Charlie's Angel

61

Charlie

"Chris, it's just a checkup at the doctor," I mumbled as I waited impatiently for him to come out of the closet. "Why the hell are you taking so long and why are you so nervous?"

Poor baby had been nervous the whole week since I had told him about our appointment; his ears had been red the whole morning.

I heard him kiss his teeth from inside our closet, "I'm getting dressed, Charlie, and I don't want anything to be wrong with the baby." He had me waiting for damn-near thirty minutes, and when he came out I wanted to punch him in the neck; this nigga got dressed in a black t-shirt and some dark-wash jeans.

And men talk about women taking so long to get dressed. Bitch, please.

Today was a milestone for me–well, both of us. It had been a little over two years since our car accident and the loss of Samia, and now I was three months pregnant with our new child. And to make it even better, we find out the gender of the baby at this appointment, so we were both excited. I already told Chris that I didn't want to know the gender of our child, but I told him he could know and keep it a secret from me for the rest of my pregnancy.

All my pregnancies have been weird as fuck. I always heard stories about how difficult and painful pregnancies were, like the swollen feet, back pains and the mood swings. But I hadn't experienced any of that with any of my kids. No morning sickness, no fatigue, nothing. I was just weird as hell. My doctor insisted that it was common for some women not to experience anything and that I had no reason to worry.

I held my hand on my pronounced belly and huffed in annoyance and he spritzed some cologne on his neck and his clothing. "Who're you tryna smell good for?"

He shrugged, "Can I not smell good for my baby?"

Did he mean me or the actual baby?

I stepped around him to grab the keys, but his fingers wrapped around elbow to stop my escape. "Aye, check the attitude, Charlie."

I scoffed. "Nobody has a fucking attitude, Chris. Let's go before we're late."

I attempted to break away from his grasp, but his fingers dug into me a more firmly and his lips curved into a smile. "Why you mad at me?"

I willed myself to look away from his honey eyes, placing my fingers in his to pry myself from his grasp. "I'm fine."

He towered over me and I felt his breath on my cheek, and my core began to tingle with passion. He let me go with a sigh and walked ahead of me to the car.

On the road, he sat anxiously in the passenger seat, scrolling through his phone. "Why are you drivin'?"

"Because you haven't let me do anything for the past few days," I mumbled. "You act like I'm injured. I'm just pregnant with your kid."

"You've also been overworking yourself to the point where you almost pass out," he responded. "I'm lookin' out for you."

"I appreciate that, baby," I sighed out loud, running my fingers through my curls once. "But if I say I'm good, then I'm good. I can handle this."

I was tired of being belittled. Chris didn't give me enough credit to handle my pregnancy. I knew my body better than he did and I knew what I could handle. Sure I worked myself until I was exhausted, but that's how I liked it. It gave me peace.

"Aight," he muttered simply, giving up and laying his phone face up on his thigh. I glanced over at it and my cheeks burned at the sight of a picture of me trying to fix my hair in the bathroom mirror. That particular day was considered a bad hair day in my book, my hair was all over the place and refused to be confined in my elastic band to put it in a bun. I was fresh outta the shower so I only wore boy shorts and a strapless bra, my eyes squinting at myself in determination to get my thick locks to cooperate. "Just be careful."