Chapter 17: Nesting Instincts
The gel was cold, a sudden shock on the warm dome of Anaijiah’s belly. She flinched, and Nevaieh’s hand, which had been a steady weight on her shoulder, squeezed gently.
“Relax,” the ultrasound tech, a woman with kind eyes named Lorraine, said softly. “Just a little cool.”
Anaijiah lay on the exam table, her hoodie pushed up, the waistband of her leggings folded down. Nevaieh stood beside her, a silent sentinel in black, her red bandana a splash of color in the sterile, dimly lit room. She hadn’t sat in the chair offered. She remained on her feet, her gaze locked on the monitor as Lorraine moved the transducer over Anaijiah’s skin.
A staticky, grayscale universe flickered to life on the screen. Shadows and shapes shifted in the silence, broken only by the whooshing, rhythmic thump-thump-thump that suddenly filled the room.
Nevaieh’s breath caught. It was a tiny, sharp inhalation.
“That’s the heartbeat,” Lorraine said, a smile in her voice. “Strong and steady. One-forty-five. Perfect.”
The sound was primal, a locomotive chugging in a hidden sea. Anaijiah felt tears prickle, unbidden. She looked from the screen to Nevaieh’s face. The gang leader’s expression was one of utter captivation, her usual hardened mask erased by awe. Her eyes were wide, fixed on the pulsing white blob in the center of the chaos.
Lorraine clicked buttons, freezing images, typing measurements. “Looking good,” she murmured. “Brain development looks excellent. Spine is aligning nicely.” She moved the wand, pressing a little deeper. “And let’s see… if we can get a good angle…”
The shapes resolved. A profile emerged. A rounded forehead, a tiny nose, a distinct, pursed lip.
“There’s your baby,” Lorraine said gently.
Anaijiah’s throat tightened. Nevaieh leaned forward, one hand braced on the edge of the exam table, her knuckles white.
Then Lorraine shifted again, moving lower. “Now, if baby cooperates, we might be able to see…” She squinted at the screen, manipulated the wand. A new angle appeared, less distinct.
Nevaieh frowned, tilting her head. “What are we looking at?”
Lorraine smiled. “Three lines. See there?” She pointed to the screen. “It’s a girl.”
The word hung in the air, simple and monumental.
A girl.
Nevaieh straightened up as if struck. Her hand flew to her mouth, covering it for a second before dropping to her side. She looked from the screen to Anaijiah, her eyes shimmering with an emotion too raw to name. “A girl,” she echoed, her voice husky.
Anaijiah reached for her hand, threading their fingers together. Nevaieh’s grip was viselike.
“You were right,” Anaijiah whispered, a tear escaping down her temple into her hairline.
“Of course I was,” Nevaieh murmured back, but there was no arrogance, only a stunned wonder. She lifted Anaijiah’s hand and kissed her knuckles, her lips lingering against the skin.
Lorraine printed pictures, handing them over like sacred texts. One clear profile shot. One of the three little lines. Anaijiah held them, the paper warm from the machine, staring at the grainy proof of her daughter.
The rest of the appointment was a blur of measurements and checklists. Nevaieh listened to every instruction about prenatal vitamins and hydration with the focused intensity of a general receiving battle plans. When they finally stepped out into the overcast Chicago afternoon, the world felt different. The air smelled sharper. Sounds were clearer.
Nevaieh stopped on the sidewalk, pulling Anaijiah to her. She didn’t kiss her. She just wrapped her in a tight, silent embrace, her face buried in Anaijiah’s curls. People streamed around them.
“A girl,” Nevaieh said again into her hair, the words vibrating against Anaijiah’s scalp. “I have to… I need to buy her something. Right now.”
There was a frantic, joyous energy to her that Anaijiah had never seen. It was disarming.
“Okay,” Anaijiah laughed, her own heart feeling too big for her chest. “Let’s go buy something.”
They didn’t go to a chain store. Nevaieh drove them to a small, independent boutique in a quiet neighborhood she controlled. The windows were filled with tasteful, absurdly expensive baby clothes. A tiny, hand-knit cardigan cost more than Anaijiah’s monthly electric bill.
The bell jingled as they entered. A clerk, an older woman with silver hair, took one look at Nevaieh—the teardrop tattoo, the don’t-fuck-with-me posture—and her polite smile faltered.
Nevaieh ignored her. She walked straight to a rack of miniature dresses, her fingers brushing the fabrics with a reverence usually reserved for weapon cleaning. She pulled out a dress the size of a teacup. It was soft, ivory cotton with tiny, embroidered sunflowers along the hem.
“This,” she stated, holding it up. It was absurdly small in her large, calloused hand.
Anaijiah touched the fabric. It was impossibly soft. “Neva, she won’t fit this for months.”
“I don’t care.” Nevaieh’s voice was gruff. She moved to another rack, finding a pair of deep green leggings with tiny stars. “And these.” Then a absurdly tiny leather jacket, no bigger than a clutch purse. “And this. She needs a jacket.”
