Both of their heads snapped like that creepy little girl inThe Exorcist.
Reagan squealed. “Ooooh. A person, person?”
“A person, person,” I said, letting it land where it wanted to land.
Reece’s smile did that barely-there bloom, slow and sincere. “You like her?”
I thought about how she tried to shrink, how I’d refused to let her. The way her voice dipped when she said, I don’t know you,and the curiosity in her eyes when I said,That’s the point.She wasn’t rude or cold, but honest, a woman who told the truth and still left room for wonder. That balance was rare.
“I do,” I said simply.
“When can we meet her?” Reagan shot up as if I’d said right now.
“Sit down,” I said, laughing as I walked past them toward the hallway. “Y’all gon’ scare her. Let me do this right.”
“Fine.” Reagan huffed, flopping back with all the drama she could fit in her body. Then her face softened, real and warm. “We happy for you though. For real.”
“Same,” Reece murmured, and I knew she meant it the way a writer means period.
My heart thumped heavily and grateful. My sisters had seen me tired, stretched thin, and choosing responsibility over ease so many times it became routine. So, for them to be happy for me, genuinely, felt like a blessing I didn’t even know I was waiting for. They were my heart outside my body. They didn’t know everything I carried, but they knew enough to recognize when something good found its way to me, and that mattered a great deal.
“Don’t stay up late,” I added as I pushed down the hallway. “Don’t open the door. Don’t answer numbers you don’t know. And don’t ask me about that party?—”
“What party?” Reagan asked, eyebrows knitted with innocence. “It’s just at Jada’s. Her mama will be home.”
“What’s her mama’s name?” I asked without turning. Silence. “Right. Exactly. If you can’t tell me the mama’s name, your behind is staying home. We not doing crowd roulette.”
“Ugh. You be doing the most.”
“I do the most because I love you the most,” I said, and it wasn’t even a line. It came out plain because it was plain. “Find a movie. Keep it down.”
I went to my room, shut my door, stripped, and stepped into the shower. Hot water beat across the back of my neck like it owed me interest. My mind replayed timestamps like a football coach reviewing game film. I thought about how long her hand sat in that soft tremble after the spill. How quickly she straightened when I lifted her chin. How her laugh found its balance again next to her friend. How she looked me in my eyes in that café and didn’t flinch, just watched, measured, and considered. When I got out of the shower, towel slung low, I checked my phone before I could pretend I wouldn’t. I had one new message.
Future Wifey—My Constellation :
I made it home safely. Thanks for caring.
Me:
Always, baby.
I stared at the name again, the audacity, the way it fit as if it belonged. Warmth circled my chest slowly, steadily. My thumbs moved.
The dots appeared, disappeared, then came back. I smiled. She was debating. Sensible women check for alarms before they open doors, and they don’t mistake charm for character.
I hit FaceTime. I didn’t expect her to answer on the first ring, but she did.
The screen was filled with warm brown and soft light. Her curls were loose now. A jersey dress had been swapped for a big T-shirt that was trying to decide if it was a dress or a nightgown.Her pretty face was bare. Her freckles said hello like old friends. My breath misbehaved.
“Hey,” she said, and there was that voice—teacher smooth and stern when necessary. “You really FaceTimed me.”
“You really answered. I see we both taking risks tonight,” I said, smirking at her pretty ass.
She rolled her eyes like she wanted to hide the grin. “You’re bold.”
“I’m sure. You good?” I corrected her softly and kept the conversation flowing.
“I’m good. Thank you for walking us to the car. That was . . . nice.” She tucked a curl behind her ear.
