16. Gage
Gage
T he gasps, laughter, and sounds of fellowship I heard outside the venue doors solidified my confidence that the baby shower would be perfect.
I spared no expense—from personalized guest gifts and armed security to purchasing the building, so I could change the floors and add the crystal chandeliers Dollface had been drooling over.
Initially, I had planned to put the building back on the market.
It was sure to sell for triple my investment, due to all the renovations.
But I changed my mind. I decided to keep it, hire a property manager, and continue renting it out as an event space.
This building would be my daughter’s first gift from her father—passive income.
Opening the door and stepping inside, I was greeted with claps and waves. A few people even ran up to me, dapping me up and pulling me in for hugs. But I was in a trance.
The planner and designer had gone mayhem—in the best way.
A Noah’s Ark theme done upscale, with plush baby animals resting on miniature gilded arks at every table, each one set against a bed of sunflowers and pale blush roses.
Overhead, blending with the rainbows from the crystal chandeliers, were cotton clouds laced with twinkling lights.
They looked more like halos than decorations.
A perfect symbol for the angel we were about to bring into the world.
Warmth filled my body as I walked around, greeting family, friends, and a few Hollywood faces I’d built relationships with. Love moved through the venue in waves, mixing with the clinking of glass and silverware and the old-school R&B the DJ kept in heavy rotation.
Sunday’s, a famous soul food restaurant here in Havenbrook, catered the food.
My mother was delighted when Mahasin said she could help plan the menu.
Fried chicken, oxtails sliding off the bone in savory gravy, mac and cheese baked just right with that soft crust on top, shrimp and grits—the list could literally go on.
Amber had a mobile bartender set up a cocktail station with alcoholic and mocktail-themed drinks.
The “Baby Blaque Blueberry Lemonade” was my favorite.
She schooled me on the importance of mocktails—according to her, there are always a handful of other pregnant women at a baby shower.
I wasn’t mad at any of it. This event felt like a love letter to my baby girl.
When Mahasin entered through the side entrance, the entire place went still. The— broke the internet —kind of still.
She was a vision of perfection in a soft pink satin gown with a sweetheart neckline—beautiful and timeless, just like her.
Tru had pulled this off on short notice, a timeframe that probably would’ve gotten anyone else cursed out.
But that was the thing about my Dollface—everyone loved her, because she was love.
Not to mention the $10,500 it cost me. But fuck that money. I’d pay double to see Mahasin as beautiful and happy as she was today.
As I made my way to her, I briefly stopped to kiss both our mothers on their heads. They stayed still, starstruck, clasping their hands to their chests, trying not to cry at Mahasin’s beauty.
I dapped up our fathers and playfully slapped my brother upside his head. He threw a few fake punches in return.
When folks noticed the direction I was heading, they began clapping, drawing attention to the mommy-to-be and me.
She blushed, placing one hand in mine and the other on her belly.
“Damn,” Jason whispered in my ear as he stood next to me. “Bro, you know this where you should be.”
Metaphorically, he was saying I should be in a relationship with Mahasin—and I felt the same.
My hopes were to be connected to her forever, and had I known God was granting heart desires that blissful night me and her shared, I would have been more specific about the connection.
She wasn’t meant to be just the mother of my child. She was meant to be my wife.
“I know, bro. I know,” I responded. “And go sit your ass down. You ain't supposed to be standing next to us in the spotlight. Light-skin ass always wanna be seen and shit,” I joked, but pointed for him to take his seat.
“Aight, nigga. Just know, the Godfather ain’t never too far,” Jason replied, but looked over at Desmond when he said it.
I chuckled as Desmond stuck up his middle finger.
Gifts stacked the back wall like the mall exploded.
Gucci gift bags. Louis Vuitton diaper bags with Blaque heat-stamped on them.
Dior knit sets. A Fendi and a Bentley stroller—some shit I didn’t even know existed until today.
I guess I’ll have my assistant go out and purchase things we wouldn’t mind the baby throwing up on.
The card box, decorated with sunflowers, was stuffed to capacity. People wanted us to know that our baby was loved.
The games were where we really let loose and turned this upscale event into a backyard boogie.
One of the hosts handed out clothespins, and apparently, you couldn’t say the word “baby.” If you did, you had to give up your pin to the person who caught you.
