17. AMAI
AMAI
Ipulled up to Delphine’s house at exactly nine o’clock, the way I’d promised. The morning was already warm, the kind of heat that settled into your bones and reminded you that New Orleans didn’t do seasons the way other cities did. Summer here was a living thing—thick, humid, relentless.
Truth was waiting on the porch when I arrived, wearing a simple sundress and sandals. Her hair was pulled back from her face, and she looked nervous.
She climbed into the passenger seat without waiting for me to open her door, and I noticed the way her hands were shaking slightly as she buckled her seatbelt.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Yeah.” She nodded quickly. “Just nervous.”
“It’s going to work this time.”
She looked at me then, her eyes searching my face for something I wasn’t sure I could give her. “You don’t know that.”
“I know.” I pulled away from the curb, my hands steady on the wheel. “But I believe it anyway.”
She didn’t respond to that. Just turned to look out the window as we drove through the Seventh Ward, past shotgun houses and corner stores and churches with hand-painted signs promising salvation.
The silence between us wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of quiet that came from two people who’d spent enough time together to know when words weren’t necessary. But I could feel the tension radiating off her—the fear, the hope, the weight of everything riding on this one procedure.
“You eat this morning?” I asked.
“A little. Toast and some juice.”
“That’s good.” I glanced at her. “Dr. Beaumont said you need to stay hydrated today. After the transfer.”
“I know.”
“And rest. No heavy lifting, no?—”
“Amai.” She turned to look at me, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “I read the instructions. I know what to do.”
I nodded, feeling slightly foolish for hovering. But I couldn’t help it. The first transfer had failed, and the memory of her crying on the phone at two in the morning was still too fresh. I’d promised her we’d try again. And I meant it. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t terrified it would fail again.
We drove in silence for a few more minutes, the city passing by outside the windows. Then, Truth spoke, her voice quiet.
“Thank you for being here.”
I glanced at her. “Where else would I be?”
“I don’t know. You could have just sent your driver. Or had me take an Uber. You didn’t have to?—”
“Truth.” I kept my eyes on the road. “I’m not sending you to this alone. Not again.”
She went quiet. When I looked over, she was staring at her hands in her lap, her fingers twisted together.
“Okay,” she said softly.
We pulled into the fertility center parking lot fifteen minutes later. I found a spot near the entrance and killed the engine. For a moment, neither of us moved.
“You ready?” I asked.
She took a deep breath. “Yeah. I’m ready.”
The clinic was quiet when we walked in. The receptionist recognized us immediately and smiled warmly as she checked Truth in. Within minutes, a nurse appeared and called Truth’s name.
Truth stood, her movements careful. She looked at me, and I saw the fear in her eyes—the same fear I’d seen during the first transfer. The fear that her body would fail again. That this wouldn’t work. That she’d let me down.
“It’s going to be okay,” I said.
She nodded and followed the nurse through the door that led to the back.
I sat in the waiting room and tried to focus on my phone. Tried to answer emails, review reports, do anything to keep my mind occupied. But all I could think about was Truth lying on that exam table, vulnerable and scared, going through this alone.
Twenty minutes later, the same nurse appeared in the doorway.
“Mr. Landry?” she said. “You can come back now if you’d like.”
I was on my feet before she finished the sentence.
She led me down a hallway to a small procedure room. Truth was already on the exam table, wearing a hospital gown with a thin sheet draped over her legs. Dr. Beaumont was setting up equipment on a tray, her movements efficient and practiced.
Truth’s eyes found mine the moment I walked in. Relief flooded her face.
“Hey,” I said quietly.
“Hey.”
I moved to the side of the exam table and took her hand without thinking. Her fingers wrapped around mine immediately, holding tight.
“We’re just about ready to begin,” Dr. Beaumont said, glancing at us. “Truth, you’re going to feel some pressure, but it shouldn’t be painful. Just try to relax and breathe.”
Truth nodded, her grip on my hand tightening.
I leaned down slightly, my other hand moving to her hair, stroking gently. “You’re okay,” I murmured. “I’m right here.”
Dr. Beaumont began the procedure, her voice calm and steady as she explained each step. Truth’s breathing quickened, her body tensing beneath the sheet. I kept my hand in her hair, my thumb tracing small circles against her scalp.
“Breathe,” I said softly. “Just breathe, Truth. You’re doing great.”
