James had been busy as ever with all the city projects taking place; he was really showing the people of Winston Hills what it looked like when you say what you mean and mean what you say. James Carter Jr. was putting our taxpayer dollars to work to make Winston Hills a better place through stellar infrastructure, and I loved watching him work. Amiyah had been under the weather, cold and flu season having its way with her. I’d been checking in, and James and I personally delivered fresh flowers and flu essentials daily.
I kicked off my heels by the door and loosened my blouse, the faint scent of Olive & Oak’s rosemary butter still clinging to my skin. Therapy had cracked something open, dinner with my mother had soothed it, and now all I wanted was a long shower and the peace of my own bed and the warmth of my lovers.
I poured myself a glass of water and leaned against the counter, replaying the conversation at the restaurant. Hearing my mother speak with so much softness after years of silence had done something to me. It made me realize how badly I’d needed to be reminded that love wasn’t supposed to feel like endurance. It was supposed to feel like rest.
I was still caught in that thought when my phone buzzed on the counter.
Amiyah: Dinner at my place tomorrow? I’ll cook. Nothing fancy, I just wanna see you.
The corners of my mouth lifted instantly. My baby seemed to be back to herself, and I was the first person she wanted to connect with. For a moment, I just stared at the screen, the soft glow reflecting in the glass of wine I hadn’t realized I’d poured. It hit me how much I’d missed her laugh, the way her presence filled a room, the warmth she brought without even trying.
I set my glass down and typed back, my heart thudding in that quiet, happy way that love makes it do.
Me: I’ll be there.
A few seconds later, another text came through.
Amiyah: Promise?
I smiled, shaking my head as I sank into the couch.
Me: Pinky.
I set the phone down beside me and closed my eyes, letting the comfort of it all wash over me. My mother’s voice echoed softly in my mind, “Let yourself be loved, Calla. You’ve earned it.” Tomorrow night, I would, without being afraid of what that meant.
The night before dinner, I fell asleep with my phone still in my hand, Calla’s name glowing on the screen beside my pillow. I don’t know when I drifted off, but the moment I did, I knew I wasn’t dreaming in the usual way.
Everything around me was light. Soft, golden, endless light that wasn’t blinding. It felt warm, like standing in front of the sun on a winter morning.
Then I saw them.
My mother, Amelia. My grandmother, Adeline. The A names were a tradition for the women in my family, a thread tying us together across time. Seeing them now, standing side by side, felt like watching that thread glow bright again after being dim for years.
My mother looked exactly as I remembered her before the accident, her smile soft, her eyes full of laughter. My grandmother looked radiant too, dressed in the kind of Sunday-best floral dress she loved, her silver hair wrapped in a scarf that shimmered faintly in the light.
I took a shaky breath. “Mama? Nana?”
My mother reached for me first, her hand warm as she cupped my face. “Hi, baby.”
That voice broke me. I hadn’t realized how much I missed the sound until I heard it again.
Tears filled my eyes, falling before I could even speak. “I’ve missed you both so much.”
Grandma Adeline smiled. “We know, sugar. But we’ve been with you every step of the way. You just stopped looking for us in the quiet.”
I swallowed hard, trying to breathe through the emotion flooding my chest. “It’s been so long since I felt anything like this. Like home.”
My mother nodded. “Because you built walls to keep yourself safe, baby. You closed the doors to love, thinking that would stop the pain.”
Her words hit me like truth always does, slow and sharp all at once. “I didn’t mean to,” I whispered. “After you were gone, after Nana passed too, I didn’t know how to keep going. I’ve been alone for so long. I didn’t think I’d ever belong anywhere again.”
My grandmother stepped closer, placing her hand over my heart. “You’ve never been alone, Amiyah. We’ve walked with you through every shadow, every heartbreak, every night you cried and thought no one heard. You come from a line of women who survive, who love fiercely, who rise again.”
I tried to steady my breathing, but my voice shook. “Then why do I still feel like I’m doing it wrong? Why do I feel guilty for what I want?”
“What is it that you want?” my mother asked gently.
I hesitated, the truth trembling on my tongue. “I want love. I want Calla. I want James. I want all of it. The warmth, the laughter, the family, even if it doesn’t look like what people expect.”