An argument broke out when the DJ played Ashanti’s Baby and muted the part where she goes “Baby, baby, baby.” The guests kept singing anyway, and the DJ collected everyone's pins, winning the 90-inch smart TV as the prize.
The classic belly-measure game with toilet paper turned into a tearjerker when Jason’s drunk ass wrapped almost an entire roll around a woman’s stomach.
Now, there were two things wrong with this situation: number one, he was supposed to guess Mahasin’s belly size, and two, this woman wasn’t even pregnant.
When I tell you she snatched his ass up by the collar and dragged him like a ragdoll across the floor—armed security damn near had to taze her to get her off him. The whole party couldn’t stop laughing.
Man, this felt good—easy.
“You can have this all the time if you cancel that subscription you call a girlfriend,” Desmond said, lightly bumping my shoulder.
“Take it easy on Paris, she’s a good girl,” I replied, not sounding convincing at all.
“And so was Tasha St. Patrick from Power. And you see how that turned out?” he responded.
“Nigga, what?” I asked, genuinely confused.
“It means she’ll never see you as nothing more than what makes her comfortable—secure. It means you will stray. And before you become a fuckboy, be honest and walk away from that shit,” he said, tapping my shoulder and heading off to make sure Jason was still breathing.
I took a seat in the nearest chair and contemplated the idiotic yet understandable logic my best friend had just laid out. Was Paris with me because she was comfortable? Was I official or just beneficial? I didn’t even have time to finish the thought before Tasha—I mean Paris—walked in.
I didn’t think she’d show, especially since we were already two hours into the festivities. But she came in with a smile and bearing gifts. She also wore a dress that would stop traffic, and diamonds that a blind man could see.
Attention-seeking at its finest—but as long as she acted accordingly, so would I.
After placing her gifts on the table, she hugged and kissed a few people she knew and even made conversation with my mother—something her ass never did. Then she made her way toward Mahasin, who was seated in her throne chair while Amber made her hat out of wrapping paper.
We just had an argument, so her intentions were unknown. I jetted out the seat to stand next to Mahasin, when I should’ve been next to my girl. Realizing, I rushed over to Paris and placed my hand at the small of her back.
“Hey, Mahasin. You look beautiful,” Paris smiled.
“Thank you, Paris. And thank you for coming. We—I greatly appreciate it,” Mahasin said, correcting herself with a soft smile.
Nah, baby, you had it right the first time, I thought to myself.
The evening ran smoothly. Paris was kind and socializing on a level I’d never seen.
The DJ lowered the music and made an announcement: the photographer wanted to grab a few final pictures of Mahasin and me under the sunflower arch.
We’d been taking group photos all night, probably because neither of us wanted to make it look like we were a couple.
I checked Mahasin’s face before heading to the arch, making sure she didn’t look uncomfortable. I would shut that shit down immediately. But when she got up with no hesitation, I followed.
She stood beneath the arch, and I stood behind her, my palms finding the curve of her belly and settling there as she leaned back into me.
The camera flash popped a few times, and I could hear sounds from the crowd—those involuntary hums and awws and the occasional I want a copy of that one from our mothers as we changed poses.
There wasn’t a single angle where we didn’t look like what we were—me in love, and the woman I’m in love with carrying my child.
Noticing the time, I squared things away with the photographer and made my way to the DJ booth. I wanted to say a few words before folks started to head out.
Standing in the center of the room, I had the perfect view of everyone. When I looked at Paris, she didn’t smile—not once. Hell, she looked like she wanted to kill someone.
What the fuck happened that fast? I wondered quietly.
“Can I have everyone’s attention for a moment?” The room went silent.
All eyes on me—and I looked for the nearest exit. Not because I didn’t like attention, I just didn’t need it all on me and from everyone at once. But I wanted to do this, so I found the person who made me feel safe—I looked at her.
“I want to thank you all for coming and celebrating with Mahasin and I.”
The crowd clapped and whistled.
“I’ve never been this excited in my life, and I can’t wait to hold my baby girl. Mahasin, you’re giving me something I didn’t even know I needed, and I promise you both the world.”
More hums. More awws. Napkins dabbing eyes. Mahasin blew me a few playful kisses and I winked at her—your welcome, baby.