Chapter 15 Prime
PRIME
My knee wouldn’t stop bouncing. A nigga ain’t been this nervous since I was ten, working up the nerve to talk to the pretty girl in school.
But the most beautiful woman in the world got my ass angsty.
I couldn’t wait to see her. It had been way too long.
The last time we saw each other I was at least able to kiss her.
But today that wasn’t going to happen. I needed to put my lips and my hands on my Goddess.
I had to bring her home to take care of her and our daughter.
I sat on the metal stool, eyes locked on the door across the glass partition, waiting for it to open. Waiting for her. Other families sat in the row beside me—mothers crying, kids confused, men trying to hold it together.
Then the door on the other side opened.
And there she was.
My chest caved in.
She was bigger. Noticeably bigger than the last time I saw her. Her belly strained against the orange jumpsuit, round and full and carrying my daughter. My daughter who was growing inside a cage. My daughter who I couldn’t touch. Couldn’t protect.
Zainab sat down on the other side of the glass. Picked up the phone. I did the same.
“Hey, baby.” Her voice was soft. Tired. But she smiled for me.
“Hey, Goddess.”
We just looked at each other for a moment. Taking each other in. She had dark circles under her eyes but her skin was still glowing. Pregnancy looked beautiful on her, even in this ugly-ass place.
“She’s getting big,” I said, nodding at her belly.
Zainab rubbed her stomach. “She’s been kicking like crazy. Especially at night. I think she knows something’s wrong.”
“She knows her daddy’s coming. That’s what she knows.”
Zainab laughed, but it came out watery. “I miss you so much, Prime. I miss our bed. I miss your voice when I’m falling asleep. I miss—” Her voice cracked. “I just miss you.”
“One more day, baby. One more day and you’re coming home.”
“What if bail doesn’t—”
“It will.” I cut her off. Couldn’t let her go there. “Camille’s the best. The evidence is weak. And you’re seven months pregnant. No judge is gonna keep you locked up.”
“You promise?”
I put my hand on the glass. Palm flat. Fingers spread.
She looked at it for a second. Then pressed her hand against the other side. Matching mine. Almost touching but not.
“I promise,” I said. “I’m gonna be right there in that courtroom tomorrow. And when they let you go, I’m taking you straight to the house. Got a spot up in the hills. Views for days. You’re gonna love it.”
“You rented a house?”
“Had to. I wasn’t about to have you staying in no hotel while we wait for trial. You need space. Comfort. A real bed.”
Her eyes got wet again. “You didn’t have to do all that.”
“Yeah I did. You’re my family. Both of you.” I pressed harder against the glass, wishing I could break through it. “And when this is all over—when you’re free and clear—we’re gonna get married. Have this baby. Build everything we talked about.”
“Prime…”
“I mean it, Zainab. I don’t care what it takes. I don’t care how long. You’re mine. And I’m gonna spend the rest of my life proving that.”
A tear slid down her cheek. She wiped it quick, trying to be strong.
“I love you,” she whispered.
“I love you more.”
The CO behind her tapped his watch. Time was up.
“Kiss my baby for me,” she said, standing up slowly, one hand on her belly. “Both of them.”
“I will. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She pressed her hand to her lips. Then to the glass. I did the same.
And then she was gone.
The drive back to the house was quiet.
I gripped the steering wheel too tight, jaw clenched, replaying the image of her in that jumpsuit. Her belly. Her tired eyes. Her hand on the glass where mine should’ve been.
Tomorrow. Just one more day.
If they denied bail, I didn’t know what I’d do. Probably something that would land me in a cell right next to her. But I couldn’t think like that. Had to stay focused. Had to believe.
Camille was good. The case was weak. Zainab was coming home.
She had to.
Yusef was at the door before I even got my key out.
He must’ve been watching from the window. His whole body was tense, the question all over his face before he even opened his mouth.
How is she?
“She’s good.” I walked inside and put my hand on his shoulder. “She’s strong. And she’s coming home tomorrow.”
He scribbled fast.
You sure?
“I’m sure. Camille’s got this. The bail hearing is in the morning and then we’re bringing her here.”
He nodded, but I could see the doubt in his eyes. This kid had been through too much to believe in happy endings.
“Yu.” I squeezed his shoulder. “She’s coming home. I need you to believe that with me. Can you do that?”
He was still for a second. Then he wrote:
Yeah. I can do that.
“Good. Now come on. We got work to do.”
He tilted his head, confused.
“We gotta go to the store. Get food. Get the house ready. Make it nice for when she gets here.” I headed back toward the door. “Your aunt’s been eating jail food for weeks. We’re gonna have a real meal waiting for her.”
Yusef followed, and I caught the small spark of hope in his eyes. He scribbled something and held it up.
Can we get the stuff for her cinnamon rolls? So she can make them when she’s ready?
I stopped. Looked at him.
This kid. Thinking about his aunt’s happiness. Wanting to give her something that was hers.
“Yeah,” I said, my voice rougher than I intended. “We can do that.”
The grocery store in LA was different from the ones back home, but shopping was shopping. There were all kinds of trendy foods. Sea moss soaked rice. Sparkling coconut water.
We grabbed a cart and moved through the aisles.
I’d been making Zainab smoothies and tracking her iron intake since she started showing.
Spinach, berries, bananas, the protein powder she liked.
Sparkling water because she couldn’t have wine.
Ice cream because she’d been craving it since month four.
Pickles, and organic cuts of meat and rice.
Yusef was serious about the cinnamon roll mission. He studied his phone, checking ingredients, making sure we got the right flour, the right butter, the right everything.
He held up two jars of cinnamon, then wrote in his notebook and showed me.
She’s very specific. This one. Not that one.
“How you know?”
He wrote again.
I’ve been helping her bake since I was seven. I know.
I grabbed the one he pointed to. “Aight then. You’re the expert.”
He almost smiled.
We spent the rest of the afternoon setting up the house.
Groceries put away. Fresh sheets on the bed. Candles in the bedroom—the lavender ones she liked. Towels folded in the bathroom.
When everything was done, I stood in the bedroom alone.
Her side of the bed. Empty. But not for long.
I pulled out my phone. No new messages from Camille. No news was good news.
Tomorrow. Everything would change tomorrow.
“One more day, baby girl,” I said to the empty room. To my daughter. To the future I was fighting for. “Just hold on. Daddy’s bringing Mama home.”