Chapter 5- When it Rains

Amaija

“Oni-chan!” I whine. It’s been a week since I found out Xoi is a two-timing piece of shit. Since then, Jaden has discovered that the apartment Xoi films in—well, I own it. He bought it with my money, signed my name on the mortgage, and lives there with his girlfriend of five years.

I was the queen of idiots in this relationship, but the worst part is that I miss him. How do I miss someone who lied to me and used me? I feel the tears coming again, but I push them away. He’s not worth my tears.

“Oni-chan,” I call Jaden again.

“Imoto?! Are you okay?”

“Yeah, can you pass me the remote?” He frowns but grabs it.

“Imoto, I have a lot of work to do,” he tells me.

“Oni-chan, I need a hug.” He sighs, sits beside me on the couch, and pulls me into his comforting arms. After a moment, he pulls away slowly.

“We changed the locks on your apartment,” he informs me.

“Good.”

“We also served them an eviction notice,” Jaden adds.

“Good. I can’t believe he was such a piece of shit.” Jaden bites his lip and turns his face to the TV; I can tell he’s holding back.

“You can say ‘I told you so.’ Don’t eat your words on my account,” I nudge him.

“I won’t say ‘I told you so’; you’re already hurting. But I will say I informed you there was a high probability he was a fuckboy,” he tells me lovingly.

“Aren’t you too old to be using the word ‘fuckboy’?” I ask.

Jaden laughs but turns serious. “Definitely, but back to the topic of the fuckboy in question—you have to talk to him eventually, Imoto. You’re still pregnant with his baby. You’ll need to work out visitation, child support, and all that.”

“My baby doesn’t need him.”

“I don’t like him, but he’s still the father,” Jaden says, sighing. I know he’s right, but talking to Xoi would be too painful right now.

“I know, Oni. I’ll talk to him soon,” I assure him.

“If you need me, I’ll come with you. I owe that prick a couple of punches.”

“So do I.” I grit my teeth, annoyed I didn’t get to punch his face in. Jaden chuckles as the doorbell rings.

“Are you expecting anyone?” He shakes his head and walks to the door. Peeking through the peephole, he turns to me and whispers, “Mom,” then opens it.

“Where’s my baby?” She enters and kisses his cheek.

“Mommy…” I call out. She hurries over to me, carrying shopping bags.

“Baby, I’m so sorry. I flew back from Japan the moment I heard. Your father had a meeting he couldn’t miss, but he’ll be back tomorrow.” She wraps her arms around me, and the flood of emotions returns as the tears I’ve been fighting finally flow.

“Mom, you were right. You guys were right.” She pulls away and wipes my tears.

“I didn’t think he was right for you. I didn’t know he was cheating, or I would’ve cut him,” she says. I chuckle, wiping the tears streaming down my cheeks.

“Mom, why are you and Aunt Kenya always trying to cut someone?” I ask.

“Only the people who hurt our babies. I’m so sorry, honey. Cry your heart out, then move on. You’ll find your person.” She wraps her arms around me again. I feel so safe; I never want to leave. I don’t want to go out into that big world and feel this pain again. I might never find my person, and I’m okay with that.

I pull away, eyeing the bags in her hands. She notices, looks at them, and grins.

“I baked you three pumpkin pies and a dozen pumpkin empanadas.” She’s made all my favorites—I’ve loved all things pumpkin since I was born. Mom always blames Dad’s side, saying no Black woman eats that much pumpkin.

“I love you, Mom,” I tell her.

“I love you too, honey. Eat and be happy. Don’t worry about that loser—let me handle him.”

“Mom…”

“Come on, just a little stab,” she pushes. I laugh; it’s the first time I’ve laughed since that day.

Jaden interrupts our moment. “Mom, I’ll do it. I can’t have you going to prison.”

“Don’t encourage her.” They both start laughing. Finally, Mom stops and cups my cheek.

“How are you and the baby?” she asks.

“We’re fine.” I rub my stomach and smile. Even if my life with Xoi was a lie, my baby isn’t.

“We’re going to be just fine, baby,” I say to my bump.

“You will,” Mom assures me.

“Yeah, you have us,” Jaden agrees. I look up and smile at my family. My heart’s still broken, but I’m ready to take on this life alone.

“Yeah, I’m stuck with you guys,” I say, standing with a smile.

“Baby, let me help you up.”

“I’m fine, Mom. I can stand on my own. He broke my heart, not my legs.”

“Sweetie…” Mom gives me a sympathetic look. I smile, hoping to hide my pain.

“I’ll be fine. I have to use the bathroom—I’ll be right back.”

“Okay, baby.” I walk to the bathroom, close the door, and pull down my pants. I haven’t worked in a day or two, so I’m behind. I’ll have to call Amy and get Vector to cover it. I prefer to do it myself, but I don’t know when I’ll feel good enough to work. Right now, I just want to rub my belly and eat.

“You’re going to make Mommy fat.” I stand and rub my stomach. Turning to flush, I freeze. It’s red. My heartbeat quickens. I’m bleeding. Dread fills me—no! My baby! I grab my stomach and fall to the ground.

“Mom!!!” I cry out helplessly.

