The Better Half(62)
“Nina, I don’t mean to pry, but I have to say, I really don’t like it when I see um, African American baby girls, newborns really, with pierced ears. Seems so unnecessary to inflict pain on someone so innocent.” Emily lowers her voice as if there is someone eavesdropping on the two of us, “You agree with me, right? You wouldn’t do that if you have a girl?”
“I had my ears pierced before my first birthday,” I respond. And I turned out pretty damn good, I think to myself defensively. Emily seems taken aback by my answer so I assuage her fears for now. “Let’s just focus on having a healthy baby, we can talk accessories later.”
It’s my turn to sleep the whole way home on the plane. Four solid days of being “on,” I need to turn myself off for a bit. Or pretend to. Life stresses that took a back seat to ringing in the New Year with the West clan are now vying for real estate in my brain. I have five days to tell Winn, before Courtney does, that as board chair his legacy will include crafting the first Royal-Hawkins head of school maternity policy. I need to check in with Graham to make sure Xandra is heading back to school with her mind set right. And my first performance review with beloved wonder teacher, Jared Jones, is coming up fast. Amid my growing anxiety for what awaits me back in California, I steal angsty glimpses of Leo, nose buried in a thriller, the fine hairs on his arms looking fairer than I’ve ever noticed before.
When we were parking the car for lunch yesterday, out the driver’s side window there were two young Black men being questioned by mall security. It didn’t seem like the altercation caught Leo’s attention, getting to “the world’s best chili” was his focus. I saw it immediately and couldn’t shake the scene. How the two of us were in the same environment in Omaha but seeing different views out the window made me wonder if this happens with us at home, as well, and I just haven’t noticed.
I can no longer minimize that raising a Black child will be a challenge for the West family and for Leo, no matter how smart and caring they are. The way Leo will see his son is not the way the rest of the world will see his son. If the two of them are in a store together, people will assume Leo’s watching a friend’s kid. If they are eating in a restaurant, the waiter will assume Leo’s kid is in the bathroom and our son is the best friend tagging along. The two of them being related will always be the second guess.
“Other than Karl’s tasteless humor”—Leo looks at me, sensing I can’t sleep, eager for an invitation out of the doghouse—“I would say our trip was a success. I’ve landed myself a woman worthy of my cousins’ jealousies. Aunt Nancy clearly told Uncle Bruce to keep his rants about juicing Californians ruining the beef industry to himself. And I can tell my parents really like you.” Leo puts his hands on my belly, looking pensive. A few moments pass before he lifts his eyes, looking right into mine. “I love you, Nina.”
“You do?” I ask suspiciously, wondering if Leo’s riding high from four days straight with his fan club, immune to the trepidation I’m feeling.
“I do. I really, really do.” Leo takes his hands off our baby and reaches into the chest pocket of his vest. “Nina, will you marry me?” This time the marriage proposal feels real, feels weighty, and it’s presented with a ring. All I can do is stare.
“Are you sure you love me, not just your baby who happens to be attached to me?” I know this is not what Leo wants to hear in aisle 12 seats C and D, but it’s what falls out of my mouth while my eyes are glued to the ring.
“I love you both. Do you have anything else to say to me?” Leo asks, eyes pleading.
“I love you both too.” At least I think I do. I can’t shake feeling unsettled even though Operation Mixed Baby went fairly smoothly up until this morning. I pick up the hand not holding the ring and put it back on my belly. I blink slowly and put my hand over Leo’s, both of us radiating love and body heat to our baby. Though my mind’s spinning, I’m grounded enough to know I’m satisfied being in a cramped space with only Leo. Is that enough to want to marry the guy?
Leo fakes a smile, unsatisfied with my answer. “Nina, if I promise you will never have to live in Omaha, will you marry me?” I feel like Becky from seventh grade breaking Leo’s heart all over again.
“Ouch. So, you said no? Was there a ring?” Marisol responds, feeling the pain of my airline proposal fiasco. We’re sitting in my driveway after dropping a silent Leo off at his house, which, other than a rushed thirty-minute pack job for Omaha, he hadn’t been in since before Christmas when he settled into my house for the week to participate in all the Morgan Clarke holiday cheer.
“There was a ring,” I admit. “Leo pulled a solitaire diamond on a thin platinum band out of his pocket.” I glance at Marisol. The purse of her lips tells me she’s picking up what I’m putting down. “So, help me, this wonderful man proposes marriage to me and the first thing that came to mind was: ‘I know he is not giving me a first wife’s ring! Do I look like I’m twenty-four?’”
“Ooooo. Rookie mistake,” Marisol says, eyes filled with sympathy.
“One look at the ring and I knew he hadn’t talked to you.”
“Men are so dumb,” Marisol says, playing with the stack of precious gems on her ring finger. Not one of those were purchased by Jaime without me right by his side. “But real talk Nina, it’s not really the ring, and we both know it. What’d you say to Leo? I know it wasn’t good, because that man was hangdogging in my back seat.”