Big Girls Do Cry (23 page)

I sat at the table in Momma and Daddy’s house in Hollis, Queens, feeling full and satisfied. From the look on Rashad’s face, I could tell he was just as happy as I was to be sitting here eating Momma’s mouthwatering turkey, instead of that dried-out thing Egypt tried to pass off on us last Thanksgiving. Momma had laid out a spread of turkey, ham, sweet potatoes, carrots, collard greens, stuffing, and candied yams, and I was so glad that my morning sickness had recently stopped. I don’t know why they called it morning sickness anyway, since I had been throwing up at all times of the day and night. But now that I could finally hold down some food, nothing was going to stop me from filling my plate three times, not even the disgusted stares I was getting from Egypt. Four months into my pregnancy, she was still as controlling as ever, but I’d be damned if I was gonna let her control what I put in my mouth with all this good food sitting in front of me.

Part of the reason she was in such a bad mood was because she hadn’t really wanted to come home for Thanksgiving in the first place. She claimed it was because she didn’t think it would be good for me or the baby to make the long trip up from Virginia. Something told me that wasn’t her real reason, so I called her on it. I checked with the doctor, who told me that it’s safe to travel all the way up until the eighth month. That’s when I knew for sure that Egypt’s excuse was a lie, because after I got the doctor’s permission, she just started coming up with other excuses for why we shouldn’t come to New York for the holiday. The only reason she finally agreed that we should all go home was
because I told her flat out that if she didn’t, I was taking a Greyhound bus to New York. Even then, it was Rashad who announced that we’d all be going to see Momma and Daddy, because he didn’t want me on no bus.

Truth is, I think now that I was starting to show, Egypt didn’t want people seeing me, because it would just be a reminder of her own inability to get pregnant. If she had her way, she would have locked me in a windowless room until I gave birth, and then she would pop up with the baby in her arms, like I had nothing to do with it. That wasn’t happening, though. I was the one carrying Rashad’s baby in my womb, and sooner or later, everyone would have to acknowledge that fact.

Rashad, however, was already acknowledging it on a daily basis. Every time he looked at my stomach, he would beam with pride, and he told me at least three or four times a day how grateful he was that I was carrying his child. So, while Egypt was busy trying to control my every waking moment, Rashad was waiting on me hand and foot. Tonight at dinner was no exception.

“Can I get you any more yams, Isis?” He reached for the bowl and passed them to me. I spotted Egypt rolling her eyes, and I couldn’t resist the urge to do something I knew would annoy her.

“No, me and my little candy dumpling are saving room for Momma’s cobbler.” I unbuttoned my stretch jeans and lifted my blouse, patting my growing belly. This always brought a smile to Rashad’s face.

Daddy smiled and said, “That’s right. Eat up. I want my grandbaby to be nice and fat.”

Momma, always the more judgmental one, had a very different reaction. “Isis, pull your top down,” she snapped. “You know better than to do that at the dinner table.”

Egypt let out a disgusted sigh. “Welcome to my world, Momma. You should see how spoiled she’s getting since she’s been pregnant.”

My father had seen enough fights between me and my sister to know that this could turn ugly in a hurry, so he changed the subject before I had a chance to jump down Egypt’s throat.
“Well, I just hope it’s a boy,” Daddy said. “I want me a grandson, so stop calling him by sissy names. He ain’t nobody’s candy dumpling. He’s gonna be a man’s man.”

Momma took the hint and steered away from the touchy subject of my supposedly bad behavior. She asked what she thought would be an innocent question. “So, what do you want?”

“Personally, I want a boy,” I answered without thinking. “I’ve always wanted a little boy.”

“Hold on!” Momma shifted her attention to me. “You’re just supposed to be the surrogate, and this is
their
baby. Or have you forgotten that?”

Damn, what did I open my mouth for? I suddenly felt like a little girl again. I was always the one getting scolded by Momma, even when we were kids. And Egypt was always right there, watching with a satisfied smirk on her face, just like she was doing now.

“No, I haven’t forgotten, but—”

Momma didn’t even give me a chance to finish defending myself before she was on top of me again. “This baby is theirs. You may be carrying it, but you are the baby’s aunt, not its mother.”

“I know, Momma. But—”

“Now, it’s a nice thing you’re doing for them, but those are your sister’s eggs growing into that child. You are just an incubator, so let’s not get confused.”

