Chapter 8 #2
LoLo stared at me silently for a few seconds while she chewed the food in her mouth.
Finally, she swallowed and spoke. “The point, Wyndsor Castle, is that she can’t be there to support you if you don’t tell her the whole story.
You suffered in silence every time Channing went into a manic state, acting like keeping it to yourself was protecting him.
News flash, it wasn’t protecting him or you. ”
“I know that.”
She rolled her eyes. “I hope you do. Because what I’m not gonna do is watch my best friend rebuild herself from the floor again.
You were keeping Channing’s secrets, and I was keeping yours.
I’m not doing that again, Wyn. It took you two years to get out from under the depression and anxiety of watching Channing continually spiral. You couldn’t even grieve your loss.”
“I know that.”
“If you know that, then I hope you understand why I just did what I did.”
I understood. Channing’s mental health issues sent me into a mode where I felt like I had to protect him.
I convinced myself that we were all each other had and all each other needed.
When the burden of trying to be his everything got too heavy for me to carry, I would dump everything on LoLo.
We were all in our early twenties. None of us were equipped to carry what we were carrying without the guidance and support of seasoned adults.
It was a shit show. And LoLo wasn’t wrong for refusing to enter another situation like that with me.
My mother was a nurse. She knew the medical industry.
She was more than equipped to help me if I started to have trouble dealing with my current situation.
She could at least get me a referral to a good therapist.
My mother reappeared at the table and set the bottle of tequila down with a thud. “LoLo, did you get enough to eat, hon? Because I need to talk to my daughter . . . in private.”
LoLo shoveled one last forkful of food into her mouth, grabbed her purse from the floor, and stood. “Thanks for breakfast, Auntie.” She walked over and gave my mother a quick peck on the cheek. “I’ll call you, Wyn.”
I hugged my bestie.
“Don’t worry about locking it, LoLo. I’ll lock it from my phone,” my mother called after her. Once we were alone, she added tequila to her sparkling juice, took a big gulp, then stared me down. “Tell me everything.”
So, I did, including the part about Kaynaan wanting me, in spite of the pregnancy.
“Do you trust his motives? Do you think—”
“No. No. Kaynaan’s the sweetest. He’s the one I went out of town with a few weeks ago. He’s so nice, Mom. He treats me like glass.”
“So why the hesitation?”
I gestured to my stomach area. “I’m pregnant by somebody else. I’m pregnant by his teammate. It looks so bad. Like, am I just hopping from player to player? The least I could do was choose a different sport.”
She eyed me. “Is that him talking or you talking?”
“Me,” I admitted. “He would never say anything like that. He always tells me that he doesn’t care about Preston, that’s the baby’s father. He knows I don’t have feelings for Preston.”
“What’s the problem then?”
“I just told you the problem.”
She looked confused. “Is the problem optics? You worried about what it looks like to people outside of you and what’s his name again?”
“Kaynaan.”
“You’re worried about what your situation looks like to people outside you and Kaynaan?”
“You have to admit that it looks bad.”
She sucked her teeth. “Patriarchy did a wonderful job of selling women guilt and burdens we didn’t ask for or deserve.
It’s always interesting to me how women bear the brunt of being embarrassed about how things look.
A man can be having sex with best friends .
. . sisters even, and if he gets caught?
Embarrassment is the last thought in his mind.
If this Preston person had a WNBA player pregnant and was currently dating a different one, I guarantee you he wouldn’t be embarrassed. Not at all.”
I put my head down on the table.
“Listen, Daughter. If you’re not interested in this Kaynaan man .
. . if the timing is off, and you need to concentrate on all the stuff you have going on, that’s fair.
Tell him that you wish things could be different, but since they aren’t, you need time.
But if the only thing stopping you from giving this man a chance is how somebody else might perceive it .
. . perceive you . . . I don’t know. Sounds like self-sabotage to me. ”
“The timing is off,” I muttered, “but not enough for me not to want to spend time with him. I like him. He makes me laugh. We have conversations. Channing and I were so young. Kaynaan’s grown.
He’s mature. He knows when to push and when to fall back.
He knows when I need him to be gentle with me and when I need him to get me together. I like him.”
“Then give things a chance. You’re pregnant. You’re in an altered state. Your thoughts, feelings, and emotions will be out of your control at times. You might appreciate somebody being tender with you. Particularly if his heart is in the right place.”
“It is. He’s a really good person.”
“Give yourself some grace. Don’t beat yourself up because of how you think it looks. You know what they say: It’s not what happens to you. It’s how you handle what happens to you.”