S P R I N G

“Hey, Spring, are you still down to help out with my cousin’s wedding?” Wynter asked, walking into my office with her pumping bag. I knew she was about to sit in front of me, talk my ear off about her new baby, and pump her breastmilk.

“Am I officiating it or pampering the girls?” I asked, signing off on the marketing strategy for April for Bitel Tech. We were doing well, and the team I’d assembled to do the research and bring the data to me was top tier. I was satisfied with what we had going, which said a lot because I was not easy to please when it came to this job.

Summer finally closed the door, shutting my blinds, and took a seat in the comfy chairs in front of my desk. She moved my name plate out of the way and sat her things down. I narrowed my eyes at her, taking in her thick frame—big breasts, little waist—and watched as she got comfortable. Feeling my glare, she spoke without even looking up at me.

“Don’t act like you don’t want the horror stories of being a new mother. Ain’t that your favorite form of birth control?”

“Actually, swallowing dick is but carry on.” I motioned before turning to my computer to get some emails drafted for the team and the board members. She’d get the email as well since she was the Chief Financial Officer.

“So, this baby—” Wynter started, but I cut her off because I didn’t play about my godchild on any day.

“Address him by his god-given name.”

“Girl, me-given name. Anyway, Reylo was up all night crying, and nothing was wrong. He just wanted to feed on me like a cow, then would stop and just stare, doze off, and if I moved his tiny little self, he started crying. I had to fall asleep with him on my nipple and sitting up. Rex was able to finally get him, but by then, I had two hours left.”

“As long as my godson is happy, that’s all that matters. Y’all didn’t ask his permission to bring him into this world.”

“You know what…” she started, but she couldn’t deny that I was right. It was always my excuse as to why I didn’t have any. No baby had given me permission to bring them here, and that was word to two miscarriages. I didn’t even want kids for real, but the universe made it clear, motherhood was not in the cards for me. Godmotherhood and Titi-hood were though.

“Then he threw up on me three times before I had to pull out this shit,” she motioned up and down her body at the gorgeous blue and beige polka dot suit she wore. Summer was funny because she was wearing a Burberry pantsuit, and she loved getting dolled up for the role.

There were seven of us on the Board of Directors, and we were close to being an all-girl team. I was excited to see if the guys or the girls won the majority. Wynter, Autumn, and I were besties before the job, and with word of mouth, we strategized to get each other on board. In less than three months, we’d all secured high-paying roles, putting our degrees to use, and helping to create a company that was well known and well used. Our tech was used all over the country and is expanding internationally. We were breaking glass ceilings, and we were young… women… black. Doing what black women do. Succeeding.

However, I was looking at my life, and I was on the same level as them, but I felt like I was missing something. Like, something was holding me back from being satisfied and happy. I didn’t know what that something was, but I had to figure it out soon. I had to get back to myself because I was the star of my life. My girls were doing them and were happy with their accomplishments, but I felt sad for me.

Wynter talked until her pumping was done and left me in the office alone like she hadn’t just shared some of the most precious moments of her life, and I was sitting back wondering when it would be me. Still, I didn’t even know if I wanted it to be me. What if I were happy with myself? Did that mean that I had to be alone? Life was supposed to go one way, but of course there was another. My new idea of happiness meant climbing the ladder, staying straight about my paper, and making sure my happiness was put first.

But damn, I kinda wanted a baby.

The wedding was two days later, and I was booked as the officiator and apparently the hairstylist. At the last minute, the stylist for her cousin Henli’s wedding decided to drop out, and everybody wanted Spring, who’d done hair and makeup in her room in high school and never lost the talent. I didn’t mind though because every now and then I liked to pop my shit and let people know I had it still. Plus, this was my escape from the exhaustion of corporate life. I got away from the men who had sticks up their asses but tried to be inclusion for the jokes, but I didn’t need that in my life all the time. Family was where it was at.

“Hey, Spring, thank you for coming at the last minute. It’s just the two flower girls. Also, my cousin is going to officiate, so you’re off the hook for that. Not as bad as I made it sound on the phone, which is good, right?”

Honestly, yes. I loved doing my thing, but I also loved sitting back and watching everyone enjoy life. I loved a good party, especially a wedding. I planned to get married I my forties, because I knew a career and family life would get in the way if I settled down now. I was thirty-one, too young to be worried about the rest of my life. I used to believe in the hype, that I would run into my soulmate like everyone else and settle down, but I didn’t really want that. It just sounded good. It sounded great until he walked around the corner.

C L E O

Four years. That’s how long it had been since I laid eyes on Spring Sanders, my second greatest love. See, I believed that people could have more than one great love in life, and I was on great love number three. But there was always something about number two. I didn’t feel the way I felt with my first heartbreak, you know, elementary school, on some puppy love type shit. Spring was, I’m new to hormones and actually getting an understanding about caring for someone other than for a nut… type shit. Great love number three was, I can’t believe we got married, had a baby, and then you cheated on me, type shit.

