Prime actually laughed. “Tell me about it.”
“No, I’m serious. She comes into Grits sometimes. Always has this fake-ass smile, taking pictures with the staff, talking about supporting small Black businesses. Then she tips like shit and treats the servers like they’re beneath her.”
“That sounds exactly like her. All performance, no substance.”
We shared a look, something passing between us. Understanding. Recognition of shared pain.
“What about your mother?” he asked. “She like that?”
The question hit me like a punch to the chest. “I never knew my mother.”
“Damn. I’m sorry.”
“She died giving birth to me and my twin sister. At home.” The words came out flat, emotionless. I’d told this story so many times it had lost its weight. Almost.
“At home? Why?”
“My father didn’t trust hospitals. He was one of those Hotep niggas who thought Western medicine was poison. Demanded she give birth at home without a midwife, without any medical help.” My voice cracked slightly. “She bled out. We lived, she didn’t.”
“That’s fucked up.” Prime’s voice was hard. “That’s really fucked up.”
“I know.” I felt the tears building before I could stop them. “And the worst part is he had three other wives. Three. And notone of them took care of us properly. They resented us. They had their other kids to watch out for. So me and Zainab…” My voice broke completely. “We raised each other. We were all we had.”
The tears came then, hot and fast, years of grief and anger and loneliness pouring out. I covered my face with my hands, embarrassed, trying to hold it together.
I heard the turn signal. Felt the car slow down and pull over onto the shoulder of the highway.
“What are you?—”
Prime killed the engine and got out. Before I could process what was happening, he’d opened my door and was pulling me out of the car.
“Come here,” he said, and then his arms were around me.
I should’ve pushed him away. Should’ve told him I was fine. But I wasn’t fine. I hadn’t been fine in years. So I let myself break down against his chest, sobbing into his shirt, feeling his arms tighten around me.
“I’m sorry,” I gasped between sobs. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why?—”
“Don’t apologize.” His voice was low, soothing. One hand rubbed circles on my back while the other cradled the back of my head. “You’re allowed to feel this.”
I cried harder, my hands clutching his shirt, months—years—of holding everything together finally crashing down. He didn’t say anything else. Just held me. Let me fall apart.
“Where are we?”
We both froze. I pulled back to see Yusef sitting up in the backseat, his face pressed against the window, eyes wide with confusion and worry.
I quickly wiped my face, trying to pull myself together. “Just needed some air.”
Prime squeezed my shoulder once before stepping back, giving me space. “She’s good, lil man.”
Yusef didn’t look convinced, but he nodded slowly.
I climbed back into the car, avoiding eye contact with both of them. Prime got back in the driver’s seat, started the engine, and merged back onto the highway.
The rest of the drive was quiet. I kept my eyes on the window, feeling raw and exposed. Prime didn’t try to talk. Just drove, occasionally glancing at me in a way that felt protective rather than intrusive.
When we finally pulled up to my building, I was exhausted. Emotionally wrung out.
“Thank you,” I said quietly. “For today. For… everything.”
