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I stopped.

“Thank you.”

I laid her in the middle of my bed, surrounded her with pillows even though I wasn’t going anywhere, then grabbed the black scrub pants I’d already pulled out.

I didn’t have to wear scrubs at the front desk, but I did most days because why the fuck would I waste a real outfit answering phones and arguing with insurance companies?

Today I had black scrub pants and a fitted pink top.

Cute.

Simple.

I stripped my T-shirt off and tossed it toward the hamper.

Missed.

“That’ll stay there.”

Carter kicked her legs.

My phone buzzed.

I ignored it and pulled my top over my head.

My mother was supposed to be here any minute.

Amanda.

My parents lived in Newark, and Friday was usually my mother’s day with Carter because my father Tim worked weekends sometimes and Amanda apparently couldn’t go more than three days without seeing her grandbaby.

She was obsessed.

Which would’ve been cute if she didn’t use every visit as an opportunity to ask about Carter’s father.

According to my family, Carter’s father was some nigga I had dealt with briefly who decided he didn’t want to be a father.

That was the story.

And whenever my mother asked too many questions, I got irritated until she stopped.

Neither one of my parents knew the truth.

Nobody did.

Because what the fuck was I supposed to say?

Hey, Ma. You know your oldest daughter’s husband? Yeah. Him.

Absolutely the fuck not.

I stepped into my bathroom and looked at myself.

I had my curls pulled back already, so I laid my edges again, fixed the ponytail and started on my face.

I was halfway through my second eyebrow when the buzzer went off.

“That’s Grandma.”