Chapter 16 #2
Rolani stood immediately, pulling her up with him.
His hand never left hers as they followed the nurse down the hallway, past rooms with closed doors and muffled voices.
She led them into a small exam room—a table in the center, an ultrasound machine in the corner, and posters on the wall about prenatal care.
“Dr. Khalifa will be right in,” the nurse said with a warm smile before closing the door behind her.
Rolani helped Kennedi onto the table. The paper crinkled under her. He stayed close, thumb brushing circles on the back of her hand.
“You comfortable?”
“Yeah, you can relax.”
A knock at the door, then it opened.
Dr. Khalifa stepped in with a warm smile. She was an older Black woman with gray locs pulled back, kind eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. She moved like someone who had delivered thousands of babies.
“Good morning,” she said. “Kennedi, nice to see you again. It’s been too long. And you must be Dad?”
“Yes, ma’am. Rolani Pracher.” He stood, shaking her hand firmly.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Pracher,” she said. “Thank you for being here. I’m sure mom and baby appreciate it.”
“There’s no other place I’d rather be.”
“Alright, that’s what I like to hear. Let’s get started,” Dr. Khalifa said, adjusting the exam table. “Kennedi, go ahead and lie back. We’ll take a look at this little one.”
Rolani moved closer as Kennedi settled back, her hand immediately finding his. The doctor pulled up her dress, exposing the small swell of her stomach, and squeezed gel onto her skin.
“This might be cold,” Dr. Khalifa warned, and Kennedi flinched slightly when the transducer touched her. “Mom, how have you been feeling? Any concerns?”
When the screen flickered to life, Rolani sat up straighter.
“No concerns, the nausea is passing, and I have a little of my energy back.”
“Dad, how are you?”
“Uhm…” he stuttered, lost, looking at their baby on the screen. His baby. Moving. Real. A full face, hands he could count the fingers on, legs kicking against the screen like he already had somewhere to be.
“Lani…” Kennedi said, grabbing his hand. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I just can’t believe this.”
“There we go,” she said, adjusting the wand and clicking different things. “Baby’s looking good. Let’s get that heartbeat for you.”
She turned up the volume, and the room filled with the rapid thump-thump-thump-thump of his child’s heart. Rolani gripped Kennedi’s hand tighter, his other hand coming up to cover his mouth. His eyes burned, vision blurring, and he didn’t even try to stop it.
“Ro?” Kennedi’s voice was soft, concerned.
He couldn’t speak. His head moved slowly, side to side, eyes locked on that screen, on that perfect, impossible sound. He couldn’t tell her he never thought this day would come.
“That’s a strong heartbeat,” Dr. Khalifa said, smiling at him. “About 150 beats per minute. Right where we want it.”
That was his son. Or daughter.
That was his blood.
He opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
Dr. Khalifa kept talking, pointing at the screen, explaining measurements and angles, but he barely heard her. The only thing that registered was the rhythm filling the room.
Thump-thump-thump-thump.
He swallowed hard.
Then, finally—
“Is everything okay?” His voice came out wrecked, barely above a whisper. “With our baby?”
“Perfect. Growing right on track. No concerns at all.” Dr. Khalifa moved the wand, getting different angles. “Would you like to know the sex?”
Rolani looked over at Kennedi, and she was already watching him, tears in her own eyes.
“You waited for me,” he said quietly.
“Of course I did. I never planned on doing this alone forever.”
He stood up and kissed her forehead. “Yeah. We wanna know.”
Dr. Khalifa adjusted the wand again, angling for a clearer view. “Let’s see... okay, there we go.” She looked up at them, smile widening. “Congratulations. It looks like you’re having a baby boy.”
Rolani’s legs gave out then. He dropped into the chair beside the table, head in his hands.
A boy.
“Rolani,” Kennedi whispered, reaching for him. “Baby, are you okay?”
He stood back up, cupped her face in both hands, and kissed her—deep, grateful, overwhelmed. When he pulled back, he pressed his forehead to hers.
“We’re having a baby boy,” he said, voice breaking on every word.
“We are,” she whispered back.
Dr. Khalifa printed out pictures, gave them instructions for the next appointment, answered Rolani’s fifty questions about what Kennedi should eat, what she should avoid, and what he could do to help.
By the time they left, he was carrying the ultrasound photos like they were sacred texts, and Kennedi was watching him with this look that made him feel ten feet tall.