Oh, no, she didn’t just call me an incubator. I mean, I know she always took Egypt’s side over mine, but did she really have to go and disrespect me like that? I felt my face getting hot. I was about ready to explode.

“Karen,” my father called out, intervening once again. The room fell silent. My father was a man of few words, but when he spoke, especially with that telltale bass in his voice, everyone listened. “Not at my dinner table, okay?”

Momma sounded humbled as she answered, “Okay, Bobby, but I just want to make sure things are clear. Last thing we need is any more confusion in this family.”

I loved my mother, but she sure had a knack for hurting my feelings. Her comment about confusion was an obvious reference to the time I lost control for a while after I found out Tony
was married. This time, though, I was in total control, and I was going to make sure she—and everyone else at the table—knew it. “Hmm, confusion, huh? I hate to tell you this, Momma, but if you’re confused, it sure ain’t my fault.”

She raised her eyebrows and opened her mouth, but no words came out. Momma was probably too shocked that I was speaking back to her like this after my father had basically told us all to stop it. I didn’t care, though. I was not no incubator, and I’d be damned if I was going to let anyone treat me like I didn’t matter.

I gave Egypt an evil smirk, then turned back to Momma. “Or maybe you’ve been lied to, ‘cause these is
my
eggs the baby came from.”

My mother’s face fell as she looked to Egypt for answers. Nobody spoke, not even my father.

“Is this true?” my mother snapped at Egypt.

The best Egypt could do was nod. She kept her eyes glued to the table, looking like she just wanted to crawl in the corner and die.

Rashad made an attempt to save her the embarrassment of explaining. “Mom, as you know, Egypt’s uterus is too weak to support a pregnancy.” He paused, but still no one else said a word. “What you don’t know, from what I’m gathering, is that her eggs drop very infrequently.”

From what he was gathering? So, he had no idea that Egypt was telling lies to my mother and probably to other people, too, about the fact that her eggs were no good. My sister was scandalous! But still, Rashad was sticking by her side, and it was starting to make me a little sick.

“Because of this,” he explained patiently as he held her hand, “we weren’t able to create any embryos to implant in Isis. So we are very thankful to her for letting us have her egg.”

Instead of yelling at Egypt for telling lies, like she would have done to me, my mother wrapped her arm around Egypt’s shoulder and kissed her.

“Isis, I’m sorry,” Momma said.

Finally, I thought with a smile, she was offering me a little appreciation, but it didn’t last long. “It’s a wonderful thing you’re
doing for your sister and Rashad, but what I said before still stands. You can’t get attached. This pregnancy is only for you to carry the baby. Don’t try to bond with it. This is just going to be your niece or nephew.”

I was so sick of Egypt getting all of Momma’s affection. Shoot, I was the one saving the day and having the baby, but she still made me sound like some irresponsible fool who wouldn’t know which way was up if she wasn’t lecturing me about it.

“I know it’s going to be my niece or nephew,” I said, resisting the urge to roll my eyes and suck my teeth at Momma.

“We are just so appreciative of Isis having the baby for us,” Rashad said to break some of the tension in the air.

“Yes, and I’m glad to do it for them.” Suddenly, I felt something squirm inside of me. “Ooh!” There was another faint fluttering, and I placed my hand on my stomach when I realized what was happening.

Rashad jumped up. “Are you all right, Isis?”

“I’m fine. The baby just moved for the first time.”

“No shit?” Rashad sounded so excited until he looked up at my father. “Excuse my French, Mom and Pop. Can I feel it, Isis?”

I leaned back and placed his hand on my abdomen in the place where I felt the baby. “There it goes again!” I said happily.

He stared at my stomach and waited a few seconds, but nothing else happened. “I guess the baby’s still too small,” he said. “I didn’t feel anything.” He moved his hand away, but I knew he was just putting on an act in front of everybody. Maybe he didn’t feel it kick, but you can’t tell me he didn’t feel the same electricity I felt when his hand was covering the baby we’d made together. Oh, yes, I was going to get my man back.

