After therapy, neither of us wanted to go home; it was one of those heavy days that needed warmth, not silence.
My mother looked over at me as we pulled out of Dr. Morgan’s parking lot because I picked her up and we rode together, something we’d never done. “You hungry?”
I nodded, smiling softly. “Always.”
She grinned, that familiar spark of humor glinting through the tears we’d shed earlier. “Olive and Oak?”
I laughed. “Where else?”
The Black, Fairfax, and Carter families had never needed a reservation there. Olive and Oak wasn’t just a restaurant; it was a gathering place—home outside of home. Every inch of it carried memories, from business dinners to birthday toasts. It was where we went to be reminded of who we were before the world demanded more of us.
When we walked in, the staff greeted us by name. The soft light, the smell of rosemary and seared butter, the hum of quiet conversations, all of it felt like an exhale. We settled into a corner booth by the window, and for a while we just talked about ordinary things.
It wasn’t until the food came, steaming and fragrant, that my mother narrowed her eyes at me over the rim of her wine glass.
“You’re fidgeting,” she said, setting it down. “You only do that when something’s eating at you. What’s wrong, baby?”
I hesitated, stirring my pasta more than I ate it. “Nothing’s wrong, exactly. It’s just… something’s on my mind.”
She gave me that patient look that mothers perfect after years of waiting for you to tell the truth. “Talk to me.”
I set my fork down and leaned back, letting out a slow breath. “I’m in love, Mom. Like, really in love. With James and Amiyah.”
Her eyebrows lifted slightly, but her smile was warm. “I know,” she said softly. “It’s written all over you.”
That made me chuckle, a little embarrassed. “I guess I’m not as discreet as I thought.”
She shook her head. “You’re not. You’ve got that glow. The same one I used to get when your father hadn’t yet shown me who he really was. Only difference is, yours looks like peace, not pretending.”
Her words hit deeper than I expected.
I ran a hand through my hair. “I want to tell them how I feel, but I’m nervous. I told them before that I didn’t want children, that it wasn’t something I saw for myself, and at the time, I thought that was true. But after therapy today, after talking with you… I realized I said that out of fear.”
My mother tilted her head. “Fear of what?”
“Fear of becoming him,” I said softly. “Of repeating that cycle, of hurting someone the way he hurt us. But now, I don’t know. I look at James and Amiyah, and I think about what it would mean to build a life with them, and it doesn’t scare me; it actually excites me.”
Her eyes softened, her lips curving into a smile that reached all the way to her heart. “That’s the sound of love, Calla. The kind that heals instead of harms.”
I swallowed hard, blinking back tears I didn’t expect. “I just don’t want to mess it up.”
She reached across the table and took my hand, her thumb brushing my knuckles. “Love isn’t about perfection, baby. It’s about presence. It’s about showing up, even on the hard days; it’s about choosing people again and again, because you can’t imagine your life without them. That’s what Dro taught me.”
I smiled, thinking of Dro, her fiancé, Ajaih’s dad, the man who had somehow found a way to love her gently after all she’d endured.
She continued, her tone soft but sure. “Dro didn’t save me; he saw me, every flaw, every fear, every scar, and he stayed anyway. That’s what love really is, Calla. It’s not grand gestures and promises; it’s consistency. It’s building peace where chaos used to live.”
Her words settled deep inside me, steady and true.
I nodded slowly. “You think I can have that?”
She smiled again, her eyes shining. “I think you already do. You have to let yourself believe you deserve it.”
For a long moment, we sat in silence, just holding hands across the table while the restaurant buzzed softly around us.
I could picture it clearly: James' laugh, Amiyah’s warmth, a home filled with calm instead of fear, a family born out of choice, not survival.
And I realized, maybelove wasn’t something I needed to control after all. Perhaps it was something I could finally trust. After dropping my mom off at home and saying hey to Dro, I headed to my place, where I hadn’t spent much time lately, and honestly, when I walked inside, it didn’t feel like home because the two people I loved the most weren’t there.