Anaijiah watched, a smile tugging at her lips, as Nevaieh raided the store. It wasn’t shopping; it was a tactical acquisition. She gathered socks, a muslin blanket with elephants, a plush giraffe nearly as big as the dresses. She didn’t ask prices. She just pointed, and the clerk, now thoroughly intimidated, scrambled to collect the items.
“Nevaieh, slow down,” Anaijiah said, touching her arm. “We don’t need this much. We don’t even have a place…”
“We have a place,” Nevaieh cut her off, her eyes blazing with a sudden, fierce light. “Just… trust me. One more thing.” She turned to the clerk. “Do you have a blanket? Big. Soft. Not pink.”
The clerk brought out a cashmere baby blanket in a rich, dusky blue. Nevaieh took it, rubbing the fabric against her cheek. She nodded. “This.”
At the register, the total was staggering. Nevaieh pulled a thick roll of cash from her pocket, peeling off bills without a glance. The clerk bagged everything in large, crisp paper bags.
Back in the SUV, the bags filled the backseat. The energy had shifted. Nevaieh’s joy had mellowed into a focused, simmering excitement. “We’re going to my place,” she said, not asking.
“Your place?” Anaijiah had never been to Nevaieh’s actual apartment. She’d always assumed it was another safe house, sparse and functional.
“Yeah.”
They drove in a comfortable silence, Anaijiah’s hand resting on the stack of ultrasound pictures in her lap. Nevaieh navigated to a sleek, modern high-rise near the river. It wasn’t the grim fortress Anaijiah had imagined. A doorman nodded to Nevaieh with respectful familiarity. The elevator was silent, polished steel.
Nevaieh’s penthouse took up the entire top floor. The door opened into a vast, open space with floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing a panoramic, gray-scale view of the Chicago skyline. The decor was minimalist, almost severe: concrete floors, black leather furniture, a single, massive abstract painting in shades of charcoal and blood-red. It was stylish, powerful, and cold.
“Over here,” Nevaieh said, her boots echoing as she led Anaijiah across the main living area towards a hallway.
She stopped at a door, different from the others. It was painted a soft, warm grey. She pushed it open and flipped a light switch.
Anaijiah froze in the doorway.
The room was nothing like the rest of the apartment. Sunlight streamed through a large window, softened by linen curtains the color of pale sand. The walls were a soothing, creamy white. A beautiful, hand-crafted crib of dark walnut stood against one wall, its lines clean and modern. A matching changing table was already stocked with diapers, creams, stacks of tiny clothes. A plush, circular rug in shades of ivory and sage green covered the floor. A rocking chair, upholstered in soft charcoal velvet, sat in the corner beside a sleek, bottle warmer and a miniature fridge.
It was finished. Complete. A sanctuary built and waiting.
Anaijiah stepped inside, her breath caught somewhere in her chest. She ran her fingers over the smooth wood of the crib rail. She touched the mobile hanging above it—delicate, blown glass shapes of marine life: a seahorse, a starfish, a little turtle. Like the tattoos on her arms. A tribute to her Miami roots.
“How…” she started, her voice breaking.
Nevaieh stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, watching her. She looked uncertain, her usual armor gone. “I started after the second month,” she said quietly. “Had the crew on it. Santi did the woodwork. His cousin did the painting. The mobile… I saw it online. Reminded me of you.”
Anaijiah turned to face her, tears spilling over. “You knew. You knew it was a girl.”
Nevaieh shrugged one shoulder, a faint, almost shy smile on her lips. “I had a feeling. A hope.” She pushed off the doorframe and walked into the room. She knelt on the plush rug in front of Anaijiah, her movements slow and deliberate.
She placed her hands on Anaijiah’s hips, then leaned forward, pressing her lips to the soft curve of her belly, right over the spot where the ultrasound wand had been. She stayed there for a long moment, her eyes closed.
When she pulled back, she looked up, her dark eyes serious. “Mi pequeña reina,” she whispered, her voice rough with emotion. “Your room is ready. Your world is safe. I promise you that.” She spoke in Spanish, the words flowing like a secret prayer. “No te va a faltar nada. Nada. You will have everything. You will be strong. You will be loved. You will know who you are.” She kissed her belly again. “Te lo juro.”
The promises, whispered in her father’s language against the skin that held their daughter, were more binding than any oath sworn on blood. They were roots, laid deep in this sunlit room.
Anaijiah sank to her knees on the rug to meet her. She framed Nevaieh’s face with her hands, her thumbs wiping away the single, treacherous tear that had escaped down Nevaieh’s cheek, tracing a path around the teardrop tattoo.
Nevaieh leaned into her touch, her eyes closed. “I built her a fortress,” she murmured, her forehead resting against Anaijiah’s. “So she can be soft.”
Outside, the city sprawled, vast and impersonal. But here, in this sun-washed room built by calloused hands, with the tiny sunflower dress spilling from its bag onto the perfect rug, a different kind of territory was being claimed. Not with knives or threats, but with a crib, a whispered vow, and the relentless, terrifying hope of a world made new.
They stayed like that, foreheads touching on the soft rug, breathing the same air in the room built for a ghost. The city’s distant grumble was a world away. Nevaieh’s hands slid around to the small of Anaijiah’s back, holding her there as if she might dissolve.
