“Zara, mi proud enuh,” Gavin says, wiping fake tears.
“A fi real,” Sash grins. “Mi ready fi lef the call center work right now.” We laugh. Gavin leans closer.
“So yuh good inna the other branches or yuh wah mi recommend some good girl and set up a likkle interview?”
“That sweet, but Nickoi already get workers,” I tell him.
“Ohh, well it’s a good look, girl,” Sash nods.
“Yeah. Mek we finish the series.” Later, after popcorn and two more episodes, I tuck the babies in and find them in the kitchen… eating again.
“Bwoy Zara, yuh house full a food,” Gavin says with hotdog in his mouth.
“Mi love it here,” Sash grins.
Gavin’s eyes bulge. “Anuh Nickoi food we a nyam out?” He throws the last bite in and we all laugh hard. Mi cyaan even hold a straight face round dem.
I shake my head. “Nah. Mi buy those. Nickoi food a just him seafood and him Hennessy dem.”
“Girl, you love him enuh. Look how yuh face light up when yuh talk ‘bout him,” Gavin says.
I blush. “Mi love him.”No sense hiding it. It’s the truth. I’m still sitting here, pretending not to check the time. Pretending not to notice that Nickoi hasn’t called or shown up. Again.
“What time him a come home? Cause a after eight and mi nuh wah deh drive too late,” Gavin says, and my face drops.
“A wahm?” He raises a brow, remote in his hand. He already knows something’s off. I never told him Nickoi’s been avoiding me, but it’s obvious. He pauses the TV.
“Wah really a gwaan? Cause a’ after eight now and Nickoi nuh call or come. Unuh lef and yuh nah tell me?”
“We’re still together. Him just a give me cold shoulder,” I admit.
“Give him cold shoulder back. Make him miss yuh too,” Sash chimes in, unbothered.
“How the problem a guh fix if mi prolong this? It draining enuh,” I mutter.
“A true man. Unuh need fi talk,” Gavin says, serious now. “Find out wah a the problem, fix it. And find outside who a the problem, and fix that too.” Preach, mi bwoy… Can I get an amen? He didn’t even show up last night. Only sent his mother today to “check in.” Like I’m a damn child.
“Just call him, Zara,” Sash says gently.
“And when him answer,” Gavin adds, “pour out yuh heart. Admit weh yuh go wrong, stand fi yuh right, and allow him fi do the same. Just like that, the problem fix.” I nod. It sounds simple, but it never is. When they’re ready to leave, I hug them both. Gavin tells me again to call. I wave them off as he drives out. Mr. Joe gives me a knowing smile from his post.
“Goodnight, Zara. Time you go inside,” he says. I smile weakly and close the door. Their voices linger in my head. I’m gonna do it. But first, skincare. I head upstairs, wash my face, tone, moisturize… everything to delay this confrontation. Once I’m under the covers, AC humming, I pick up my phone. Then I hear it, soft at first, then sharper. A cry. Zahir’s. It cuts straight through the stillness. I sit up fast, heart already racing.“Zahir?” I whisper into the dark. I turn on the light and rush over to the crib. He’s crying, his tiny face red, hands curled into a fists.
“Aww, baby… what’s wrong, sweetheart?” I scoop him up gently, cradling him to my chest. I sway side to side, rocking slow. “It’s okay, mommy’s here… mommy’s here, shhh…”
I hum the lullaby I always sing when they get restless.“Hush little baby, don’t say a word…”
But he doesn’t stop. His cry only gets louder. Zahir’s rarely fussy. He’s always been a quiet baby. That’s what scares me most. “Please baby,” I whisper, kissing his warm forehead. “You’re scaring mommy.” I bounce lightly, rubbing his back. I sniff, realizing I’m crying too now. The tears come easy when I’m scared.
“Mi nuh know wah fi do…” I whisper through a shaky breath. I try mama. Voicemail. I try my mom. Voicemail. My chest tightens. I call Gavin with one hand while bouncing Zahir with the other.
“Maybe him belly a hurt him,” he says. I rub his belly softly, but nothing changes. His little face stays scrunched, and the crying doesn’t stop.
“I’m calling the doctor,” I say, wiping my face.
“Alright. Call mi back,” Gavin says. I hang up and dial Dr. Jacobs. No answer.Mi cyaa bother enuh.I try Nickoi. Once. Twice. Three times. Straight to voicemail.
“Mi cyaa manage dis alone…” I whisper, trying not to cry again. Zahir’s cry weighs on me. It’s been almost fifteen minutes. His pain feels like mine now. My baby, and I don’t know what’s wrong. I hold him tighter, rock him, kiss his cheeks. Then, I swipe through my contacts. My hands are trembling, but I find the name.
