32. “I was ready to fight you.”
“I WAS READY TO FIGHT YOU.”
YASMINE
Ihad three outfits draped over my arm and didn’t plan on putting any of them back.
“This one,” I said, holding up a tiny denim jacket that had no business existing at that size. The cuteness was almost criminal.
CeeCee leaned on the cart and eyed it. “He’s not going to need denim outerwear at three weeks old.”
“Not with that attitude.”
“You’re doing too much,” she said.
I grabbed a set of onesies off the rack. “And these.”
She held them up and read. “My aunt is cooler than your Mama.”
“Objectively.”
“Yasmine.”
“It’s not a lie, CeeCee.”
“You’re not putting that on my baby.”
“I’m not putting it on your baby. I’m putting it on my nephew.” I dropped the onesies into the cart.
She shook her head, watching me like I was a little ridiculous, but she didn’t mind it.
A soft gray elephant sat on the bottom shelf, big enough that its ears flopped over its feet. I crouched and dragged it into my arms.
“No,” CeeCee said.
“You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”
“That thing is bigger than the baby.”
“For now. He’ll catch up.”
“I’m moving out.”
“Seems dramatic. He’s not that bad.” I squinted at the elephant.
“Yaz.”
“It’s baby clothes and one reasonably sized toy. We can recover.”
“Yasmine.”
Her tone had me looking up.
“I’m serious,” she said. “I’m moving out.”
I blinked at her and didn’t know what to do with my hands. Hold it tighter. Put it back. Drop it in the cart and pretend my throat hadn’t just closed.
“Say something.”
“Okay,” I said
“That’s it?”
“I’m thinking.” I stood, smoothed one silky ear, and set the elephant back on the shelf. “When?”
“End of the month. Maybe sooner.” She let out a breath. “Denise’s lease is up on the fifteenth. We’re looking at a two-bedroom in Crestview. It’s small, but it has a yard.”
“Denise?”
“From the support group. I’ve told you about her.”
Denise from the support group. The one CeeCee had sat with in the parking lot for an hour after she broke down crying.
“Right,” I said. “Denise.”
She watched my face. “Well?”
“I’m trying to figure out what to say.”
“Just say it.”
I looked past her, out toward the front windows. A woman was pushing a double stroller through the lot, one kid eating a cookie, the other asleep.
“I want you to stay,” I said.
“I know.”
“But I know that’s not what you need.”
She adjusted her grip on the cart.
“When did you decide?” I asked.
“A few weeks ago.” She paused. “I came home late one night and saw my stuff everywhere. Vitamins, shoes, mail, baby books. It hit me then that I had spots for things, but not a place.”
“If you need more room, I can—”
“I’m a guest, Yaz. A really loved guest. But still.”
“Ceece—”
“You gave me somewhere safe,” she said quickly. “I know how lucky I am. I do. But I need to build something that’s mine.”
She kept going, quieter now. “I want a mailbox with my name on it. I want to pick out a crib and know which wall it’s going on.”
“You could pick a wall here.”
“I stood in the spare room last week with a measuring tape.” She shook her head. “There’s no wall.”
I wanted to argue, but I couldn’t find an argument that wasn’t selfish.
“Denise and I were at the deli yesterday. She had the lease.” She bit her lip. “I’ve never signed one, Yaz. Not once. I went from my Mama’s to Shaun’s Mama’s to your spare room. I’m about to have a baby and I’ve never had my own address.”
“I’ve already signed,” she said.
“Okay.” My voice came out rough.
“Please don’t make me feel bad about this.”
“I am happy for you.” I took her hand. “But I’m going to miss you like hell and I don’t want you to go. All of those things can be true.”
Her eyes welled up quick. “Don’t,” she whispered. “I don’t want to be the crying pregnant lady in the Shop&Go.”
“You started it.”
She pressed her wrist to her eye. “This is embarrassing.”
“You’re leaving me. You’d better cry.”
“I’m not crying about leaving. I’m crying because you’re being nice about it.” She sniffed. “I had a whole speech. I was ready to fight you.”
“With the belly?”
“Yeah.”
“I would’ve won.”
She laughed. “Probably.”
I squeezed her hand. She squeezed back.
“Tell me about Denise’s—your new place,” I said.
CeeCee wiped her face with the hem of her shirt.
“It’s very beige.”
“That’s standard. You going to paint it?”
“Yes. Denise and I settled on colors already.”
I nodded. “She’s solid?”
“She’s… a lot like me right now. Tired. But we make each other less scared.”
“That counts for a lot.”
“Yeah.”
We stood there longer than we needed to. Then I nudged the cart forward.
We were almost at the front of the store when she spoke again.
“Yaz.”
“Yeah.”
“Thank you.”
My hands flexed on the cart handle, then eased.
“Anytime,” I said.
We kept moving.
I was already hearing it. The apartment with nobody in it. No shoes kicked off by the door, no vitamins crowding the counter, nobody calling down the hall at eleven at night to ask if I’d eaten.
Halfway to the register, I stopped.
CeeCee glanced at me. “What?”
I turned the cart around without answering.
“Yasmine.”
I kept going.
The gray elephant was still slumped on the bottom shelf where I’d left it, ears puddled over its feet.
I hauled it up and dropped it into the cart.
CeeCee watched me when I turned back.
“I thought we were putting things back,” she said.
“We were.”
“Then why—”
“Because I’m his aunt, no matter where you live.”
She looked from me back to the elephant, and her hand came up, resting lightly on its head.
“Still doing too much,” she said softly.
“Planning ahead,” I said.
She snorted.
We turned back toward the register.