14. Gage #3
I thought quickly, but long, deciding that the card should simply explain the meaning behind the gesture.
The four dozen roses were a symbol of my love and appreciation for Mahasin, carrying my baby so far four months, and a promise that she wouldn’t go another month without me being present for all of it.
“Let the card say, I won’t miss another month of celebrating the greatest gift you’re giving me. ”
“Okay, got it. So, the four dozen and express delivery will come to a total of $820,” Rue informed me.
I read off my card number and told her to add 35% of the total cost as the delivery tip. I ended the call, smiling and feeling all stupid, warm, and fuzzy inside, when a shadow crossed the glass door.
“The greatest gift who’s giving you?”
If ‘all good things come to an end’ were a person.
Paris’s voice sliced through my happy thoughts as she stood in the doorway, waiting to explode on my ass.
The oversized T-shirt hung off one shoulder, arms folded tight across her chest. Her hair was darker, wet, and wavy-looking because it was still damp from the shower.
And that look… the look on her beautiful face could kill.
I closed my eyes, slowly inhaling the last bit of happiness that lingered in the room. Here we go. When I opened them, her swift ass was already in my face, staring at me as if I lied, it’d be the last one I ever told.
“Who is giving you the greatest gift, Gage?”
I slid my rolling chair back to gain at least three feet of personal space. “Don’t ask questions you already know the answers to, Paris. You heard the name I mentioned.”
“Yeah, you're right, I heard it. So, tell me—what is Dr. Mahasin St. James giving you, nigga?”
Before I could answer, she popped me on the head with what appeared to be the TV remote.
That shit hurt like hell. The look I gave her let her know I’d let that one slide, but she better quit while she was ahead.
One thing I didn’t play with was hitting.
Everyone—male or female—should keep their hands to themselves.
However, due to the heat of the moment and the non-life-threatening nature of the act, I let it go.
The lie I was prepared to tell sat on my tongue, ready to pour out, but it felt foul. I’d done enough omitting the truth these past few days. I took a breath and braced for impact.
“She’s pregnant with my baby.”
The whole earth went still. Hell, I think even a few cell towers shut down, and everything battery-operated vanished from existence. I’d never experienced silence so heavy it was damn near eerie. My eyes darted between Paris and the remote that still rested tightly in her grasp.
“Bah-hahahahaha!” she let out the most insidious yet comical laugh. The sound fell somewhere between stand-up comedy and dark romance. I stood up, not wanting to be sitting down when this woman decided to go ape-shit on my ass.
“Whew!” she breathed out. “Now that shit was hilarious. Now seriously, Gagey Pooh, tell me what’s going on.” She smiled, looking off-kilter as hell. “Come on, baby, tell me. I won’t be mad.”
My eyes widened as she slid the desk clear across the room, showing a strength, I didn’t know her little ass had. Every step she took toward me, I took three back. God, please don’t let me have to knock this girl out, I silently prayed.
“Paris, Mahasin, and I had a one-night stand months ago. We haven’t had communication since.
She discovered she’s four months pregnant, and DNA results prove that I am the father,” I rushed out.
I wasn’t ashamed of Mahasin or my daughter—I was more concerned about this deranged woman hitting me in the mouth before I could finish my sentence.
“So let me get this straight—you,” she started, pointing her index finger at me.
“The same nigga who looks for a condom even if I just want a kiss, had unprotected sex with a bitch you didn’t know?
Really, Gage? And now the hoe is pregnant?
I hope you got a whole blood panel, because if you think you’re the first person her nasty ass fucked without knowing, you are sadly mistaken. Little bitch needs to be tranquilized.”
“Aye, watch your fucking mouth. I know you’re upset, and I’m not taking that away from you, but Mahasin and I both were reckless and consenting that night. She didn’t get pregnant on her own, and she isn’t going through this pregnancy on her own. Watch how you speak about the mother of my child.”
I meant every firm word that came out of my mouth. This was exactly why I didn’t want Paris to know anything about Mahasin—her anger always made her prejudge a situation before she had all the facts.
“The mother of your child? So that’s what she is now?”
“Yes. Look, Paris, I didn’t sign up for this to happen—I mean, logically I did, fucking unprotected—but hopefully you understand what I mean.”
She let out a bitter huff.
“My intentions were never to hurt you, and I am sorry for the way you’re feeling right now. But I’m going to take care of my child—and her mother.”
“It’s a girl?” she questioned, the words barely making it out of her mouth. “And why would you need to take care of… her? You’re supposed to only take care of your kid!” she yelled, throwing the remote at me.
“Taking care of my daughter’s mother is taking care of my daughter.
She’s the one who’ll have the baby most of the time—enduring the sleepless nights, midnight feedings, and whatever else comes with the hardest job in the world.
If I make sure Mahasin is good—financially, mentally, and emotionally, then she’ll be well-equipped to care for the baby in my absence. ”
I understood and respected Paris’s feelings, but she had me fucked up if she thought she had any say in how I cared for my child. Still, I felt bad that she was hurting.
“Tell me how to fix this—for you… For us,” I said, motioning my hands between us.
She stared at me for a long beat. The anger in her eyes melted into something cunning… desperate almost.
“If she’s pregnant with your baby, then I want to be pregnant with your baby too.”
I stared back at her, confused as hell—unsure whether to laugh in her face or hit her in the head with the same remote she’d just popped me with.
“That’s not… Paris, that’s not how this works, nor is it an option.”
“Why not? She gets to have your baby—why can’t I?”
“Because this isn’t a competition or a joke, P.”
“So, you mean to tell me, Gage, I’m just supposed to be pushed to the side because you had one night of being irresponsible?”
“I wouldn’t say I was being irresponsible. Daring, maybe, but irresponsible…” I scolded, the heat creeping into my tone. “Irresponsibility would only come into play if I didn’t step up as a man and take care of them both. So, if there’s breath in my body, both of them will be good.”
“You’re saying that shit, Gage, like she could just quit her job, and you’ll take care of her for the rest of her life.”
“If that’s what she decided to do, then yes.”
Apparently, that response didn’t sit well with the beautiful, raging redhead standing in front of me, because she began trashing my office. If it was movable, she threw it. If it were stationary, she found a way to break it up anyway.
“Paris, I’m going to let you act out—rightfully so, because you’re overstimulated and lack the required vocabulary to express your feelings verbally. When you calm—”
“Oh, shut your ‘lining your luxury cars up in the parking lot by size’ ass the fuck up!” She interrupted me. “You cringe up if somebody serves you mashed potatoes, but you got the balls to tell your woman that you’re prepared to take care of another woman because she’s having your bastard child?”
Hearing her refer to my daughter as anything less than the perfect reflection of me had me hot. I could’ve gone low, said some shit that would ruin her confidence for life—but I already felt fucked up that this situation even existed... for her. So, I chose not to add fuel to the fire.
Stepping over all the chaos, I headed out of my office, grabbed my keys off the kitchen island, and made my way toward the door.
“Where are you going?” Paris called after my back.
“Out.”
“To her?”
I turned around slowly, locking eyes with her. “No. To get some much-needed air.”
“You know,” she said with a devilish grin, “You’re getting mighty defensive over a friend. Over a one-night stand. Over a baby you don’t know... and a woman you don’t love.”
I turned my back again and reached for the door. But just before I crossed the threshold, I said with finality—without looking over my shoulder—
“Who said I didn’t love her?”