Caul Baby, Morgan Jerkins [romantic novels in english TXT] 📗

was an awful thing to say. I didn’t mean to bring that up.”

Laila breathed heavily into the phone and said nothing.

“Look. If it’ll put you at ease, if you will stop stressing, then I will support you one hundred percent. I don’t like it and I don’t want you to be hurt, but we don’t need to be fighting right now. So if you need someone to rally behind you, then I’ll do just that.”

They exchanged multiple I love yous until Laila hung up the phone, but she was still left unsatisfied. Ralph was unsure of himself, and she could hear the wavering all in his voice. For days she reflected on their conversation and turned angry at his unenthusiastic response until she finally confided in her sister, Denise, and her niece, Amara, about what was going on over dinner. Denise sucked her tongue. “They’re the bougiest motherfuckers from Sugar Hill to Central Park.”

“Oh, here you go,” Amara interjected, and smiled.

“What?” Denise said. As the younger and more dramatic sibling, she felt overly protective of Laila. “It’s true! Now I don’t believe in all that hocusy-pocusy stuff but if I did, I know that Melancon family ain’t help nan one Black person since the crack era. Maybe even earlier. You know, pre-pre-pre-gentrification. But it’s almost the new millennium, baby. White folks are starting to move in, can pay more for that caul, and they lap it up like pigs in shit. All skinfolk ain’t kinfolk, Lay. You might as well forget about it. I can give you some omega-3 pills, and we can read devotionals every day. Amara can bring books from that store in Morningside Heights near the school for you to read to the baby. But don’t get involved with those people. Us women selling parts of our bodies is just unnatural. Slavery is over! They just ain’t get the memo!” Denise cackled.

“Aunt Lay, what does Uncle Ralph think about you getting help from them?”

“Uncle Ralph grew up in Providence and didn’t even know he was Black until he listened to Outkast for the first time! What does he know about anything that concerns Black women?”

“Oh, come on now.” Denise dropped her silverware on her plate and held both of her hands in the air, palms facing in front of her. “By the end of you and Ralph’s first big date, he was already opening another set of legs other than those damn famous lobsters they got up there in Rhode Isle. Knock it off.”

“Denise—” Laila could hardly control the giggles struggling to break through her tight lips. “Do not talk like that in front of the baby.”

“The baby is twenty years old and a Columbia student.” She massaged Amara’s right shoulder and nudged her. A glimmer shone in her eyes. “My baby. She’s going to be a lawyer someday, y’know. A fine one.”

“Oh yeah? What kind of lawyer do you want to be?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“Well, just make sure you become one for a good reason, and not just because you want bragging rights. Seems like everyone always wants to be a doctor or a lawyer these days. Whatever happened to the arts?”

Amara nodded in between shoveling macaroni and cheese into her mouth. “I will have a reason. I want to declare political science as my major but with some anthro and women’s and gender studies courses to fill my plate. Yale Law is the goal. I’ll settle for Harvard, though.”

Laila scoffed and tucked her top lip into her mouth. “Wow. You’re on a roll.”

“A butter roll. Amara, baby. Slow down with the food. They ain’t feeding you over there at Columbia?”

“I’ve just been hungry, that’s all. Cafeteria food is terrible. And besides, I got stress from papers and exams and Model UN, you know?”

Denise nodded then reached her hand across the table. She first sought to caress Laila’s baby, but when Laila flinched, Denise laid her fingers on Laila’s place mat instead. “Laila, your baby is going to be fine. Think about your last babies. Were you as far along as you are now?”

“No.”

“All right, then. Hell, in a minute, it’ll be time to plan a baby shower.”

“No baby shower. I don’t want anything to jinx this baby. Not until it gets here. Not a moment sooner.”

“Okay. Whatever you want. But don’t get hooked up with those Melancon women. Who made you have a change of heart about them, anyway?”

Laila darted eyes at Amara, who was still fitting as much food as she could in between her cheeks. Amara was Landon’s goddaughter, and she could have implicated him even though they met in secret. She finally said, “No one in particular. I just heard the word from around town.”

“Well, let that word keep traveling around town and you don’t get in its way.”

Laila did as she was instructed and waited in the pews the following Sunday. After the elderly hobbled out of the church, Landon returned to the sanctuary and took his place next to Laila. Their eyes remained fixed on the high altar, where the organist acrobatically played a mash-up of Vivaldi and Mozart under the assumption that he had no audience.

“Sorry I’m late. I was looking for your niece. She hasn’t been coming to services lately, and I’m concerned.”

“Really? Well, I saw her on Friday and she said she’s been busy with classes.”

“Hmph. I guess that’s the Ivy League.”

“Maybe.”

“So, are you interested?”

Laila looked over her shoulder then nodded.

“Good. Come with me.”

“Wait, where are we going?”

“Uptown. You’ll see.”

No sooner than they walked into the vestibule of the church, Amara came dashing through the door, panting, with fried chicken crumbs on both sides of her mouth. Laila sniffed Amara’s scent and caught a whiff of her own likeness. A suspicion sparked but fizzled just as immediately as it began.

“I’m sorry,” Amara managed to get out in between her uneven breaths.

“Relax. Take a breather.” Landon placed a hand on her shoulder. “Where were you?”

“I’m sorry I’m late. I’ve just been busy.”

“But you weren’t too busy to