The dam inside Meadow broke completely.
She kissed her mother’s forehead, wiped her own tears with shaking hands, and stood up. By the time she reached the hallway, her breath was still uneven, chest tight, heart splitting itself open.
Lesha stepped out of the bathroom, bonnet tilted, glasses on, towel over her arm.
One look at Meadow’s face and she knew she was needed. “You need me to sit with her?” she said immediately.
Meadow nodded fast. “Please…I-I need to talk to him.”
Lesha didn’t hesitate. “Baby, go. I got your mama. You ain’t got to explain nothin’.” She placed a hand on Meadow’s shoulder. “And just so you know…it’s almost like I came here for this. I used to do home care when Zaire was little. I know how to watch after somebody. Your Mama safe with me.”
Meadow nodded again, breathing shakily “Thank you.”
“All you worry about,” Lesha said, squeezing her shoulder, “is gettin’ my son.”
The rain had easedinto a slow and steady downpour by the time Meadow stepped onto the green. The grass glistened under the floodlights, each drop catching the glow like stars had fallen and melted into the earth.
Zaire was already out there, hood up, shoulders broad, club in hand, looking like the storm was something he’d been arguing with.
He heard her feet before he turned.
His voice didn’t hold heat this time…just exhaustion and a low, rough edge that softened when it was her. “You shouldn’t be out here.”
“You shouldn’t be either,” she countered.
He didn’t argue. He was too tired to argue with her, especially not when he’d been arguing with her in his head for days now.
He didn’t move either.
Meadow walked closer, rain tapping her skin in chilly bursts. “Play me.”
This was so Meadow coded. So nostalgic Black love, coded.
Zaire’s brow lifted just enough for her to see it under his hood. “Play you for what?”
“A game…words. Give me yours and I’ll give you mine.”
“What kind of game?” His tone dipped into something dangerous, something she felt behind her knees.
“Strip golf.”
His mouth parted, then closed, then curved into a slow grin he tried to hide by lowering his head. “You play too much, cuh.”
“I’m serious, Zaire…play me for my words.”
“What about your trust?” he looked at her and she finally saw his eyes. They were tired and red, or maybe he’d smoked himself into that airy Cali vibe that he carried around in his pocket just to make small town girls fall in line.
“Trust…clothes…words…one for one,” Meadow’s tears fell but they blended in with the rain.
Zaire just stared out into space. He was sure there was a reporter somewhere watching, lingering, waiting for just a smidgen of anything. “Each hole?”
Meadow crossed her arms with a small nod, he barely caught.
“You think you gon’ beat me?” he asked, staring at her through the small glow of the moon.
“I think I got something worth winning.”
That did it.
