1
“Morgan, sweetheart, you look magnificent! Such a pretty girl.”
Morgan turned from the mirror and gave a faint smile as Christiana Fredrick entered the room. The mother of her boyfriend. The endearing, empowering, supportive mother of that man she slept next to every night. After two years of dating Bash Fredrick, Morgan would think that Christiana would know how much she hated to be called pretty. By now, Morgan hoped to have made more of an impression besides the initial one … that she was stunning, but it never failed. Each time she walked into a room, Christiana pointed out her beauty. Every single time, Morgan cringed on the inside. She hated being called pretty. It’s all anyone ever saw in her. The outside, the beauty, the exquisiteness that God had blessed her with. Where most would love the attention, Morgan Atkins had grown to hate it. Being pretty was a curse. There was only one person who had ever gone deeper to see past it. One man … Her heart dipped in torment at the thought of him, so she tried not to think of him at all.
“Thank you,” Morgan said, her tone so soft it was almost muted. She turned back to the mirror and pressed flat hands against her blush-colored dress. Chanel. Gifted to her from the company itself because the Fredrick family were longtime friends of the head designer there. The handbag and shoes, also gifts. The dress Yara wore, also a gift. Tom Ford for Messari. Another gift.
“Where are my babies?” Christiana asked as she came behind Morgan and placed both hands on her shoulders.
Their eyes met in the mirror.
“Napping. No way will I be able to get Yara to behave if she doesn’t get a nap before the performance,” Morgan said, laughing.
“Terrible twos. Something every mother must survive,” Christiana said. She reached for the hairbrush that sat on Morgan’s vanity. She picked it up and brushed Morgan’s hair gently. “Let’s pull this up, okay? You’re promoting a children’s charity. We’re going for class. A bun, to the back, would be perfect.”
Morgan didn’t respond as Christiana styled her hair because she knew her protests wouldn’t matter. Her voice was muted just like before, when she was walking around unable to hear. People didn’t understand her, so she had stopped trying to be heard. Morgan was just along for the ride.
Splitting her time between London and the States, she had developed a bond with Christiana. She had doubled up on classes with the help of her family and Bash’s mother. It took an entire village to keep Morgan in school. Morgan should have been pleased with every aspect of her life, but there was an unbearable grief that crippled her. Something was missing. Messiah was missing, and knowing he had spent his last days alone, thinking that she hated him, thinking he was unworthy of her forgiveness, would haunt Morgan for the rest of her life. She couldn’t live after that. After his death … after her loss. Living was impossible. She didn’t know how to love anymore. She tolerated. She coasted … with Bash. Morgan was settling. Christiana removed the brooch on her white Chanel suit jacket and walked around Morgan. She pinned it near Morgan’s collar.
“There. Now you’re perfect. I’m going to go wake those babies. Hurry now. We have to get the pictures for the Christmas card before we leave for your event.”
Christiana’s heels echoed against the marble floor until she was out of the room.
Morgan pulled in a deep breath and stared at herself once more. “Perfect,” she muttered.
She carried herself down the stairs of the beautiful home. It was royal, and just like an Atkins girl, she had chosen the prince … or close enough to it, in Bash’s case. A true descendant of royalty. One of the only black royal families in England, in fact. It put a spotlight on them. It put pressure on her to be prim, to be proper, to love on Bash in public in a way more intimate than she ever expressed in private. His entire family accepted her. They loved her children. Bash was helping her raise them. She was grateful for him, but somehow, even with him doting over her every need, Morgan had never felt so alone.
“Ma-ma, my ma-ma.” Messari’s voice was like jumper cables to a dying car battery; it made her come alive, kept her chugging along. Her babies gave her life because they were pieces of the love of her life. She had never gotten the chance to tell him that he was the love of her life. Mini versions of Messiah. They had ended on such bad terms, and she felt the burden of that as she navigated her way through life. She wished the twins looked more like him so that she could stare into his face every day until she left this earth, but they were her spitting image.
“Hi, Mama’s big boy,” she signed. “I love you.”
“I love you more,” Messari signed back. At two years old, he was just forming words. They were barely coherent, but his sign language was fluent. Morgan worked every day with the twins, teaching them to sign.
He reached for her, and Morgan relieved him from Christiana’s arms.
“It’s their thing. Their secret language,” Christiana said to the photographer, standing off to the side, as if an explanation were needed.
“My daughter’s deaf, actually,” Morgan corrected. “Messari is bilingual. Yara signs. Where is she, by the way?”
“She’s right here.”
Morgan turned to find Bash and his father walking into the room. Yara was resting peacefully on Bash’s shoulder. The sight of them made Morgan smile. Bash was beautiful with her children. One would never be able to tell that he wasn’t their biological father. No one knew, in fact, except her family and his. Everyone else thought of them as one big, happy family. Morgan was the undergraduate that Bash had fallen in love with and gotten pregnant, and although Morgan was young, they were very much in love. That was the story Christiana had spun when she had begun introducing Morgan around the family’s elite social circle. She had been accepted instantly. Bash approached Morgan and leaned down to kiss her lips.
“You okay? My mama driving you crazy yet?” Bash asked.
Morgan smiled and shook her head. “I’m fine.”
He kissed her lips again.
“Hey, Ssari man. You ready to take a big-boy picture with the fellas?” Bash asked.
Messari nodded and lunged for Bash. Bash laughed, catching the toddler with ease without ever disturbing Yara.
“Here, I’ll take her,” Morgan said. “She needs to wake up anyway.”
Morgan placed a palm on Yara’s diapered bottom and shook her gently. Yara lifted irritated eyes at her mother, then turned her head the other way on Bash’s shoulder.
“A daddy’s girl,” David said.
Morgan snapped eyes of discontent at Bash’s father. It always cut her when anyone referred to Bash as the twins’ father. She never corrected them, but it hurt all the same. Morgan walked around Bash’s shoulder and signed to Yara.
“Come on, Mama’s strong girl,” she said.
“She’s so pretty,” Christiana admired. “She’s perfection.”
“Don’t call her that,” Morgan said. “She’s strong, she’s smart. She’ll know she’s pretty. She needs to hear the other things more.”
“No one ever complained about being called pretty, Morgan,” she said dismissively.
Morgan dropped it as she pulled Yara from Bash’s arms.
“Okay, let’s get these photos,” Christiana said, clapping her hands to corral everyone.
Morgan stood off with Yara in her arms as the men took pictures. Messari was the highlight of the trio, bringing laughter and light to the shots. The ladies were next, and Yara’s resting bitch face was inherited, Morgan was sure of it, directly from her sister, Raven Atkins. Morgan had never met a more temperamental baby than Yara Rae. The group family photo was next, then Morgan was out the door.
“I’ve got to get to the venue. We’ll meet you guys there,” Morgan called out as she and Bash hurried off the estate with the babies in their arms.
“Thank you for doing that,” Bash said, kissing the side of Morgan’s head. “She insisted you and the twins be a part of it this year.”
Morgan nodded. “Of course. I appreciate how she includes us. She doesn’t have to.”
“She does,” Bash corrected. “She does have to. You’re the most important part of my life, Mo. I want to be clear about that.”
They strapped the twins into car seats and then climbed into the front of Bash’s Range Rover. It was time to make an appearance among London’s elite, and Morgan plastered on a smile, hoping that her happiness looked believable.
Copyright © 2019 by Ashley Antoinette