14. Gage #2
“Well, well, well, I see Producer Papa showed up—and early at that. Good shit, ‘cause I’d hate to have to pop back up on set. This time not as the protective friend but as the deranged godmother who wants all the smoke.”
Taking her into a side hug, I couldn’t help but laugh. “Take it easy on me, Killer,” I chuckled.
“I don’t know no way but the hard way. I had to play chauffeur, security, and Sergeant Slap-A-Hoe all in one day. You gon’ get all these jokes. And I want the best gift at the baby shower,” she laughed, embracing me again.
Behind her walked a woman in tan scrubs, pretty locs pulled into a bun.
“You must be Gage. I’m Elle, the OB on call here at Serenity.”
“Nice to meet you.” I shook her hand. Her grip was firm and confident. “Not to be rude, but you look younger—Mahasin-type young. Have you been doing this long enough to care for Mahasin and my baby during this pregnancy?”
“The pleasure is all mine. And I am indeed twelve years Mahasin’s senior—and I taught her everything she knows.
” She smiled, unbothered by my question.
“I closed my own practice to spend more time with my family and agreed to be Mahasin’s on- call OB because she couldn’t possibly survive without me.
And no offense taken, Gage—I know I look damn good,” she grinned.
“And I can respect the fact that you’re looking out for the well-being of your child and its mother.
Keep impressing me, and I’ll talk Mahasin out of being pure hell when them hormones really start kicking her ass. ”
I was waiting for the laugh to indicate Mahasin being hell was a joke—but there was none.
“Speak of the devil and she shall appear,” Amber said, pointing in the direction of Mahasin walking down the hallway.
She strutted toward us—legs endless in thigh-hugging, distressed black shorts and a sheer black, high-neck top adorned with multicolored glittering dots. Her hot pink heels matched the soft pout on her lips and clicked confidently against the marble floor, making a nigga’s heart thump.
Damn.
If she thought she was going anywhere but out to eat with me after this appointment, she had another thing coming.
“Morning,” she said, a little too professional for my liking.
“Morning, baby mama,” I said, eyes locked on her.
“Don’t start calling me that, Gagey Pooh.”
I held my chest as if she’d sent daggers through my heart. “Aight, deal, mama .”
Amber smiled as her eyes flickered between us, picking up on every pitch of lust we were throwing.
“Will the used Q-tip be joining us? ‘Cause I made sure to put on my sneakers with the good grips.”
“Amber,” Mahasin warned.
“Just a question,” she shrugged.
“Come on, mama-to-be, let’s get this show on the road so you can get out those heels you aren’t supposed to be wearing,” Elle said slyly.
We trailed the hall until we reached Exam Room 7. The room was soft and bright, with a warm, welcoming aura. Mahasin went into an ensuite bathroom and closed the door.
“She gotta pee already?” I asked.
“Nope. I mean, well, maybe. But she’s changing from the waist down—she wants a vaginal exam done as well,” Amber replied.
“So, you gonna be digging in her pussy?” It sounded playful, but I was dead serious. I just thought we were going to use a little jelly on the belly and see some black-and-white screen that looked like the TVs back in the day, when you didn’t have cable.
“What, you thought you were the only one exploring that bougie pussy today?”
“Amber, please!” Mahasin called from the bathroom.
Making her way back into the room in one of those hospital gowns, I assisted her onto the exam table. My mind could’ve been playing tricks on me, but I could’ve sworn she was shaking, and nervousness rested in her face.
“Okay, hand me the transabdominal first, and we can start measurements,” she said, already reaching for the probe.
Elle smacked her hand lightly, and Mahasin gave her a look.
“You’re not the doctor today, Ms. St. James—you’re the patient. Now, hoist them feet up and scoot further down,” Elle instructed.
I understood none of the terminology Elle used, but she measured, opened tools, and moved around that room like Michael Jordan on the court.
At the end of the ten-minute exam—which felt like forever—Elle looked at me and said, “So far, everything is perfect below, and Mommy is measuring four months pregnant.”
Mahasin and I must’ve been on the same wavelength, because as I looked down to smile at her, she was already looking up, smiling at me. I took one of her hands into mine and brought it to my lips, kissing every one of her knuckles.
“Now the fun part,” Amber said as she dimmed the lights. She keyed some information into a laptop, and the huge screen in front of us—which I thought was just a TV—lit up with Mahasin’s information in the right-hand corner and the center’s branding on the left. “Let’s see Auntie’s beautiful baby.”
Amber opened the gown Mahasin was wearing and revealed her little belly. Seeing her bare skin made it obvious that she was indeed pregnant. I couldn’t help but lean in and place a few gentle kisses on her stomach.
