Belly soft under the tank, not ashamed, just present. Arms strong from lifting, from stirring, from reaching up to change the light bulb nobody else would change. Collarbone glinting under the chain, the ring pressed high where the sternum rises. Hazel eyes carrying their green at the edge tonight because the city had taken its portion of my sleep.
I touched the chain. Heat there. Not from the room.
Aaliyah squealed behind me, delighted with nothing in particular, flinging more dirty rice at the universe. I smiled because she did.
I pulled the waistband of my house shorts smooth, fussed at the rolled seam, and let it be. The tank strap had slipped; I righted it. I pushed hair back from my face and felt the stubborn curl bounce forward again, determined. The body I wore had weathered years and still woke up warm. I wasn’t asking it to be smaller. I was asking it to keep standing.
“Hey, Mama,” I murmured, turning back to Aaliyah. She stretched both arms open, fingers spread wide. I hooked her under the arms and lifted. Solid weight. Sweet breath. Sheplanted a wet kiss on my chin and then on my cheek like double stamps. The dirty rice made a small constellation on my shoulder; she added one more grain for good measure and laughed at her own work.
We washed our hands at the sink—hers in mine, small palms turning in the foam, rings of soap wrapping her wrists like bracelets. She tried to steal the dish brush; I traded her a clean spoon, and she accepted the deal with dignity. I kissed the top of her head, coconut oil scent rising where I had smoothed her curls earlier and set her back in the chair with a crinkle of the plastic tray cover.
I made our plates again—this time, little seconds for her because she’d proven her green bean loyalty, and a corner of cornbread I’d wrapped in foil from yesterday. We ate the way we always did; slow at first, then quick because warm food cools fast in a small room.
The light flickered again. Thunder answered larger, closer. The window rattled once. Aaliyah’s eyes jumped to mine. I kept my voice easy.
“It’s alright,” I soothed, “we good.”
She returned to the spoon, pushing dirty rice in a neat line, then sweeping it back. She liked the sound it made. I did too.
When she finished, I wiped her face with the corner of the towel, folded the towel in on itself to hide the mess, and buckled her out of the chair. We did our walk to the living room—her on my hip, me stepping over the one floorboard that creaked loud enough to wake the neighborhood. I set her down among the blocks, turned on the lamp, and listened as the storm shaped itself into something with shoulders.
Back in the kitchen, I reached for the chain without thinking again. The ring sat warm against skin. I pressed my palm over it. Breath in. Breath out. The bulb hummed. The rain came harder.
I stood at the window and slid two fingers under the curtain to check on how bad this storm may get. Streetlight halos looked softer through the rain. The chain-link fence around the small yard glistened bead by bead. A car idled at the corner and then moved on. The storm tightened its grip and loosened it again in waves.
“Lord,” I began, barely above the rain, “You said You hide Your own under Your shadow.” The words rode my breath, no performance in them. “Hide us.”
Thunder cracked outside suddenly throwing me back into old habits. I whispered the Psalm, words slipping under my breath while I stirred.“Yea though I walk through the valley…”The verse climbed out of me like muscle memory. I didn’t even realize I’d said it out loud until Aaliyah’s little laugh stopped for a second, her block pausing mid-bang as if she’d heard it too.
Aaliyah’s attention reverted back to her toys. I heard the plastic clack of two blocks finding each other. She hummed one note the way toddlers hum when they invent a song without words. Thunder cracked, clean this time, and she flinched. I walked back, bent to her, and touched her tiny shoulder.
“We covered,” I told her, and touched the ring again so I believed it too.
I directed my attention back to the task at hand, opening the drawer and pulling out the small paperback Bible, cover worn at the corners, pages soft from hands. I didn’t read out loud. I didn’t need to. Verses lived in my mouth even when I forgot to speak them. He that dwelleth in the secret place… my lips moved, soundless. A gentle and quiet spirit is precious… I didn’t feel quiet, but my voice obeyed.
The rain gathered and let go. The building gave one deep groan; the kind of sound old wood makes when pressure changes. The hallway bulb outside my door blinked twice and steadied. Water found the seam at the window and drew a thinline down the inside edge. I wiped it with my thumb and stayed in the prayer.
“Order this house,” I whispered. “Order this heart. Order the hours.”
The radio thinned to static for a breath, then returned, Ashanti slipping into the bridge. Aaliyah’s block song grew louder, then softer, then included a giggle that tumbled into a hiccup. I laughed, quiet, and let the next line of Scripture rest in me instead of chasing it to the end.
A knock. Not loud. Two beats, then a beat, then still. I looked at the clock. 7:48. I set the Bible down on the counter by the stove and wiped both hands on the towel.
The Bible that was open on the end table in the front room caught my eye—Psalm 91underlined, page soft from touch. I hadn’t touched it tonight. I didn’t want it to catch me mid-thought and ask for an answer. The knock repeated, same rhythm, measured. I moved to the door, pressing my eye to the peephole.
Ezra Calloway—Saint—stood under the dim hallway light with a paper grocery bag in each arm, rain dots laying dark on the shoulders of his coat. He looked at the door, not the peephole, like men do when they’re used to waiting quietly. He didn’t shift his weight. He didn’t call my name.
I slid the chain off and opened the door two inches. Warm cooking air met the cool hallway and made a brief curl of steam.
“Hey,” he rumbled, voice low. “You good?”
My eyes fell to the bags. The top showed the white of a diaper pack, the blue stripe of milk, cilantro peeking over the cardboard crease.
“You came out in this,” I answered, opening the door the rest of the way.
“Groceries don’t care about weather,” he returned, stepping inside and angling his body so the rain stayed out. He waited onesecond for the nod before moving past the threshold. Shoes off without asking. Bags to the counter without thump.
Aaliyah’s hum rose at the new sound in the room. She tottered to the door, eyes big. Saint crouched, the paper bag squeaking as the bottom settled. He offered his hand without touching her. Aaliyah considered, then grabbed his finger with determination.
