Chapter 6
I stared at Aaliyah.
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
Then I took her hand.
"Yes."
Her eyes widened.
"Really?"
I nodded.
"Yes."
She started crying.
I moved closer.
"But I don't want us to get married just because you're pregnant."
She looked surprised.
I continued.
"I want to marry you because I love you."
Her lips trembled.
"And because we've built something strong enough to make that choice."
She smiled through tears.
I swallowed.
"Maybe that means waiting."
She nodded slowly.
"Maybe."
I looked at her.
"We don't have to decide tonight."
She exhaled.
"Thank you."
For a while, we sat quietly.
Then she leaned against me.
And for the first time since the pregnancy test, I felt like we were facing the future together instead of fighting everyone around us.
The next morning, Dad helped me make a budget.
A real one.
Not the imaginary version I'd been carrying around in my head.
We sat at the kitchen table with my laptop.
He asked about my income.
My expenses.
My tuition.
My savings.
Then we discussed medical appointments, transportation, housing, and childcare.
I stared at the numbers.
My stomach tightened.
"Dad, this is impossible."
He shook his head.
"Not impossible."
I looked up.
"But difficult."
I swallowed.
He nodded.
"Very difficult."
I stared at the spreadsheet.
For the first time, I understood why my father always said money required planning.
I looked at him.
"How did you do this?"
He smiled sadly.
"One month at a time."
I laughed weakly.
"That sounds terrible."
He chuckled.
"Sometimes it was."
Then his expression softened.
"But your mother and I had people who helped us."
I nodded.
He continued.
"And you will too."
I felt tears rise.
"Thanks, Dad."
He squeezed my shoulder.
"Don't thank me yet. We still have work to do."
I laughed.
Then we returned to the budget.
By lunchtime, we'd identified several options.
I could increase my work hours temporarily without abandoning school.
Aaliyah could speak with her college's student support office.
We could research childcare assistance programs.
And we could begin saving for a deposit on an apartment.
It wasn't a perfect plan.
But it was a beginning.
That afternoon, Aaliyah met with her academic adviser.
I drove her to campus.
She was nervous.
I waited outside while she spoke privately with the adviser.
When she returned, she was smiling.
"Jordan!"
I stood.
"What happened?"
She grabbed my hands.
"They have a student-parent support program!"
My eyes widened.
"Really?"
She nodded.
"They can help me plan my classes and connect me with resources."
I laughed.
"That's amazing!"
She started crying.
I hugged her.
For the first time, I saw hope replacing some of her fear.
We drove home talking about school.
Jobs.
And baby names.
I tried to convince her that Marcus Junior was a strong name.
She laughed.
"Absolutely not."
I pretended to be offended.
"Why?"
She raised an eyebrow.
"Because then your dad will think he's famous."
I burst out laughing.
For a few minutes, everything felt normal.
Then we reached the house.
Mom's car was gone.
Dad was standing near the front door.
His expression was serious.
I parked.
Aaliyah looked at me.
"What's wrong?"
I shook my head.
"I don't know."
We walked toward him.
Dad took a breath.
"Your mother is staying with Aunt Rochelle for a while."
I froze.
"What?"
He nodded.
"We had a difficult conversation."
My stomach tightened.
"About us?"
"Partly."
I swallowed.
"Did she leave because of the baby?"
Dad shook his head.
"Jordan, your mother and I have things we need to work through."
I looked down.
"But—"
He raised a hand.
"Those are adult marriage issues. They're not yours to solve."
My throat tightened.
Aaliyah looked uncomfortable.
"I'm sorry."
Dad turned toward her.
"Don't."
She blinked.
"You have nothing to apologize for."
Her eyes filled.
He continued.
"Denise and I need to learn how to communicate without making our son responsible for our problems."
I nodded slowly.
Then Dad looked at me.
"Your mother loves you."
I swallowed.
"But she needs time to understand that loving you doesn't mean controlling every decision you make."
I looked away.
For years, I'd relied on Mom's approval.
Every major decision.
Every job.
Every class.
Every relationship.
Now I was beginning to understand that becoming an adult meant accepting that she might disagree with me.
And that disagreement didn't mean I had failed her.
That evening, we ate dinner with Dad.
Aaliyah helped prepare vegetables.
I cooked chicken.
Dad insisted on making rice.
He burned it.
Completely.
Aaliyah laughed so hard she nearly dropped her fork.
Dad looked offended.
"I used to be an excellent cook."
I grinned.
"When?"
He pointed at me.
"Watch your mouth."
We all laughed.
And for the first time in days, the house felt peaceful.
After dinner, I went outside to call Mom.
She answered after several rings.
"Jordan?"
"Hey, Mom."
Her voice softened.
"Hi, baby."
My throat tightened.
For a moment, I was a little boy again.
Wanting her approval.
Wanting her to tell me everything would be okay.
I took a breath.
"Are you all right?"
She hesitated.
"I'm fine."
I nodded.
"Good."
Then she whispered, "Do you hate me?"
My heart broke.
"No."
Her voice trembled.
"I know I've been hard on you."
I swallowed.
"Mom, I need you to listen to me."
She became quiet.
I continued.
"I know you're scared."
She didn't answer.
"But yelling at Aaliyah doesn't help."
My voice cracked.
"And making me feel like I've ruined your life doesn't help either."
Mom started crying.
I closed my eyes.
For a moment, I wanted to take everything back.
But I didn't.
I continued.
"I need you to respect us."
She sniffled.
"Jordan..."
"I love you."
My throat tightened.
"But I'm going to be responsible for my own decisions."
Silence.
Then she whispered, "I don't know how to stop worrying."
I looked toward the house.
Aaliyah was laughing at something Dad said.
I smiled sadly.
"Maybe you don't have to stop worrying."
Mom sniffled.
"What?"
"Maybe you just have to stop letting fear decide how you treat us."
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then she whispered, "I'll try."
I closed my eyes.
I wanted to believe her.
May you like
But I knew trying wasn't the same as changing.
That would take time.
