Page 52 of Summer’s Echo

Summer

March in Los Angeles had a way of being effortlessly beautiful.

Mornings carried acrisp coolness, only to besoftenedby the warmth of spring by midday.

The days stretched longer, bathed in a hazy light that made everything feeljust a little more alive.

I blinked, and somehow,three months had passedsince I’d arrived in LA, and I was loving every minute of it.

Maybe it was the city’seasygoing yet electric energy.

Or maybe it was the neighborhood—a perfect mix of city convenience and quiet, suburban charm.

Or maybe,it was simply him. We’d certainly made up for lost time with weekly dates in the city, long walks in the park, Food Truck Fridays where we sampled everything in sight, and endless coastal drives for weekend getaways.

Whatever this was between us,I loved it.

There wasno rush to define things, no pressure to put a label on it.

Just the quiet understanding thatI was his, and he was mine.

We never had to say it. Our actions said it for us.

I moved forward withleasing my townhouse back in St. Louis, slowly shifting more of my life to California.

Echo had even renovated the third bedroom into an office just for me,pulling me deeper into his world in ways neither of us could put into words.

I let my gaze drift across the bedroom, landing onEcho, still fast asleep.

A rare sight. It was Saturday morning, and for once, he actually planned to sleep in, which, for him, meantwaking up at nine-thirty instead of six.

That was one place where we werewildly different.

He thrived in the early mornings;I wasn’t my best self until well after ten.

But this morning,sleep had escaped me, replaced by a craving forcoffee and a warm pastry from the local bakery.

Instead of waking him, I sent a quick text, letting him know I was taking a walk.

I slipped into ababy blue jogger set, laced up my sneakers, and tossed on a hat.

Echo’s neighborhood wasthriving, an up-and-coming communityfilled with middle-aged professionals and growing families.

Tree-lined streets wove between modern townhomes and sleek condos.

Stepping onto the patio, I smiled and waved atjoggers, dog walkers, and parents pushing strollers.

Thefifteen-minute walk to Main Streetwas exactly what I needed toclear my head.

And let’s be real, thecaramel latte and apple fritterwere calling my name.

In the short time I’d been here, I’d already foundmy rhythm—the barista, Callie, who had perfected my order; the friendly woman who managed the small farmers market; and the corner store that always stocked my favorite snacks.

I’d sometimes forget thatthe electric pulse of the city was just minutes away until nightfall, when it shimmered in the distance.

After grabbing some fresh fruit and veggies tojuice later, I made a quick stop at the corner store before picking up my coffee order.

An hour later, I walked back into the house, and likeclockwork, Echo was up, lounging on the couch in nothing but his boxers, watching predictions for the day’s college basketball games.

“Hey, bae,”I greeted.

“Good morning, Sunshine,”he said, tilting his head back on the couch to look at me.

He puckered his lips expectantly, and Icouldn’t fight my smile. I set the bags on the counter before walking toward him,leaning down to press my lips to his. His morning kiss was my favorite part of the day.

“You said you were grabbing coffee. Looks like you went shopping.”His voice was still laced with sleep.

“Just picked up a few things for our juice and these.” I handed him his coffee and a smallbrown paper bag, watching as his lips curl in appreciation.

“French toast sticks.”He groaned playfully,tearing into the bag like he hadn’t enjoyed the sweet deliciousness at least once a week.

I watched him, amused, until hiswide grin slowly fadedinto somethingindescribable at the sight of the contents in the bag. A flicker ofbewilderment, anticipation…joy.

“Summer, are you…?”His voice trailed off, as if he needed a moment to find the words.

Ishrugged, staring at mybouncing leg.“I don’t know. My period’s late.”

Echo reached up,his fingertips brushing against my chin, nudging me to meet his gaze.

“How late?”His voice was calm but still unreadable.

“Almost two weeks.”

My eyessearched his, trying to decipher what he was feeling, but his expression gave nothing away.

Without a word, he grabbed my hand andlifted me to my feet, then with quiet determination, he led me down the hall, straight to his bedroom, then into the bathroom.

I swallowed, heart racing as Ipulled down my pants and sat on the toilet.

Too many reincarnated moments crowded the space.

Too many timeswe’d stood on the edge of the unknown, waiting.

“E, I’m—”I started, but he lifted his hand, stopping me.

Shaking his head, he said,“Don’t do that, Summer. Don’t you dare apologize.” His eyes softened.“For what?” Then, raising a questioning brow, his tone turned absolute.

“Whatever happens in the next few minutes, I’ll tell you the same thing I told you last time… I got you, Sunshine.”

The weight I hadn’t realized I was carrying dissolved just a little. Oddly, this time, I didn’t feel like my world was falling apart.

