I watched his profile. the curve of his nose, the fullness of his lips, the tension in his shoulders that seemed to finally loosen tonight. "You been different lately," I said gently. "In a good way." His jaw flexed once. "I know."
"You wanna talk about it?" He didn't answer at first. He put the blunt out in the ashtray, wiped his hands on his pants, then leaned back, head hitting the seat. "Shit got loud in my head," he said finally. "Too loud. Felt like I didn't have space to hear nothin' good." I stayed silent and Let him talk. "But these last couple weeks I don't know. I been feelin' normal again. Or close to it." I swallowed. "What changed?" He shrugged. "Me. You. Us. I don't know. Shit just feel better when I'm actually home wit' you instead of out runnin' after ghosts." My breath caught a little at that.
"All that time I was gone? You ain't know how much I wanted this," he admitted. "Just sittin' somewhere quiet wit' you. Bein' close. Bein' normal." My chest warmed listening to him continue to talk. This was the side of him that made me fall in love with him. The vulnerable, honest, unexpectedly gentle version of him he hid from the rest of the world. "Seein' how fucked up you was about it all it hit a lil different," he said, sighing as he pulled his phone from his pocket. "Made me realize where my head shoulda been at."
His screen lit up. Whatever he saw on it shifted his energy quick. "We gotta go," he mumbled, ashing the blunt out the window and adjusting himself in the seat so he could pull off. I didn't ask questions. I just sipped my strawberry lemonade and let the night carry us wherever it was meant to go. Believe Me by Rod Wave blasted through the speakers as we drove away from the fair, the bass vibrating through my feet on the dash. He tapped the steering wheel in rhythm, windows down, night air warm on our skin.
It was peaceful.
It was needed.
It was us.
After about twenty minutes, we pulled up in front of his parents' house, lights blazing, cars everywhere, the yard full as always. I glanced over at him with a raised brow. He chuckled like he already knew what I was thinking, putting the truck in park. He stepped out, walked around, and opened my door like the gentleman he only remembered he was when he felt good. He pulled me out by my hand, fingers entwined with mine as he led me toward the house.
The moment the door opened, sound hit me like a wave. Kids everywhere running, screaming, laughing, crying, arguing.
The TV in the den blasting cartoons. Someone's tablet playing YouTube Kids. The smell of food floating from the kitchen. Music coming from somewhere upstairs. It was pure St. Jean chaos. We stepped into the dining area where Juste, Chiana, Nia, Jules, Amina, and Pierre sat around the table, cups in hand, snacks spread out, everybody loud.
"Here, Ayida we made you one," Nia said, sliding a cold glass my way.
I lifted it and sniffed. Margarita. I giggled and took a sip before sliding into the seat next to Noles. "Why we drinkin'?" I asked, still smiling. "Yo in-laws called this meeting," Amina said, sipping her own drink with attitude, making Chiana and Nia bust out laughing.
"Y'all got all these damn kids in here like it's a daycare center or some," Noles said, looking around the room with wide eyes. "Shit, y'all ain't gon leave no room for me to have none." Jules leaned back in his chair with a grin. "Nigga, you better get in where you fit in. Unless ya dick don't work or some." Before anybody could react, Noles sat forward. "I'll up dick right now and show you this muthafucka work, Ju. And you know it, fuck nigga." The whole table erupted. I put my forehead on the table because embarrassment was taking me to glory. "Shut the hell up. Both of you." Evie's voice cut through the noise.
She stepped into the dining room with Juliana , Jules and Nia's youngest, perched on her hip. Her hair roller wrapped, and she wore her jewelry always. She eyed the two of them like she was deciding whose head to knock off first. Right behind her walked Saint , high as a kite, eyes low, moving slow like his body was on a three-second delay from his brain. He smelled like weed and cologne and faint peppermint.
Evie bounced Juliana on her hip once, squared her shoulders like the matriarch she swore she was, and cleared her throat loud enough to silence twenty kids and half the grown folks in the room. "A new set of charter schools gon' open at the beginnin' of the year," she announced. "As donors, we have to attend the donor event." She paused, letting the weight of her voice spread through the dining room. Everyone went quiet. Her eyes scanned the table, slow and deliberate, landing on each of us one by one and stopping a little too long when they got to me. "Well, y'all," she said, voice tight and nose in the air. "That said" she continued, shifting Juliana again, "your daddy will be takin' you boys to get tailored. And I'll take them" she pointed her chin toward us women "to find somethin' to wear. Because we all know Juste and Noles' wives come lookin' any kinda way."