It was the day after Thanksgiving, the busiest shopping day of the year, and my feet were killing me from walking the mall. Momma, Isis, and I had been over at Green Acres Mall since six o’clock, taking advantage of all the early morning department store sales. It was sort of a family tradition, but to tell you the truth, I wished we had left Isis’s spoiled behind at home. I swear she must have thought I was her personal servant the way she ordered me around—in front of my mother, no less.

“I gotta pee,” she whined as we walked out of Ashley Stewart. “Where’s the bathroom?”

“You always gotta pee. Can’t you wait until we get to Red Lobster so I can sit down? My feet are killing me.”

“I’m sorry, but this baby—you know, the one you wanted so bad—keeps pushing down on my bladder.” She dropped her three shopping bags at my feet. “I would think you’d be a little more understanding. If I hold it too long, I might get a urinary tract infection, and that wouldn’t be good for the baby, now, would it?”

I put my hand up to quiet her.

“Just go ‘head and pee so we can go sit down and eat. We’ll be right here.” I pointed at the restroom sign, praying that she wouldn’t ask me to come in with her. I was so sick of her acting like she was carrying Baby Jesus. The woman was only four and a half months pregnant, and she’d already started waddling around like she was ready to drop her load.

“Okay, I’ll be back.”

I watched her walk away as I sat down on a bench. I didn’t
know what was worse, the aching in my feet or the headache I was getting from being around my demanding sister. I know we offered her money to have this baby, but she was making us pay in more ways than that. You should have seen the way she could manipulate Rashad to do her bidding. And as if I wasn’t waiting on her lazy ass enough, he was downright ridiculous about it. If that woman got my husband out of my bed after midnight one more time to go out and get her a Cherry Coke Slurpee and one of those nasty 7-Eleven hot dogs, I was going to scream. I mean, this baby meant a lot to me and Rashad, but this shit had to stop. She was not about to run me or my husband ragged trying to satisfy her every whim. I was starting to feel like a victim of extortion.

I know I sound ungrateful, perhaps even bitter. Don’t get me wrong; I was happy she’d decided to make the sacrifice and have our baby, but this situation was much deeper than that. I didn’t know I’d have these feelings of envy and, sometimes, downright animosity. I never thought I’d feel this way, but, yes, I was jealous of my sister—even though I was the one with the husband, the big house, and the fancy cars. I was jealous of her for being the one with the ability to get pregnant.

What really made me angry about the entire situation was that deep down, she knew it. I could see it in her eyes and behind that smirk she tried to hide. She was playing this pregnancy, my emotions, and Rashad’s need to be a father to the hilt, and there was nothing I could do about it. But I could sure complain about it, and my mother was the perfect sounding board.

“Momma, this is ridiculous. This is the fifth time she’s been to the bathroom since we left home. She is so spoiled.” I turned to my mother, who was sitting next to me. Her silence and the look she gave me spoke volumes. She’d been this way ever since last night, when the baby supposedly kicked. All she did for the rest of the night was watch and observe without a word, other than a few whispers to my father. That much silence was totally out of character for her.

“What, Momma?”

“I didn’t say anything.” She looked away.

“You didn’t have to. Now, what’s on your mind?” I stepped directly in front of her, and she finally spoke.

“Do you trust your sister?”

I wanted to say,
About as far as I can throw her
, but I didn’t want to admit that to my mother, so instead, I said, “Yes. Why?”

“No reason. Just wanted to know.”

My mother never asked a question for no reason.

“Don’t ‘no reason’ me. I know that look. What, you think I’m being too hard on Isis because she’s pregnant, right?”

She hesitated, and I saw something in her expression that I’d almost never seen in my life. My mother looked like she was contemplating things before she spoke her mind. Finally, she said, “What I want to know is why, of all people, would you ask your sister to have your baby? I thought you took her in to help her start a new life. How did she end up having your baby?”

Oh, boy, here we go
. I had avoided talking in detail to my mother about this whole surrogacy thing, because I knew she would have something to say about it. She knew how much I wanted a child, but she also had very strong opinions about me and my sister. In fact, she was the one who warned me about taking Isis into my home in the first place. She just didn’t think it was smart with the history Isis and Rashad shared. It wasn’t like I disagreed with her, but my sister needed help, and I was not going to stand by and let her suffer. She needed to get out of New York and get away from Tony. Besides, no matter what history they shared, I knew Rashad loved me, and he would never do anything to jeopardize our marriage by crossing the line with Isis.