My mind swiftly shifted into full command mode as I laid out antiseptic, gauze, and a roll of medical tape with quiet precision.
“This might sting,” I warned, gently dabbing some antiseptic onto the wound with a cotton ball.
Adrian whined, like I had doused him in fire. “Fuck! It burns!”
“Stop moaning and dragging,” I muttered, not even looking up, still focused on my task.
I tore open a fresh pack of gauze and began wrapping his knee.
“It’s deep, but not jagged,” I added, winding the gauze like a pro. “So there’s no reason to act like I just sawed your leg off with a butter knife.”
Once I smoothed down the end, I sealed it with medical tape.
I leaned back to assess my handiwork. “All patched up! You’ll live tolieanother day,” I finished with a slap to his knee like it was a tourniquet.
“Aghhhhh!” Adrian hollered.
“You want some Tylenol or a bottle of shame to drink?”I teased, raising an eyebrow.
Before he could respond, I tilted my head. “Shame… definitely shame. How about a peppermint? I’ve got those, too.”
Adrian sank to the couch with a dramatic groan.
Bryce strolled over and tossed him the frozen bag of peas. “For yourinjury,” he joked. “Put it on your ego.”
Isis stood off to the side, arms folded tightly, looking as if she wanted an honorary degree in herbal homicide.
“Next time—God forbid there ever is one—but if by some wild twist we get stuck at the same place again and an injury occurs, we’re calling 9-1-1… or at least someone who ain’t get certified on TikTok Live withMama Rootz.”
“That was a legit cleanse, okay?" Isis argued. "And itwould’veworked had you not jumped in with your Walgreens kit and colonizer spirit. Just because you don’t recognize ancestral healing when you see it, don’t mean it doesn’t work! My receipts come with testimonials! I got people who’ll vouch for me…realpeople!”
“Yeah… sure.”
I shook my head, already weary of the circus unfolding around me. My plans for that weekend had been simple: to sink into the cozy embrace of the couch with a steaming mug of spiked hot coffee and lose myself in the pages of a good book. I was supposed to be curled up, reading about a man who worked three jobs to fund his girlfriend’s dreams, until she made it and said he didn’t ‘fit her brand’… not catering to a grown man’s injuries, with weak knees and a soft spot for his nurse.
Three hours later, I took a slow, savory bite of the chili and damn near moaned. I snapped my fingers and nodded in approval like a Black grandma on Thanksgiving who just tasted somebody else’s greens and realized they finally got it right.
“Oh yeah… that’s it. That’s the one.”
I pulled the cornbread from the oven, and heat rushed up to my face. It was baby-soft in the middle, with that crispy, golden edge, and was giving everything it needed to give.
“Food’s done!” I called out.
I filled a bowl for myself—because self-care—then added a corner of cornbread so it soaked up just enough juice. Then I grabbed a bottled water from the fridge. When I turned, I damn near collided with Isis… who, of course, had changed into a new outfit.
Of course.
Isis clasped her hands together slowly, eyes sliding to the pot.
“I’ve been waiting for this,” she gushed, voice smooth and expectant. “I hope it’s good.”
I paused and let my eyes drag over her like I was scrolling past something I didn’t ask to see.
“Mmm,” I said thoughtfully. “I bet you said the same thing this morning… right before you tried to cook breakfast. You remember… when the eggs were still wet but somehow burnt, and the bacon looked like it lost the will to live?”
Her smile faltered.
Satisfied, I kept walking.
