Page 43 of Summer’s Echo

Summer

Icringedwhen the doorbell rang at exactly seven o’clock as scheduled.

From my room, I peeked out of my window, my breathing stalled when I saw thefamiliar SUVparked in front of the house.

The streetlights cast a dull glow over the pavement, stretching shadows beneath the figures standing at our doorstep.

Even from here, I could seeEcho’s tall frame, his posture rigid beside his mother and father.

The Abara family was here to discuss thefate of my and Echo’s future.

As if one conversation could undo the mess we had made.

I waspregnant. Seven weeks. My first time having sex had resulted ina passion I still couldn’t fully comprehend…

and a baby. Echo and I shared something rare that night—something tender, something that felt larger than both of us.

We were careful at first, but by morning, as he prepared to leave, we were swept away by the moment.

Caution fell by the wayside. We were impulsive.

Reckless. And now, the consequences had arrived, knocking at the door like an unwanted guest. It had been nearly a week since we’d found out.

Five days of pure hell. After Mrs. Abara’s urgency-riddled tone screeched through my parents’ phone, rapidly spilling Nigerian lingo they couldn’t translate, only two words required comprehension— Summer and pregnant.

My mothercried for three days straight.

My fatherdrank through hell week, spending sleepless nightspacing the house, his movements restless, his silence loud.

Neither of them couldlook at me. Not that I gave them much of a chance.

I had barely left my room since walking out of Echo’s house that day.

Under normal circumstances, I would have told my mothereverything—howEcho was worthy of my treasure, how he hadtreated me like something sacred, a prized possession.

Howit wasn’t just sex, but an awakening, a moment that changed me.

But my mother didn’t want to hear any of that.

She didn’t care that Echo made me feelcherished, that his touch wasn’t selfish or rushed, that what we shared wasn’t some meaningless teenage mistake.

She didn’t care that it had been themost beautiful, exhilaratingexperience of my life.

My sisters, though, they listened. Because they knew me.

They knew I hadn’t reached this decisionlightly—that I hadn’t just fallen into Echo’s arms on a whim.

That I hadchosen him. That Ilovedhim.

They tried to assure me thateverything would be okay.

My brother, on the other hand, had threatened tofly to St. Louis and kill Echo himself.

None of it mattered now. Because in two weeks, I was supposed toleave for Spelman.

How was I supposed to do that with ababy in my belly?

No one was more disappointed in me thanme.

I knew better. God knows my mother had given me the talk more times than I could count, ever since my first period in middle school.

And yet, here I was. Trapped in a moment that was about to change my life forever.

Mama was ateenage mother, and she often blamed it on my granny’s inability—or maybe justlack of desire—to have real conversations with her children about sex. The only sex talk they ever got was a blunt: Don’t do it.

But Teresa Knight? She was determined tobreak the generational curse.

She shared her own experiences and regretsopenly, especially with us girls, never shying away from the hard truths.

Mama was adamant that not only her daughters, butmy brother, OJ, too, would have a different path, comehell or high water.

My mother wastraditionalabout arbitrary things like wearing skirts and pantyhose to church, but when it came tolife lessons?

No topic was off the table, especiallysex.

Because in theKnight household, getting pregnant wasn’t an option.

Period. I remembered the night I overheard my parents talking about Echo—about the time I spent with him, about whether it was becoming too much.

Our house was small and cozy, but the walls, they were paper-thin.

Even though they were trying to whisper, I could hear everything from my bedroom.

“I think that girl is spending too much time with that boy . I think we need to—”

“Tee,” my father interrupted, his tone soothing. “That boy is harmless. He seems like a good kid. Now, Summer says he’s just her friend , so I believe her.”

Mama let out a frustrated huff , her voice sharp.

“You would let that li’l girl do whatever she wants.

She’s got you tied up and wrapped around her little finger.

” A pause. Then came her final warning, each word stressed like she was laying down the law.