“Aww,” Amber and Elle sighed in unison.
Amber squeezed the gel onto her stomach—and the way she flinched, I knew it had to be cold. She picked up what I now knew was the ultrasound transducer and pointed to the screen. I gazed up, but at first, I didn’t see anything—just some stuff that looked like brown water.
Then suddenly, an image of a baby appeared. It wasn’t the black, white, and fuzzy picture I was used to seeing. This one was clear—real. I was looking at my baby.
Lost for words, all I could do was look at Amber.
“It’s a 3D ultrasound, so yeah, it’s a realistic view of the baby,” she said, like my confusion was outlined on my forehead. She took her time showing each arm, leg, and the babies head, and was about to say something when Mahasin took the tool from her.
“I just want to measure the fluid myself,” she said, moving the transducer around her stomach.
“Fluid?” I asked.
“Yeah, an increased level of fluid behind the baby’s neck area is a sign that the baby has Down syndrome,” Amber responded.
“So, what does it look like, Dr. St. James?” Elle asked, already confident she knew the answer.
“Everything is perfect,” Mahasin replied, but her voice sounded like she was holding back tears.
“Relax, Dollface,” I said, kissing her forehead. “You’re not alone.”
“Baby is measuring around 15 weeks. Y’all want to know the sex?” Amber asked.
“I already saw, but it’s up to Gage if he wants to know,” Mahasin replied.
“Yeah, I said excitedly. I want to know. Fill me in, Dollface—but y’all better make sure to embarrass her if she’s wrong.”
“Ha! Me wrong? Imagine that. Anyways, smart ass—it’s a girl.”
Amber clapped, and I couldn’t take my eyes off the monitor. “Can I have a printout of her picture?”
“Of course. Okay, I’m going to draw for your NIPT panel—genetic and chromosomal. You said you wanted to add on a paternal profile, right?” Amber asked Mahasin.
“Will that confirm paternity?” I asked.
“Wow,” Mahasin replied, annoyance present.
“Aye, Dollface, don’t take it like that.”
“So how should I take it, Gage? One minute, you’re ready to buy us a house, and the next you’re questioning if she’s yours?”
“Listen,” I said, palms up. “It’s not an attack on your character. It’s just... look at how we conceived, okay? One night. No contact after. You found me months later. Anyone would ask.”
“He’s got a point, sis,” Amber muttered, then raised her hands when Mahasin shot her a glare. “I’m just saying.”
Mahasin blew out a breath. “Fine. The test I’m doing is non-invasive. It pulls DNA fragments from the baby’s blood—which is in my bloodstream—and compares it to yours. The lab will confirm it’s a match and email us the results of the test as well as establish paternity.”
“Thank you,” I nodded.
The email came in just after midnight, but I didn’t check it until I had my breakfast and morning coffee in front of me.
Subject: NIPT + Paternal Panel — St. James/Blaque.
Mahasin must have paid a substantial amount of money to expedite these results, especially on a weekend.
I made a mental note to ensure that I would reimburse her.
Swirling my spoon in my coffee, making sure it balanced well with the creamer, I dreaded the thought of the test saying baby girl wasn’t mine.
My eyes found the line that mattered most.
Paternity probability: 99.9%.
I exhaled a laugh—short, proud, a little disbelieving. Not surprised but still humbled by it. It was one thing to know deep down. It was another to see it in print.
I texted her before I could overthink it.
Me: We locked in, baby mama ??
Her reply came almost instantly, like she’d been waiting.
Mahasin: Forever, baby daddy ??
I laughed at her choice of emoji. Paris’s voice drifted from the sunroom, reminding me that I wasn’t alone in the house—laughter, the high-pitched, obnoxious, and unnecessary kind reserved for her girlfriends on FaceTime.
I walked to my office, needing a little distance, and dialed the florist I met at RYZE. Hitting a key, I woke up my laptop and let it load while the call rang.
“Good morning, Rose and Rue. Rue speaking, how may I help you today?” The young woman spoke delightfully on the phone.
“Good morning, Rue. My name is Gage Blaque, and I was wondering if you had time to take an impromptu delivery request.”
“Sure, I’d be more than happy to accommodate you, Mr. Blaque.”
“Gage is fine. And perfect. I need four dozen red roses delivered to Serenity Women’s Medical Group for Dr. Mahasin St. James, by lunchtime.”
“Oh, we love Dr. St. James here.”
Everyone should love my baby, I thought to myself.
“What would you like the card to say, Gage?”