Okay,” I say, sitting up in my seat and tucking my hair behind my ear. “Favorite color?” He looks at me like I didn’t waste a second.
“Blue,” he answers, like it’s obvious.
I smile. “Me too. But I think most men love blue. Me? I love pink.”
He chuckles. “And most women love that.”
I nod, a small giggle escaping. “I think we should use those colors for the baby shower. Blue and pink.”
“Yah,” he agrees softly, and there’s something in his tone that makes me think maybe, just maybe, he sees this going somewhere long-term, somewhere solid.
“Yah. What’s your favorite subject?” Nickoi asks out of nowhere, surprising me.
I blink. He’s actually into this game? He’s trying. I smile a little at that.
“Me love English,” I say with no hesitation. It’s not even just a subject to me, it’s how I breathe.
“Oh yeah, ‘cause a that you teach too,” he says, smiling like he’s proud of me.
I nod, that warm flutter in my chest showing up again. “What about you?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“Maths,” he replies without skipping a beat.
I raise an eyebrow and give him a playful side-eye. “All now me inna awe yuh get 1 inna Maths.” At least you know that.
He laughs, head tilting back just a little. “Wid flying colors.”
I make a mock gasp and clear my throat dramatically. “Okay, bright bwoy,” I tease, grinning.
He keeps laughing. “Wah yuh get in English and Maths?” he asks, eyes glancing over at me with a challenge in them.
“Grade 1 in English,” I say, holding my chin high, “and… Grade 2 in Maths.”
He nods. “Ohh,” he says, lips curled in a smile like he’s impressed anyway.
“Yeah,” I say, then I shift in my seat a little. “What was your favorite food growing up?”
He smiles like the answer embarrasses him before he even says it. “You a go find this funny, but mi did love brown stew chicken with dumpling and all dem ting deh.”
I laugh. “Watch the pescatarian,” I tease. “But for real, that nice.”
“Yea,” he replies with a small grin. His voice gets quieter, like he’s reflecting on more than just food.
“So, why you become a pescatarian?” I ask, watching him from the side as he drives.
“Just did wah start eat healthy,” he shrugs, like it’s not that deep. “But mi neva wah turn full vegetarian. Mi cya just a’ eat greens alone, mi need mi swim-around.”
I smile and nod. “Ohh, so it’s just for health mek you change your diet,” I murmur mostly to myself.
“How long now?” I ask.
“Since mi reach nineteen,” he replies.
I nod again, imagining a younger Nickoi making that change. “Okay… mi probably follow you,” I joke, even though I know I’d miss oxtail too much.
He laughs. “No, you affi eat red meat fi the baby,” he says, and I smile.
“Oh yeah. True.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then he glances at me again, something shifting in his eyes. “Mi have a question fi yuh,” he says as we turn into our yard. I brace myself.
“Who a di first man you ever sleep with?” he asks, catching me completely off guard.
I blink, caught between shock and discomfort. But I answer anyway, because I promised honesty. “Malik,” I say quietly.