Her eyes stayed locked on mine, and I saw the trust there—the way she was letting me anchor her through this. It hit me harder than I expected. This wasn’t just a medical procedure anymore. This was us. Together. Creating something that would bind us in ways the contract never could.
“Almost done,” Dr. Beaumont said. “Just a few more seconds.”
Truth’s hand squeezed mine so hard it hurt. I didn’t pull away. Just kept stroking her hair, kept murmuring reassurances, kept being present in a way I’d never been present for anyone.
“There,” Dr. Beaumont said finally, stepping back. “All done. The embryo is in place.”
Truth exhaled shakily, her body sagging with relief.
“Now we wait,” Dr. Beaumont continued, pulling off her gloves. “Fifteen minutes with your hips elevated, then you’re free to go. Remember—no strenuous activity for the next forty-eight hours. Rest, hydrate, and try not to stress.”
She smiled at both of us, then left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.
Truth looked up at me, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “Thank you for being here.”
“I told you,” I said, my voice rougher than I intended. “I’m not going anywhere.”
We stayed like that for the full fifteen minutes—my hand in hers, my other hand still stroking her hair, neither of us speaking. The silence was heavy with everything we weren’t saying. Everything we couldn’t say.
When the nurse finally came back to clear her, I helped Truth sit up slowly. She changed back into her sundress while I waited outside, and when she emerged, she looked exhausted but hopeful.
“You hungry?” I asked.
She hesitated. “A little.”
“Let me take you to lunch.”
“Amai, you don’t have to?—”
“I know I don’t have to.” I looked at her. “I want to.”
She studied my face for a long moment, then nodded. “Okay.”
I took her to a small bistro in the Garden District—nothing too fancy, but nice enough that she’d feel comfortable. We were seated at a table near the window, and I watched as Truth relaxed slightly, the tension from the procedure slowly easing from her shoulders.
We ordered—she got a salad and soup, and I got a sandwich I had no intention of eating—and fell into easy conversation about nothing important. The weather. The neighborhood. A story Delphine had told her about one of her friends.
It felt normal. Easy. Like we were just two people having lunch together, not a man and the woman carrying his child under a contract that was supposed to keep everything clinical and distant.
I was halfway through telling her about a ridiculous customer at the jewelry shop when I saw her.
Alexis.
Walking through the front door of the bistro with two other women, all of them dressed in business casual, clearly on a lunch break from campus.
My entire body went cold.
Truth noticed immediately. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I said quickly, but my voice came out too tight.
And then Alexis saw me.
Her face lit up, and she was already moving toward our table before I could think of a way to stop her.
“Amai!” she said, her smile bright and genuine. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”
I stood automatically, my mind racing, trying to figure out how to navigate this without destroying everything. “Alexis. Hey.”
She leaned in and kissed my cheek, her hand resting briefly on my arm. Then her eyes shifted to Truth, curiosity flickering across her face.
“This is Truth,” I said, the words coming out before I could stop them. “A colleague.”
I felt Truth go still across from me.
Alexis extended her hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Alexis. Amai’s girlfriend.”
Truth shook her hand, her expression carefully neutral. “Nice to meet you too.”
“We’re just grabbing lunch,” Alexis continued, gesturing to her friends waiting near the hostess stand. “But I wanted to say hi. I’ll see you tonight for dinner, right?”
“Yeah,” I said, my voice flat. “Tonight.”
She kissed me again—this time on the mouth, quick and possessive—then smiled at Truth one more time before walking back to her friends.
I sat down slowly, my heart pounding, my mind spinning.
Truth was staring at her water glass, her jaw tight.
“Truth—”
“Don’t.” Her voice was quiet. Cold. “Just don’t.”
“It’s not?—”
“My business,” she replied bluntly.
The waiter appeared with our food, oblivious to the tension crackling between us. He set the plates down with a cheerful smile and disappeared again.
Neither of us touched our food.
Truth’s phone buzzed on the table. She glanced at it, and something shifted in her expression—softened, warmed. A small smile played at the corners of her mouth as she picked it up and typed a quick response.
Jealousy hit me like a fist to the gut.
“Who’s that?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.
She looked up at me, her eyes cold. “That’s not part of the contract. My personal life is not your business.”
“The hell it’s not.” I leaned forward, my hands flat on the table. “As long as you’re carrying my baby, everything about you is my business. I don’t give a fuck about a contract when it comes to that. Until this is over, you belong to me.”