---

I hear Mom’s worried voice as I close my eyes. Jaden lifts me. I wake up in an ambulance; Mom’s holding my hand, looking worried. I close my eyes again and drift off. I wake on a gurney—Jaden’s answering questions. My eyes close again, too heavy to keep open.

I wake up, squinting at the bright lights.

“Honey,” Mom calls.

“Mom? My baby? Mom, I was bleeding. Is the baby okay?” She wraps her arms around me.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry,” she says.

“Mom? No!!” She hugs me tightly as I sob. “My baby, I couldn’t protect you. Mommy’s sorry, I’m so sorry.” My heart rips itself apart; the pain is unfathomable. “My baby, I’ll never get to hold you. I’ll never see your face.” I sob uncontrollably, clutching Mom, trembling as the pain swallows me. “My baby, my precious baby.”

---

Amaija

One Year Later

After a long day of work, I enter the house and head straight to my room. I change into something comfortable and walk toward the kitchen. As I approach, I hear moans.

“Oh yes, yes, Hani, I love you.” It’s Mom’s voice.

“Hmm, so sweet,” Dad replies. I stop and cover my ears—not again.

“Mom, Dad, please…” I hear scrambling and whispers.

“Give me my dress,” Mom instructs.

“Shorts?” Dad asks.

After a couple of minutes, Mom says, “You can come in, sweetie.” I peek to ensure they’re dressed, then walk in.

“Mom, the kitchen?”

“We thought you were at work, sweetie,” she answers.

“I just got back. No excuses—that’s unsanitary, and you’re old.”

“You’re as young as you feel, honey, and your mom always makes me feel like the first time we met,” Dad says. She grins as he kisses her. I roll my eyes.

“That’s great, Dad, but can you keep it in the bedroom? This is what, the tenth time I’ve walked in on you guys—”

“Sweetie,” Mom tries to interrupt.

“In the last month,” I finish.

“My love, I think it’s time,” Dad says.

“No, but she’s my baby,” Mom protests. She grabs his hand; he kisses it and turns to me.

“Honey, we…” Dad begins.

“Your father—” Mom tries to object.

“We—as in your mother and I—think it’s time you moved out,” Dad blurts out. I stare at them, shocked. I’ve lived with them since my miscarriage a year ago. I needed the comfort of home, and they provided it, letting me cry and mourn while slowly reentering the world. It’s been two months since I stopped crying about my child and started working again. Still, I’m scared—scared to live alone, meet someone, fall in love, and make the same mistakes.

“Mom…” I plead, but her expression tells me I can’t win this. She approaches and wraps her arms around me.

“Sweetie, I love you. I don’t want you to go, but your father’s right. You have to face the world on your own again.” Tears well up.

“Dad, you just want to have sex with Mom,” I accuse.

“Of course I do,” he retorts.

“Zayne…” Mom stops him.

“I mean…” Dad searches for words. He hugs me. “That’s not what this is about. We raised a tough, resilient woman. You’ve had some heartbreaks.”

“Losing my child isn’t a heartbreak, Dad. You don’t know how that feels,” I say, crying. I can’t believe they’re throwing me out.

“You’re right, I don’t. But living with us won’t let you heal completely,” he explains.

“Honey, you’re ready,” Mom encourages.

“Mom, I’m not. What if it happens again?” She pulls back and wipes my tears with her thumb.

“I don’t wish that pain on you again, but if it happens, you cry, you mourn, and you move on. We’ll always be here, baby—just a car ride away. We’re not abandoning you.”

“Why does it feel like you are?” I plead.

“You’re just scared, baby, but I’m not. You’re one of the strongest women I know—I should know, I raised you.” She smiles, her words comforting me slightly.

“Hey, didn’t I help raise her too?” Dad chimes in.

“Of course, Hanibanchi,” Mom says, kissing him. He beams.

“I don’t think I’ll ever find a love like you guys have,” I say.

“No one loves the same, sweetie. Aunt Kenya and Uncle Jade, Aunt San and Uncle Q, Aunt Sam and Uncle Gin—we all have different connections, different love stories. One love isn’t more valid than another. You’ll find your perfect love when the time’s right,” Mom assures me.

“I’m not interested. All I need is my career. A job will never hurt me,” I reply bitterly.

“You’ll find your way, sweetie. One day your heart will be whole again, and you’ll find someone worthy to give it to,” she continues.

“Yes, baby girl, just like your mom did after spending two years with a loser,” Dad adds haughtily.

“Zayne, you’re fifty-two. Let it go, for God’s sake!” Mom storms off.

“My love, I’m just playing,” Dad calls after her. He kisses my cheek. “You’ll be okay, sweetie. Now, if you’ll excuse me, your mom and I are going to have some make-up sex.”

I groan. “TMI, Dad, TMI.” He chuckles and chases after her.

I sigh. I should start packing. I haven’t been to my loft since I found out Xoi cheated. The memories there were too much. I thought about selling it, but I love it too much to let it go. Memories of Xoi don’t hurt anymore. Last I heard, he married that woman. They’re probably happy I lost the baby. The painful memory surfaces, but I push it away. I slap the counter and stand. I guess it’s time to begin again, whether I want to or not. I have to.