“I’m fine.” He walked past me, heading straight for his room.
“You’re not fine. Your face?—”
“I said I’m fine!” He whirled on me, tears streaming down his face even as he tried to look tough. “Just leave me alone!”
“Baby, please. Tell me who’s doing this. Tell me so I can?—”
“So you can what? Go to the school? Talk to the principal? That’ll just make it worse!” His voice cracked. “You don’t understand. You don’t get it.”
“Then help me understand.”
“I tried to fight back today,” he said, his hands shaking. “I tried to do what Prime taught me. But I’m not strong enough. I’m not fast enough. I’m just—I’m weak!”
“You’re not weak?—”
“Yes, I am! And going to the school, getting adults involved, that’s just gonna make me look weaker. I have to handle this myself. Like a man.”
The words hit me like a slap. Like a man. He was twelve years old and already carrying weight no child should carry.
“Yusef, that’s ridiculous. You’re a kid. You shouldn’t have to?—”
“I’m not a kid!” he shouted. “I’m the man of this house! And I have to handle my own problems!”
He stormed into his room and slammed the door.
I stood there in the hallway, my heart breaking into a thousand pieces.
This couldn’t keep happening. I couldn’t keep watching him come home beaten and broken. Couldn’t keep feeling helpless while someone tortured my child.
I knocked on his door. “Yu?”
“Go away.”
“I’m not going to the school. I promise. But we’re leaving. After this school year, we’re moving. Somewhere better. Somewhere safe.”
Silence.
“You hear me?”
“Yeah,” came his muffled voice. “I hear you.”
I pressed my forehead against the door, fighting tears. “I love you, baby.”
“I love you too.”
But it didn’t feel like enough. Love wasn’t stopping the beatings. Love wasn’t keeping him safe.
I needed to make more money. Needed to get us out of this neighborhood, away from whatever was happening at that school. Which meant I needed to bake more. Sell more. Build Sweet Zin faster.
At 11 PM,I stood in my kitchen, staring at my phone.
I needed to go to Grits. Had to bake. The demand was there. I just needed to keep up with it. But Prime had made it clear the other night that he didn’t want me going there alone at night. Had insisted on taking me. On making sure I was safe. I looked at his contact in my phone. My thumb hovered over the call button. It was late. He’d already done so much for me. For Yusef. I couldn’t keep asking him for things. Couldn’t keep being a burden. I could handle this one night on my own. Just get in, bake, get out. Simple. I pocketed my phone and grabbed my keys.
At 11:30, I let myself in through the back entrance of Grits, flipping on the lights. As soon as I stepped in, I was overcome with what we did in this kitchen. The memory made heat floodthrough me. His hands. His mouth. The way he’d bent me over this very counter. I shook my head, trying to focus. I had work to do.
I got to work, my hands moving through the familiar motions. Mixing. Kneading. Rolling. Letting my mind go blank so I wouldn’t think about Yusef’s face. Wouldn’t think about how I was failing him.
I’d just put the first batch in the oven when I heard the door open.
