Chapter Two: "The Party That Wasn't"
By the time Kingsley turned six months old, the haze of new motherhood had thinned slightly.
Andra was back on her feet—emotionally, barely. Physically, mostly. She'd started reading again, trying to prep herself mentally for returning to school soon. Her days were long and her nights longer, but Kingsley was smiling now. He'd grab at her face with tiny hands and let out little gurgles that made her laugh even when she was bone-tired.
Parker had grown quieter in the months that passed. He was still around, still called every day, sometimes visited. He took pictures of Kingsley on an old Canon and posted them with poetic captions: "My reason." "Little legacy." But the grind was grinding him. Photoshoots that paid little. Clients who ghosted. Politician dreams that had no funding.
He hadn't thrown a baby shower when Kingsley was born. At the time, he said it was because they were still adjusting, still getting things in order. Andra hadn't argued. She hadn't wanted a big fuss. But somewhere deep inside, the lack of celebration had stung.
So when Parker called her one Wednesday morning and said, "I'm throwing Kingsley a party this weekend," she blinked.
"A party?" she asked, adjusting Kingsley on her lap.
"Yeah. A baby celebration. Half-birthday kind of thing. I know I missed the shower. Let me make it right."
She should've been excited. But instead, her stomach twisted.
"Who's paying for it?" she asked, gently.
"I got this," Parker said quickly. "My sister's helping too. And don't worry, I'll make it classy."
That Saturday, Andra found herself standing outside a small garden venue Parker had booked through a friend. There were streamers in muted pastel colors. A table with a baby-blue cake that said "Kingsley: Six Months Strong!" And a few hired chairs under a makeshift tent.
It was… sweet. A bit rushed. But heartfelt.
Her sisters came. Some of Parker's people too—his friends from campus, two of his cousins, and even his mother. Everyone cooed over Kingsley, passed him around like a beloved trophy, and ate pilau off plastic plates. Music buzzed from a small speaker, and for a moment, Andra let herself exhale.
Then, near the end of the afternoon, Parker grabbed the mic.
She felt the shift before it happened—like the wind had paused mid-breath.
"I want to thank you all for coming," he said, looking dapper in a maroon blazer. "This boy—this incredible little boy—has changed my life. And his mother…"
Andra's heart sank. She suddenly knew where this was going.
"…has been the strongest, most beautiful person I've ever met. I haven't been perfect. But I've been present. And I want to keep being present. For her. For Kingsley."
He turned toward her, and in one fluid motion, dropped to one knee.
The crowd gasped. Phones were already out.
Andra froze.
Parker held out a small velvet box. "Andra Summers, will you marry me?"
She blinked. Her chest felt tight. Her palms started to sweat. Kingsley shifted in her arms.
She looked around. Her sisters were watching, eyes wide. Her mother had her hands over her mouth.
Parker smiled at her like he was offering her the whole world.
Andra felt it bubble up before she could stop it—resentment, exhaustion, sadness. The baby blues hadn't left. If anything, they'd settled deeper.
"No," she said softly. Then, louder: "No."
The crowd went silent.
Parker's smile faded.
"No?" he repeated, still kneeling.
Andra didn't speak for a second. She just looked at him—this man who wanted to jump from trying to provide diapers to promising forever.
"You're proposing at a party you didn't even plan until guilt hit you," she said. "You think love fixes everything, Parker. But it doesn't."
His face fell. He looked like someone had knocked the wind out of him.
"I… I thought this would mean something," he whispered.
"It does," Andra said. "But it's not enough."
She walked away then, clutching Kingsley tightly as murmurs filled the space behind her.
Parker didn't follow.
Later that night, when she was home and nursing a fussy Kingsley to sleep, she received a text from him.
"I understand. I'll always try to be there for you and the baby."
She stared at it, fingers hovering over the keyboard.
"Thank you," she finally typed.
But she knew, deep down, that nothing would ever be the same again.