Creative

“You didn’t have to say it like that, you know?” I said.

“How else was I supposed to tell you about the baby?” Alisha said. “You know how much I want kids.”

“I don’t know — like a normal person,” I said. “You could have come running into the bedroom with a pregnancy test. Anything other than this.”

“Well, excuse me for being creative!” Alisha said.

“You call dropping off a cake at work with a baby on it creative?”

“Don’t want it, do you?” Alisha said. “The baby — you don’t want it. I should have known,” Alisha said, rubbing her stomach.

“It’s not that I don’t want it. I just had a surprise of my own.”

“Suprise?” Alisha raised a sly brow. “You. Got a surprise for me?”

I stood to my feet.

“So, you’re leaving? Was that the surprise?”

“Just relax,” I said. “And close your eyes.”

Alisha complied. “This had better be good.”

I whisked a young girl through the door and stood behind her. “Well, open your eyes, dear.”

“I’m sorry? Who is this young lady?”

“We’re adopting her. I thought I’d be creative.” I raised a sly brow. 

Alisha wiped tears with a tissue. “This. Now this is creative.”

(Check out Dusting off Dreams currently #12 out of 167k in poem collection)

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