Ch 11. I'm Sorry

                                    

                                          
Song: Sorry // Nothing But Thieves
                          
•••

                          
FOUR WEEKS LATER
                          
Based on all the articles I read, morning sickness should disappear when a woman entered her second trimester. I must've been an anomaly to the fact then, given that my morning sickness didn't seem like it was going to disappear any time soon.
                          
When I told the doctor about my nausea and persistent headaches, she said that she had to run some tests during my now-weekly visits. She had a diagnosis ready, but she didn't want to jump to conclusions. She informed me that she'd run those tests and in the meantime, I had to keep track of any more symptoms.
                          
Dylan, unfortunately, was with me when she gave me the rundown, which meant that he was now worried shitless. He took it upon himself to become my shadow. The man followed me everywhere I went, made sure I ate every last bite of my food, and would continuously ask me whether I had any of the symptoms Doctor Otieno had listed.
                          
When he was at work, he would call me every other hour to check up on me. I've had to resort to my teenage tactics, in which I'd decline his calls and reply with a vague text. I've even had to sneak out of the house because he was persistent about the fact that I shouldn't be going places on my own.
                          
Dylan didn't even know the diagnosis and he was worried as shit. I, on the other hand, was taking it easy. I've been feeling these symptoms for the sixteen-weeks of my pregnancy and nothing has happened to me yet.
                          
I sent Dylan a brief text stating that I was going to leave the house to run some 'errands' and he replied with a call that I declined. I took the bus to Antoine's school and faced the same receptionist that told me to dress modestly. This time, I was dressed in a loose oversized hoodie and a pair of sweatpants. They were comfortable, fit my pregnancy belly, and looked good.
                          
After asking to pull Antoine out of his class, I sat in the lounge again and waited for them to escort him out. The poor kid was confused as to why he was leaving, but once he saw me, his face brightened up.
                          
"Are we going on another adventure?" He asked in excitement when I took his back bag off his shoulders.
                          
I placed a finger over my pursed lips, "Shh," I hushed him and dramatically glanced at the receptionist, who was looking at us suspiciously. "If the mean old lady hears you, she won't let us go."
                          
He widened his eyes and nodded his head violently. I ushered him out of the school and to the bus stop. After twenty minutes, we reached The Plaza. I took Antoine's hand in mine and directed him towards an ice cream store. My nephew squealed at the thought of eating the ice-cold delicacy, and he bolted in the direction of the store.
                          
After ordering two cups of ice cream, chocolate chip for him and melon for me, we sat down outside in their seating area.
                          
 "Merci, tata!" He said in his high-pitched voice.
                          
I ate a spoonful of my ice cream and winked at him. He grinned before glancing back down at his two scoops of chocolate chip ice cream. I took the time to carefully study my nephew. Dylan had named him after our father. Antoine was papa's real name, but when he moved away from France, he changed his name to Anthony so people could easily pronounce it.
                          
If there was one thing papa couldn't stand, it was people mispronouncing his name.
                          
Antoine had dark brown hair that stood up in all directions. His hair was similar to Rose's in the sense that it was frizzy, untamed, and curly. His eyes were also a honey-brown color, just like his mother's. Everything else, though, he took after his father. His nose, his lips, his medium skin-tone. I was sure that when he grew up, he'd also have Dylan's jawline and stubble.