“Ohhh, short hair always fit yuh enuh,” Gavin chimes in. He’s not wrong.
“Zara… yuh know seh mi get a job?” Sash says, and my head shoots up.
Wait. What? Mi nah lie… that lick mi inna mi face. Like, what?
“Fi real?” I blink, and she nods, proud like a child showing off a gold star.
“Yeah man! Even Aunty dem couldn’t believe it, but mi get a call center job,” she beams.
Gavin starts hyping her up from the background, and I can’t help but smile. Mi proud. This a big step for Sash. Nineteen, first job, this is gonna shift her whole mindset.
“Mi have mi interview Thursday, still,” she adds, twirling a strand of her wig. “You probably affi help me prep.”
“Of course. Just tell me when,” I say with a nod, warmth spreading through my chest.
“Mi a go call yuh,” she says, full of new energy. Growth looks good on her.
“So where is mommy?” I ask, noticing the sudden silence on mama’s end. “Mi nuh see or hear her.”
“Michelle gone look fi a fren,” mama says, and I swear I can hear the smirk in her voice.
A what? Since when mommy have friends here? Mama chuckles. “Yes Masah.”
I just shake my head with a laugh. Then Sash comes again, louder this time: “So where is your baby father?”
I pause, but the laugh still slips out.
That tone. The way she asks. The way she always trying to slide Nickoi name in di convo. Mi nuh like it.
“Somewhere around the house,” I answer casually, trying not to roll my eyes.
Gavin looks over at Sash. “Why yuh so nuff, gyal?” he snaps, then glances back at me. “You shouldn’t even answer her.”
True. Mi just didn’t want to embarrass her.
Tell yuh seh mi too nice fi dis world sometimes.
“Gavin, why yuh so disgusting?” Sash hisses, her face all screwed up.
Before it could escalate, Mama steps in. “Nuh bother with it now,” she scolds, cutting the tension.
I end the call a few minutes later and toss the phone beside me, stretching out on the bed.
Then it hits me. That nauseous feeling crawls up my chest, making my stomach twist. “Ugh…” I groan, pushing myself up and rushing to the bathroom.
Not this again. I barely make it to the toilet before everything comes up. I throw up until my body trembles. I grip the edge of the sink, flush, then rinse my mouth. The taste still lingers, bitter and sharp.
Ugh. Brush yuh teeth, Zara.
I grab my toothbrush, but the room feels like it’s spinning. I lean against the wall, brushing slowly, trying not to black out. My knees feel weak, and by the time I rinse and spit, my body is begging me to lie down.
I stumble back to the room and grab my phone with shaky fingers. “Babe,” I whisper when he answers.
“Mami, wah gwaan?” his voice is alert now.
“Mi feel dizzy,” I say, curling onto the bed, trying to find a position that feels less horrible.
“Mi a fawud,” he says instantly, no hesitation.