In the parking lot, he opened her door but didn’t let her get in yet. He pulled her close, his hand settling on her sides.
“Thank you,” he said.
“For what?”
“Ken, you ain’t have to do this, and that’s not lost on me. I appreciate you for keeping him.” His thumb brushed across the small swell.
She smiled up at him, eyes still glassy. “You don’t have to thank me for that. He was either going to be our baby or my baby. But I want you involved. Please understand it was never about that.”
“Yeah, I do have to thank you because you could’ve made decisions and you didn’t.” He kissed her again, softer this time.
She pulled back and looked at him. “Feed us.”
He laughed — full and easy, the first real laugh of the day. “Say less.”
Luther’s had a private dining room that Robin kept for family and private dinners. The hostess led them back without being asked and seated them at a table by the window. Outside, the lake caught the afternoon light.
“You look beautiful,” Rolani said, sliding into the seat across from her. Cream Rhude hoodie, starched jeans, cement 4s. His herringbone necklace was her favorite. The man could do no wrong in her eyes.
“I don’t feel it. Our son is taking me down through there. My neck is getting black.”
The sigh she gave made him stand and come around to her side, sliding in beside her instead.
“Ken, you may feel one way, but that doesn’t negate the facts. You are beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
The server arrived, and Rolani dapped him up by name before ordering for them both without looking at the menu.
He knew every dish, every special, every person on the floor.
Kennedi watched him operate and thought she could get used to this.
Following his lead. Letting him move through a room and existing beside him.
She watched his face change, fighting back a grin.
“What?” he asked, swiping his hand down his face from her staring.
“I like seeing you get all bashful.”
“Bashful?” He leaned back, shaking his head with that dangerous smile. “Nah, ma. A nigga smitten, I’ll give you that. But bashful? Never that.” He turned his head, unable to look at her, in fear of his face saying the truth.
“I think smitten might be worse, honey.” Her eyes sparkled, enjoying how uncomfortable he was now. “But I love that for you.”
“See, you got jokes.” He shook his head, but the smile wasn’t going anywhere. He could run a whole city and not flinch, but this woman calling him smitten had him looking everywhere but at her.
She let him squirm for a second before her eyes did what they always did around him.
Wandered. His cologne had her pressing her thighs together under the table.
His skin caught the low light, smooth and clear, and that beard looked so well-maintained she wanted to run her fingers through it.
The intricate neck tattoo that spelled ‘Pearl’ in script with dates underneath was visible today. She loved how family-oriented he was.
The server came back to check on drinks again.
“I’ll take another sparkling water with lemon,” she said.
Rolani’s eyes never left hers. “Double shot of D’ussé, neat.”
When they were alone again, silence settled between them, neither sure what to say, but so much needed to be said.
The jazz floating through the restaurant seemed to highlight everything they’d done backwards.
They’d never just... existed in the same space like this.
Never mapped each other’s stories with words instead of hands.
He didn’t like the gap in his knowledge of her. He wanted to know what made her laugh when nobody was watching, what she thought about when she couldn’t sleep, what dreams she’d given up on, and which ones still kept her hungry.
“So…,” she said. “This feels weird, doesn’t it? Getting to know each other after we’ve already…after everything else.”
“A little.” He said, sitting back and removing his arm so he could look at her, when he got comfortable, a lazy smile played on his lips. “But I fuck with it. What you tryna know?”
“Everything.” She tilted her head. “But let’s start simple, favorite color?”
“Blue. Dark blue, like the lake at night when the moon hits it.” His hand moved to play with a braid; it was now she who was uncomfortable. “I watch NASCAR and documentaries when I can’t sleep. Nature shit, history, and sometimes true crime. You probably think that’s square as hell.”
“Not at all. I love documentaries too.” A smile pulled at her lips. “Biggest fear?”
He went quiet, studying her with those eyes that made her bite her lip. “This might sound like some stalker shit, but I’ve been watching your interviews online. You cold with it, Ken. That also tells me you nosey as hell. Where that come from?”
“My momma. You know she grilled me when you left Sunday.”
“Figured. Mr. Walters seems like he keeps it low-key.”
“Yeah, that's Kenneth Walters, cool until he's not. He liked you.”
“I like to hear that. But the biggest fear, though?” His voice dropped. “Losing the people I love. That shit rewires you.”
“Black men and their grandmamas.” She said it softly, with understanding. She’d lost her own grandmother three years ago and still felt the absence. “I love it.”