They tried to hide their smiles, but they were amused. They acted irritated, yet my rules made them feel safe, even if they’d never say it. That was love: kids hated the fence until it kept them from falling. And I meant it. I didn’t play about my sisters, and I didn’t play about Solé. Everybody might as well get with the program.
I reached for the coffee pot, and my phone lit up. My chest jumped. My first thought, my Constellation. I checked the screen: unknown number with the district code.
I answered. “This is Roman.”
“Good morning, Mr. DeLane,” a woman said, professional but friendly. “This is Mrs. Hargrove, assistant principal at Self Ridge Senior High. We received your head swim coach application and would like to interview you Monday at 10 AM, if you’re available.”
I gripped the counter, pulse loud in my ears, mind snapping to stability—benefits, steady income, savings, peace. “Yes, ma’am, I’m available,” I said, voice steady.
“Wonderful. We’ll email the details. We’re excited to meet you,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am. I appreciate the opportunity.”
We hung up, and I stood there a second, phone in hand, pulse loud. I didn’t shout; I just breathed. Gratitude came quietly, but heavily.
“Who was that?” Reece asked.
“It was Self Ridge High. I got an interview Monday for the head swim coach spot,” I said, letting a small grin through.
Reagan dropped her spoon into her bowl. “And I oop. Come on, favor.”
“That means you’ll be at our school all the time. You gon’ embarrass Reagan in public,” Reece said, smiling.
“That’s the part that brings me joy,” I said with a smirk, then I sobered up. “But for real, this is big—benefits, steady money. I can be there if anything goes left, do what I love, and help the youth. This is good.” I rubbed my hands together like Birdman, excitement slipping through my calm. “I’m praying I get it.”
“We’re proud of you,” Reece said softly.
“We’ve always been proud. Now we just gon’ be well-fed proud,” Reagan added.
I laughed and pulled them into a quick hug, kissing the tops of their heads. “Alright, get dressed. It’s Sibling Day. I got a little stack on me. We’ll hit the mall, the nail shop—no lashes that look like you ’bout to take flight—then a movie, the whole nine. We celebrating in advance.”
Reagan perked up. “And pretzels?”
“And pretzels,” I agreed.
They scattered down the hall, arguing over outfits like it was a fashion show.
I opened Solé’s thread, thumb hovering. Old me would’ve overthought it, tried to sound detached. I wasn’t. I typed what I meant.
Me:
Good morning, My Constellation I pray today is as kind to you as you are beautiful. If it’s not, call me and I’ll handle that for you, baby.
I hit send before I could overthink myself into cowardice. The bubbles popped up, vanished, then popped back. She finally replied.
Future Wifey—My Constellation :
Good morning, handsome! Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.
My mouth twitched. I could picture her smirk, acting unbothered while enjoying the attention.
I must’ve been staring at my phone for too long because, when I looked up, the twins were standing in the doorway watching.
Reagan pointed at my face. “I ain’t know dark-skinned men could blush.”
“Brubbie, your ears are turning red,” Reece added, cracking up.
“Get out of my business and get your shoes,” I said, but my voice gave me away. I was smiling.