“Let her come up in here with a baby, and you’re gonna be the pappy babysitting because I am not. ”

Daddy just chuckled, his voice light , completely unbothered. “Now you sound like your mama.” I could hear the tease in his tone, the easygoing way he tried to diffuse her frustration. “And besides, Summer wouldn’t disappoint me like that.”

Silence. Then, Mama’s begrudging sigh . “Whatever you say , pappy.” Her footsteps faded as she walked out of the room.

I stared at myself in the mirror, my father’s wordsechoing in my head, looping like a quiet warning.

“Summer wouldn’t disappoint me…” He was right.

At least, Ididn’t wantto disappoint him—them.

I had spent my entire life making sure of that.

Good grades. Honest. Following the rules—well, most of them.

Going to church. Praying. Being the daughter they could trust. It was all part of theunspoken agreement I had made with myself—the silent promise tonever be the reason my parents lost faith in me.

I had never been the kind of kid to risk a whooping just to prove a point.

But the truth was, it wasn’t punishment that scared me.

It wasthe look in their eyes. That quiet, heavy weight ofdisappointment, of knowing I had somehow let them down.

That feelingcut deeper than any scolding, any lecture, any grounding ever could.

To me, their approval wasn’t just aboutstaying out of trouble.

It was aboutthe love and respect I had for them.

Making them proud had always beenmy way of showing I cared, of proving that their sacrifices, their lessons, their expectations weren’t in vain.

The thought oflosing that, even for a moment, sent a sharp ache through my chest. A lump formed in my throat, my vision blurring astears threatened to spill.

Becausedisappointment didn’t just sting—it lingered.

Itchangedthings. And I wasn’t sure if I was strong enough to face that kind ofshift.

Istartled, even though the tapping at my bedroom door was light.

Closing my eyes, Iinhaled deeply, calming myself before finally looking in the mirror one last time.

I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready to face thedismay, the disappointmentthat had settled over the house like a dark cloud, thick and smothering.

But when I opened the door, my daddy stood there, hispained, forced smilea clear indication that he wasn’t ready either.

He nodded a silent question, asking if I was prepared. I wasn’t. But I nodded back anyway.

I was grateful that the first face I saw when I stepped into the hallway wasEcho’s.

He was seated on the edge of the couch, fingersintertwined, his headhanging low.

At the creak of the floorboard, he lifted his head, his eyes finding mine instantly.

He tried to mask it, to brighten his expression, but I could see through it.

Hisweek had been just as hellish as mine.

We hadn’t talked. At all. And that made everythingten times worse.

Every time I called his house, his mother said he wasbusy.

His fatherflat-out refusedto let me speak to him.

Echo hadn’t called me either, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if his father had stripped his room of everymeans of communicationandbanned him from leaving the housealtogether.

But if hecouldhave gotten to me, I knewhe would have.

I smiledwhen our eyes met, needing that one sliver of comfort, but it quickly faltered when I noticed his parents’ scowls.

His mother’s expression wassofter than his father’s but still creased withworry and disappointment.

My mother, whosefair skin was slowly turning beet red, did not look happy.

And I wasn’t sure if herfrustrationwas directed at me, at Echo, at his parents, or justthe entire situation unraveling in front of us.

Choosing not to speak to anyone, I moved to the chair on theopposite side of the living room from Echo.

His mother sat beside him on the couch. My mother perched stiffly on thearm of my chair.

And the fathers? They stood onseparate sides of the room, arms crossed, each looking like they wanted to be anywhere but here.

Thetension in the air was pungent enough to choke on.

Then,Mr. Abara’s voice cut through it, harsh like the blade of a dull knife.

“This is exactly what we were afraid of.” His words sent ajolt of icedown my spine. “Our son has worked his ass off to get into college. He has a full ride, afuture. And now this? This could ruin everything.”

Istole a glance to my left, watching my fatherpush off the wall, his entire posture shifting. Then, Idarted my gaze right, watching my mother sit up straighter, her spine stiff, her expression unreadable, but her silence deadly.

“You think our daughter doesn’t have a future?”my father challenged. His eyes werenarrowed, burning into Mr. Abara.