THE FIRST SNOWFLAKES of winter are always the sweetest. Not yet polluted, not too stubborn to melt, just light and soft, teardrops without the salt. Rasul and I had gotten back just in time to watch Chicago’s first winter snowfall. We sat in each other’s arms on the shelter porch, both listening out for the door to creak and announce one of the sister’s prying eyes. We had been out all afternoon—rode the train downtown just to walk around a couple skyscraper blocks then come right on back. I had gone inside only to get my Bible and show him the verses that were supposed to make me feel bad about being pissed that I had to share my room with an AIDS victim.

“‘Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.’” He grinned, then flipping to the next passage, “‘Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.’”

“What that got to do with me?” I asked. “I ain’t casting stones, I’m just saying I don’t want no AIDS.”

“You wouldn’t be able to put your mouth on mine no more,” he said, obviously making fun of me.

“I’m serious, Rasul. And I don’t want my baby having no AIDS if I decide to keep it.”

“You decided yet?”

“Don’t ask me.” There was a part of me still hoping that it would all go away on its own. But then there was a part of me wondering what it would be like to be married and have a family. Rasul seemed open to the idea. I could stay here, pretend to stay pregnant even if I got rid of it, get myself together, then move out on my own. Or I could have it and still get myself together and move out on my own. Or I could move in with Rasul in an apartment like his. The future was wide open. It was a shame that it had taken me getting knocked up to learn to search for options in life.

“Shivana, it’s about to be three months soon, right?” Rasul reminded me.

“What you care?”

“Well, I would like to get to know you better,” he said, his face stone-serious.

“Get to know me how?” I grinned, knowing exactly what he meant. Sneaking feels on the train, stoop, and restaurants was getting played. He just grinned back, and I pulled away.

“You just think I’m not gonna make you use a condom ’cause I’m already pregnant,” I snapped.

“Why would I think that? We sitting here talking about somebody with AIDS.”

“Why you want me, Rasul?” I finally asked, something I had wanted to ask for a long time.

“What you mean, why?”

“Rasul, don’t play with me. If I keep this baby, you gonna have a pregnant girl. Then a girl with a baby.”