Chapter 1: The Answer That Broke My Family
“I'm pregnant.””
Aaliyah said it so quietly that, for one ridiculous second, I thought I had misunderstood her. Then my mother stopped in the doorway with two grocery bags in her hands, and my entire life began falling apart in our living room.
I was seventeen years old. I had a girlfriend I loved, a mother who still reminded me to put gas in the car before asking to borrow it, and an older brother whose name had been hanging over our family like a storm cloud for months.
I never imagined those three things would collide on an ordinary Saturday afternoon.
The sunlight coming through our front windows illuminated the dust floating above the coffee table. A basketball game played silently on the television because I'd muted it earlier. Aaliyah sat on the edge of our couch, twisting the silver ring on her finger.
She wouldn't look at me.
I stood in front of her in my gray jacket, my hands buried in my pockets, trying to understand why she'd been acting strange all week.
"Nico," she whispered.
"Just tell me what's wrong.""
She swallowed.
"I'm pregnant.""
My mouth opened, but nothing came out.
For a moment, the only sound in the room was the refrigerator humming in the kitchen.
Then the front door swung wider.
My mother, Denise, stood there wearing her usual beige blouse and black leggings, her twists gathered behind her head. Two grocery bags hung from her hands. A carton of eggs rested against a package of chicken in one bag, while the other contained bread, cereal, and the orange juice she bought every week.
She looked at Aaliyah.
Then at me.
Then back at Aaliyah.
"Girl, what?""
Aaliyah flinched.
"Ms. Denise—"
"Ma, relax," I interrupted, turning toward my mother.
"I'll handle it.""
Mom slowly lowered one grocery bag to the floor.
"You're seventeen. You ask me for gas money.""
"Mom.""
"You asked me for twenty dollars yesterday because your tank was almost empty. Now you're standing in my living room telling me you're going to handle a baby?""
"I'm not saying it's easy.""
"Easy?"" She gave a sharp, disbelieving laugh.
"Boy, you don't even remember to take the trash out without me texting you.""
Under normal circumstances, I would have argued. I might have pointed out that I had a part-time job at a neighborhood car wash and had been saving money. I might have reminded her that I wasn't some little kid who needed every decision made for him.
But Aaliyah was staring at her knees.
And something about that scared me more than my mother's anger.
"Aaliyah," I said, lowering my voice.
"Look at me.""
She didn't.
I moved closer and crouched in front of her.
"Baby, look at me.""
Her fingers tightened around the ring.
When she finally lifted her face, her eyes were already wet.
That was when I understood that her announcement wasn't the whole reason she'd asked to see me.
There was something else.
Something she was afraid to say.
"What's going on?"" I asked.
She shook her head.
"Nico, please.""
"Please what?""
My mother picked up the grocery bag again, apparently deciding that whatever was happening needed her full attention. She placed it on the kitchen counter, then returned to the doorway between the rooms.
"Aaliyah," Mom said, her voice softer but no less serious, "whatever you need to tell this boy, tell him now.""
Aaliyah pressed her lips together.
I reached for her hand.
She pulled it away.
That small movement hit harder than it should have.
We'd been together for almost a year. I'd walked her home in the rain, brought her fries after her late shifts at the neighborhood ice cream shop, and sat beside her when she cried over arguments with her friends.
I knew how she laughed when she was trying not to laugh. I knew she hated thunderstorms but pretended she didn't. I knew she called me three times if I didn't answer her first call.
At least, I thought I knew her.
"Aaliyah," I said, "is there something you're not telling me?""
She stared at me for several seconds.
Then her eyes moved toward my mother.
That was the first time I noticed the way Mom's expression changed.
She wasn't just worried anymore.
She looked as if she'd suddenly remembered something she desperately wished she could forget.
"Denise," Aaliyah whispered, "I didn't mean for it to happen like this.""
My mother went still.
The name sounded wrong coming from Aaliyah's mouth. She'd called her Ms. Denise for as long as we'd been together.
"What do you mean?"" Mom asked.
Aaliyah looked down again.
I stood up.
"Can somebody please tell me what's happening?""
Nobody answered.
I laughed once, a nervous, ugly sound.
"Seriously? Y'all are going to sit here and look at each other like I'm not even in the room?""
My mother folded her arms.
"Nico, give her a second.""
"She's had all week!""
Aaliyah wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands.
"I wanted to tell you sooner.""
"Then why didn't you?""
"Because I was scared.""
"Scared of what?""
She looked at me, and for a second I saw something in her face that I'd never seen before.
Not just fear.
Guilt.
My chest tightened.
I glanced at my mother. She was watching Aaliyah with a strange mixture of anger and dread.
Then Aaliyah drew a shaky breath.
"Nico," she said, "when your brother was home in June…"
The room seemed to tilt.
My brother.
Andre.
He was twenty-two, five years older than me, and had moved to another state for work after spending most of the summer back home. He'd always been the confident one, the one who could charm Mom into forgiving almost anything.
He'd been home in June.
I'd been home in June, too.
We'd all been home.
I looked at Aaliyah.
"What about Andre?""
She covered her mouth.
My mother whispered something under her breath.
And suddenly, the grocery bags on the counter seemed absurdly loud as the plastic settled beneath their own weight.
"Aaliyah," I said, barely recognizing my voice, "what happened when Andre was home?""
She didn't answer immediately.
She just cried.
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And in that moment, before she said another word, I felt the first crack appear in the life I'd believed I was living.
Because whatever her answer was, I already knew it wasn't going to be something I could simply handle.