Spring Sanders never left my heart, though. I never truly got over her, and I realized that as I stood there watching her curl my daughter’s ponytail. My niece sat patiently next to them, cheesing up at Spring as she did what I wanted her to do a hundred times when we were in high school. She had a plan, and she got to where she needed to be. Every time I saw her face on social media, it was some type of new deal that she’d struck up. She was one of the most successful people at the company where she worked, but I couldn’t understand why she didn’t look genuinely happy.

I knew her and all of her tells, and to the average person, she looked like she was on her shit and just excited to be in the room, but I could detect the nervousness in her body. It was that type of feeling when I saw her, like I never forgot all of the things I taught her, never forgot a single kiss, and never cut the tie with her. I knew shit was real before, but then… I couldn’t explain the feeling. I just knew that I had to find time to talk to her later and see how she was doing in life.

I remember we talked about having kids when we were younger, and I was surprised to learn a couple of years ago that she still hadn’t had kids. I was thirty-two, and I had a daughter, and, in my world, it was like everybody I knew had kids. Even her two closest friends had kids and were married. She swore she would have it all laid out by thirty-one. I never understood the age of choice, but Spring said that she wanted to start her life on an even playing field. I just felt like life would play out how it was supposed to play out.

For example, Spring Sanders was in the same room as me, and I wanted to know her again.

“I think you’re gonna be beautiful forever,” I said, stepping up behind her as she ushered everybody out of the room, typing away on her phone. “And probably a workaholic.”

“It sounds like I might be stealing your attention,” she replied, still snarky as I remembered, but the smirk she was trying to hide.

“You’ve had it,” I responded, “and still got it.” I looked her head to toe before taking my time with her face. She still reacted to me the same; she was still mine.

“Still smooth with your tongue,” her eyes shot from my mouth to my eyes. “Your kid?” she asked, never one to beat around the bush.

“Yeah, her name’s—”

“Claudi,” she stated. It was pronounced Cloudy, a name Spring had given her before she was even thought of.

We had secrets from our years together and some promises. One of those was that we would give each other names for kids if we somehow didn’t end up together. My boys thought I was really pussy-whipped over Spring, but that was because I knew her before she became the career-focused woman she’d become. And damn, she was looking good doing it.

“I love it,” she stated, smiling and running her eyes over me again. She’d gotten finer, but I’d gotten the dad-bod. It was nothing a couple of months with some focus in the gym wouldn’t fix. Either way, the way she scanned the length of my body let me know she was pleased with what she saw.

Spring had gotten a little bougie our first two years of college, right before we broke up. It was no surprise she was looking the way she looked and smelling the way she did. I liked the long hair on her. “Congratulations,” I said.

“For?”

“Gaining a seat in the company, getting ya girls on, youngest to do it, Armani and—”

“Stalking and pocket watching?” she tilted her head subtly to one side.

“What’s up, Zigs?” I asked, reeling us in by calling her by the nickname I’d given her in school when she started rambling on, and I needed her to come back to where I was going with it.

“Think that still works?” she asked, shifting her body back and forth a little on her heels.

I didn’t say much because it did. She was focused on me and thinking of her reply. Slim, chocolate, passionate. I didn’t like the word intense, although that was what the attraction felt like. Passionate was probably cliché, but it worked.

“Thank you,” she finally said. “Your daughter is beautiful, like I knew any kid you made would be. Easy to work with too.”

“I like that you’re still doing your easy thing, even when you running shit. It looks good on you… Like I knew it would.”

“Sanoah and Ember,” she whispered the names of the children we lost.

My lips stopped moving, and the space between us grew quiet for a brief second before I kept talking, not able to give the thought too much of my time. We lost two babies, but I still wanted to keep trying, and she did too, but she got the career of her dreams before she could even process it, and got straight into a mode. It was business, and she left me in search of the life I wanted with her. My daddy said I would see that focusing on women too young wasn’t good for me. Spring and I went through a similar kind of phase, where career was the main focus. The only difference was that I met a woman I could have a future with and stay focused on my career. Spring felt like she had to choose.

“I’d give you a life where they made it, Zigs, if I could. How’s life where it’s taken you?” I asked, wanting to get us off that sore topic.

“I thought you were stalking me?”

That was accurate. I may not have seen her ass in years physically, but her media presence was enough. She wasn’t plastered all over like a politician, but she was talked about next to her success. I knew she could do it, and life had taken us to the same place again, a Bailey wedding. Wynter and I were two of my maternal grandmother’s six grandchildren. The youngest, Henli, was getting married, a real believer in love like me. I never intended to get serious with anyone in high school and thought I was going to live like a college athlete with girls for miles.

Nope. I got sprung on Spring.

“Can we talk after this?” I asked.

“If I’m still around here. I’m never off the clock.”

“Then I’ll meet you at your place,” I countered.

Who—” she started, but bit the inside of her lips, staring at me.

She could tell I was serious because we needed to sit down and talk it out. It’d been three years since I last laid eyes on her, and she hadn’t even seen me when I did. Each time, though, it felt like that first interaction. I was sure that since we were a handful of years older, we’d probably be better at our actions.

Intentional.