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.”
“I didn’t so much say ‘no’ as I said ‘I don’t know,’ and then I made a stupid joke about how altitude was making him all kinds of crazy.” I wince recalling my immature response.
“Terrible ring choice aside, I watched that kind, loving man get out of the car and walk through his front door crushed to the core, Nina. What’s your holdup? Take a leap of faith off the platform of your perfectly planned life for God’s sake. Xandra’s heading back to school, hopefully with a much-improved attitude, Fitzroy’s healthy and happy to spend half his time with you and the other half in Queens when he’s tired of you. You got plenty of dough, and, news flash, you do love this man you’re about to have a baby with. I know you do. So, what’s your problem?”
I shrug.
“Then put the man out of his misery. If you aren’t going to marry him, for the love of my personal time and growing boredom over this topic, move in with him.”
“Okay, here it is, Marisol. How’s a White man going to raise a Black son?”
“Do you know you’re having a boy?!” Marisol lights up.
“Hypothetically speaking.”
“He’s going to learn on the job. Same as a Black man, or any other man for that matter.”
“So, what? I’m finally gaining personal confidence again after dealing with Graham, and building a strong foundation on my own two feet, and now I’m supposed to abandon myself and commit to Leo?”
“Yes, that’s generally how it works when two high-functioning adults fall in love. Jesus, if Roan and Tate can do it and make it last way longer than either of us gave them credit for, then I’m willing to bet you and Leo can hold strong too. Unless your hesitation has nothing to do with the baby or your sense of independence and everything to do with how you feel about Leo,” Marisol challenges. I fall silent.
“Nina, please say that is not what it is.” Marisol turns my shoulders and keeps hold so we are looking each other squarely in the eye. “Are you hearin’ me, girlfriend? I want it understood, right now in this driveway, that I cannot go another five years back in the dating pool with you. This is it for us, Nina. Leo’s our guy. I know it, so don’t blow it.”
“I know we’re best friends, didn’t know we are sister-wives too. And no, my feelings for Leo as a man haven’t changed. It’s my feelings about us together as parents and how complicated our lives have become with a baby on the way that are tying me up. With this baby, Leo also comes with a family who has loads of child-rearing opinions and zero experience with my culture.” Marisol is genuinely listening to what I have to say, soaking it in, not perched waiting for me to shut up so she can offer her solution, per usual.
“So did Leo’s family say something out of pocket while you were there?” Marisol digs, ready for some drama.
“No, but you know how it is as the only melanated person around. Being on constant guard includes seeing those things that go unsaid.”
“Don’t tell me they had a lawn jockey in the front yard.” Marisol grimaces.
“Dolls,” I deadpan.
“They had dolls in the front yard? That’s weird!” Marisol shudders.
“No, you nut. I saw two blonde-haired, blue-eyed dolls in the nursery when Mrs. West gave me a tour.”
“Come on, her granddaughter probably just left them there,” Marisol suggests.
“Nope. They were still in the box,” I correct. “One soft hairbrush plus one Black children’s book does not equal multiculturalism.”