My mouth parted just a little. I wasn't even sure how to react, laugh, roll my eyes, pray for patience, so I took a sip of my margarita instead. Chiana lifted her brows and didn't miss a beat. "We your daughters-in-law whether you like it or not," she said sweetly. "And you love everything I put on. You just hate me 'cause you ain't me." Amina choked on her drink, Nia covered her mouth, and Pierre let out a deep chuckle. Evie's lip curled up like she smelled somethin' foul.
"Chiana, I don't like nothin' about you."
"I know," Chiana shot back, grinning wide. "Because you love everything about me. It's okay, Evie I love you too, even on your worst days." I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing'. I had no idea how Chiana got to the point where she could spar with Evie like that and walk away alive but I admired her for it.
Evie sucked her teeth, waved her hand, and adjusted the baby on her hip again. "Anyway," she drawled, dismissingthe entire exchange. "The event is next month. I'll take y'all to get fitted next week." Her eyes cut straight to Chiana and Amina. "So don't even think about makin' nan nother baby and gettin' swole before then," she warned, eyebrows narrowing like that alone was enough to keep them from conceiving'. Chiana clutched her chest dramatically. "Girl, pregnancy ain't contagious."
"Around y'all it is," Evie snapped. "Drop a cup wrong and somebody come up talkin' 'bout they late." Amina burst out laughing, leaning forward with her glass raised. "Evie, bye," she said, waving her hand like she couldn't handle her foolery today. "How much money we donatin' that we gotta make a damn appearance?" Juste frowned, rubbing his temple like he could already feel the necktie choking him. "Why you and Pops can't go? Why it gotta be us?" Evie glared at him in that way that shut a whole room up.
"Because this y'all shit now," she snapped. "And y'all the face of it. I don't wanna hear shit else about it. You goin'." She didn't answer the question about how much money had been donated, and that alone told me they dropped a bag so big it probably had its own trust fund.
Noles squeezed my leg under the table, leaning close until his lips brushed the shell of my ear. "I still want you to hold dat nigga hand," he murmured, eyes flicking toward Saint across the room. I rolled my eyes, waving him off. No matter how many times I told him Saint had nothing to do with him gettin' shot, he stayed convinced the man was hiding something.
"Let it go," I whispered back. He didn't respond, just sucked his teeth and leaned back like he was still watching Saint from the corner of his eye. The rest of the evening, Juste talked about the upcoming grand opening for the casino, a weekafter the donor event. Every now and then, while he went over numbers and logistics, I'd catch Evie looking at me. Not mean. Not warm. Just studying. Like she had a question sitting on her tongue but couldn't decide if she wanted to know the answer.
______
The Next Weekend
Like she promised, Evie had us on the outskirts of town at a mid-sized boutique with big glass windows and cream-colored curtains tied back with gold ropes. The kind of place that smelled like expensive perfume and steamed fabric. Evie introduced the owner as her good friend Cicely, who was already waving pins around like wands. We sipped wine out of real glasses and tried on different gowns as Evie and Cicely circled us, tugging, pinning, adjusting, and mumbling measurements to each other like tailors in a movie montage. "Evie, I didn't know you was into fashion and makin' alterations," Chiana said, taking a sip while we watched Evie pin a dress on Nia's body with surprising precision. "It's a lot you don't know about me, Chiana." Evie didn't even look up, just stabbed another pin into the hem and made Chiana giggle into her wine.
Nia's face stayed blank. Like she wasn't fully in the room with us. She'd been spaced out all morning, slow to respond, slow to smile. And her spirit, it wasn't radiating the way it usually did. Something was dim. After scribbling down the last measurements, Evie and Cicely stepped outside for a cigarette break, leaving the four of us alone in the fitting room area. "You okay, Nia?" I asked softly as Amina walked around refilling everyone's glass. "Your energy off."
Nia and Chiana made quick eye contact , quick enough to mean something, too quick for me to miss. They both took asip of their drinks at the same time. "I'm good," Nia said finally. "Just a lot goin' on. Bein' a wife and a mommy, sometimes it just gets hard. And tiring." Amina nodded immediately. "Girl, say that. Between being a mommy, cookin', and tryin' to keep that happily married phase going, get hectic. Lawd come here Jesus."
We all laughed gently, but Nia's smile didn't reach her eyes. Her shoulders sagged. Her hands twisted in her lap. Her breath kept catching too shallow. I felt the shift, that tug in the air that let me know she wasn't just tired. Her spirit was heavy. Burdened. "Being tired is one thing," I said, meeting her eyes with softness. "But this feel like somethin' else."
She looked at the floor. Nia inhaled slow. Then exhaled slower. Like she was gathering words from somewhere deep in her chest. Finally, she whispered "I just feel overwhelmed. And I don't know how to say that out loud without somebody thinkin' I'm bein' dramatic or ungrateful." My heart pulled tight. Because I knew that feeling too well, that quiet sinking, that whisper of "you should be okay" when you not.