Echo—October 2020

“I don’t think you’re making it to the end of November, Sunshine,”I teased, following Summer as shewaddledup the steps to the rooftop. “We’re gonna need a crane to get you up here.”

She shot me a glare over her shoulder,chewing on a bite of French toast. “It’s not funny, E. I already feel like the Michelin Man,”she whined.

I shook my head,biting back a smile. It wasOctober, and mySunshinewaseight months pregnant.

After threepositive pregnancy tests, we wasted no time scheduling a doctor’s appointment to confirm.

Summer cried, but this time,they were happy tears.

She wasfive weeks along, and though the baby was technically the size of a pea,I liked blueberry better.

After weeks ofbrutal morning sickness, we flew to St. Louis for her dad’s birthday andsurprised the family with the news.

We were nervous, but the second they saw thepure joy on our faces,her parents were ecstatic.

In true Obi Abara fashion,my father wasn’t thrilled about another pregnancy before marriage, but hewished us well.

My mother, on the other hand,couldn’t contain her excitementand immediately started planning our baby’straditional Nigerian baptism gown.

I often thought back to that day in theclinic all those years ago, wishing I could’ve seen the stages of our baby’s growth.

Thatwasn’t our time then. But now? I never missed an appointment.

Never missed a chance to bond with our little blueberry.

Atalmost seven pounds, the baby was alreadya chunkster.

They lovedrap music during the dayand thesound of rain at night.

And mySunshine? She was amasterpiece—a breathtaking force of strength and beauty.

Herbellywasround and full, a rich, deepchocolate hue that seemed to glow.

That delicateline running down the center was my favorite.

It marked thejourney her body had taken to bring our little soul into this world.

Well…maybe her hips and ass were my favorites, too. Because, damn. Pregnancy had given her curves an elegance, a soft, full confidence I couldn’t take my eyes off of.

Sometimes, when she thought I wasn’t watching, she’drest a hand on her belly, in awe at the tiny kicks, orwhispering softly, introducing herself as “Mommy” to the tiny person inside.

Summer had always been a stunner. Butpregnant?

She was luminous—even with herswollen noseandpuffy lips, I couldn’t stay away from her.

“What are you writing in your journal tonight?”I asked, settling behind her on the chaise longue.

We’d spentso many nights out here just being together—our new sacred place. Summer adjusted, opening herpregnancy journal, a little tradition she kept most nights, unless shefell asleep mid-sentence.

“I’m writing about how your baby kicked my ass today,”she grumbled.

I shook my head.“Hey now, don’t talk about my blueberry like that.”

She shot me a look, but I didn’t miss thesoft smile tugging at her lips.

“What would you call heartburn all day and a burning feeling in your butt? Sounds like an ass kicking to me.”She chuckled.

I winced, mouthing, “Ouch.”

She laughed, shaking her head as she continued pouring her thoughts onto paper.

Meanwhile, I sat back, sipping my wine while she drank hersparkling grape juice.

Watching her like this had become one of my most cherished pastimes.

There was something about the way shelost herself in her thoughts, the way her lips would purse in concentration, the way her fingers glided over the pages as if they carried something sacred.

Summer flipped to the next page but thenpaused.

Her browpinched in confusionbefore softening as she began to read.

Hey Sunshine,

I’ve been sitting here for hours, staring at this blank page, trying to find the right words to ask the most important question of my life. But the truth is, there’s nothing I could write that would ever capture how much I love you —how much I love us.

I remember the moment we found out that we were pregnant.

Your eyes were filled with fear and wonder, searching mine to see if angst or panic would show up first. I’m not going to lie, my ass was definitely panicking, but honestly, all I felt wasawe.

All I imagined was you carrying the best parts of us.

These past months, I’ve watched your body change, watched you create life with a quiet strength that humbles me.

I’ve memorized every moment —your sleepy smile in the mornings, the way your hands instinctively cradle your belly when you’re lost in thought , the way you whisper to our baby when you think I’m not listening.

And one night, while I was lying next to you, whispering to ourblueberryabout how much I loved their mama , it hit me: I never want to spend another night, another morning,another lifetime without you.

I love you, Summer. I love this life we ’re building. Yeah, it’s a little fast and furious and maybe even a little crazy, but this is us .

So, I decided to commemorate this moment in your journal because this isn’t just a proposal. It’s a promise to you and our baby.

I promise to love you with every part of me. To be the man who holds your hand through the hard days and the one who laughs with you on the best days. I promise to be the husband to always give you butterflies . I promise to be the father our child deserves.

I don’t need anything extravagant. No grand gestures, no audience . Justyou and me and the little blueberry between us .

So, what do you say, Sunshine? Will you marry me ?

Yours truly,

Summer’s Echo