“You built her a room,” Anaijiah whispered, the words muffled against Nevaieh’s skin.
“Had to,” Nevaieh murmured back, her thumbs tracing Anaijiah’s spine through her hoodie. “Couldn’t just have her sleeping in a drawer.” Her attempt at a joke fell flat, softened by the tremor in her voice.
A sudden, sharp flutter rolled through Anaijiah’s abdomen, a distinct, internal tap-tap-tap. She gasped, her fingers tightening on Nevaieh’s shoulders.
Nevaieh pulled back instantly, alarm flashing in her eyes. “What? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. She’s—” Another series of movements, stronger this time, a swift, insistent thump against her inner wall. “She’s kicking. Right now.”
All the breath left Nevaieh in a rush. Her gaze dropped to Anaijiah’s stomach, covered by thin cotton. She looked back up at Anaijiah’s face, seeking confirmation, her own expression utterly transfixed.
“Here,” Anaijiah said, guiding one of Nevaieh’s hands to the right side of her bump. “Wait.”
They hovered, frozen. The seconds stretched. Then it came—a firm, deliberate push from inside, right against the center of Nevaieh’s waiting palm.
Nevaieh jerked her hand back as if shocked, her eyes wide. “Jesus.”
“Feel it?”
Nevaieh slowly brought her hand back, pressing gently. Another kick answered, a robust punch in the quiet room. A laugh punched out of Nevaieh, sharp and disbelieving. “Hell yes, I feel it. She’s strong.”
She kept her hand there, her whole attention focused on the living, moving curve. Each flutter, each roll, made her smile widen, her eyes grow brighter. “She’s pissed I woke her up,” Nevaieh muttered, her voice full of awe.
“She’s announcing herself,” Anaijiah corrected, watching Nevaieh’s face. Every trace of the Jefa was gone. In its place was pure, unguarded wonder.
Nevaieh leaned down again, her lips close to the fabric. “That’s it, reina. Let me know you’re in there.” Another kick answered, directly under her voice. Nevaieh laughed again, a real, unfiltered sound Anaijiah had only heard a handful of times. “She’s gonna run the whole show, isn’t she?”
“Probably.”
Nevaieh sat back on her heels, leaving her hand resting lightly on the spot. She looked from Anaijiah’s belly to her face, the realization settling deeper, made real by the physical proof. “She’s real.”
“Yeah,” Anaijiah said, emotion thick in her throat. “She is.”
Nevaieh nodded slowly, her mind visibly clicking over from awe to strategy. “We need a doctor here. One on retainer. Not that clinic.” Her tone had shifted, the planner surfacing. “And the air filtration system in this whole building needs an upgrade. I’ll have Santi look at it tomorrow.”
Anaijiah reached out, touching Nevaieh’s cheek. “Hey. Breathe. We have months.”
“Months go fast,” Nevaieh said, catching her hand and kissing her palm. The gesture was automatic, tender, but her eyes were already scanning the perfect room, seeing invisible threats. “You should move in. Here. Tonight.”
The question hung in the sunlit air. It wasn’t really a question. It was a tactical solution. Anaijiah looked around at the beautiful, ready-made nest. It was safer. It was logical. It was also a gilded cage in a penthouse sky.
“My shop,” she said softly. “My life is downstairs from my apartment.”
“Your life is here now,” Nevaieh said, her voice low but firm. “With her. With me. The shop stays. You can work. But you sleep here.” She must have seen the resistance in Anaijiah’s eyes. “It’s not a debate, Ana. It’s security.”
The word was a cold stone dropped into the warm moment. The baby kicked again, a frantic flutter, as if reacting to the tension. Anaijiah took a deep breath, the scent of new wood and clean linen filling her lungs. “Okay,” she conceded. “But my stuff. My art. It doesn’t stay in boxes. It comes with me.”
A slow smile spread across Nevaieh’s face, relief relaxing her shoulders. “Deal. We’ll turn the other guest room into your studio. Big north light.” She stood up in one fluid motion, extending a hand to pull Anaijiah to her feet. “Come on.”
“Where?”
“To your new studio. To see the light.” Nevaieh kept her hand, leading her out of the nursery back into the stark expanse of the main living area. She walked towards a door near the kitchen. “It’s empty now. You can set it up however you want.”
She opened the door. The room was indeed empty, a blank, spacious rectangle with a huge window overlooking a different slice of the river and cityscape. The light was clear and shadowless. Anaijiah could instantly see her drafting table there, her ink shelves, her reference books.
“You thought of this too,” Anaijiah stated, leaning against the doorframe.
Nevaieh shrugged, joining her to look at the empty space. “A queen needs her throne room.” She bumped Anaijiah’s shoulder with her own. “Even if she shares it with a tiny, kicking dictator.”
Anaijiah looked at the room, then at the woman beside her, whose promises were written in cashmere blankets and whispered Spanish vows. The fear was still there, a low hum beneath her ribs. But beneath that, deeper, was the kick. A persistent, undeniable pulse of life, dictating its own terms, reshaping the world around it one thump at a time.