I set my wine down and moved to sit next to her, grabbing her hand gentle. "Nia, you allowed to break sometimes," I whispered. "Even if nobody else sees it."
Her lip trembled before she swallowed it back down. Amina came around behind her, rubbing her shoulders. Chiana took her other hand. We didn't flood her with questions. We didn't push. We didn't make her explain anything she wasn't ready to share. We just held her there in the soft glow of the boutique lights, pins scattered on the table, dresses draped over chairs, and wine glasses half-full. "Lawd, we probably makin' you rethink your choice to get married, Ayida," Nia chuckled weakly, wiping under her eye. "Girl, don't let us scare you," Chiana said, nudging her shoulder. "I get tired, but I wouldn'ttrade it for anything. I love my babies. I love my husband." She giggled into her glass, cheeks high. "I'm surprised you not knocked up already," Amina said, looking directly at me with a playful squint. "I expected you to be good and swole by now." Chiana and Nia burst out laughing, agreeing a little too quick.
Their voices drifted around me like soft static, giggles floating, wine clinking, their words blending together. But my spirit... my spirit slipped somewhere quiet, somewhere deep inside me where I kept everything hidden. I tuned them out. My body was sitting in that boutique chair, but my soul was pressed against a wall, sliding down it slow. My emotions cracked open, oozing out in places I couldn't hold. I felt my spirit trembling right before I broke.
I still hadn't told Noles. Hell, I hadn't told anybody. And every day it felt like the truth crawled closer to the surface, like the roots of it were growing around my throat. The wine didn't make it better. It made everything louder. Hotter. My stomach twisted like it didn't want the truth inside me anymore. I swallowed hard. The tang of wine tasted like metal on my tongue. It was all too real now, Just like she said it would be.
The curse.
The barrenness.
"Ayida, girl, you don't hear us?" Amina snapped her fingers gently, dragging me back into the room. "Y'all tryin' or nah?"
My breath stuck in my chest. In that moment I felt trapped not physically, but spiritually. Like the walls were closing in. Like all the air in that boutique gathered in the corners and left none for me. I didn't know if it was the wine making my emotions spill over or the fact that I finally felt safeenough or that my spirit was tired of carrying the weight alone. Whatever it was, I couldn't hold it anymore.
My fingers tightened around my glass. My throat burned.
My eyes blurred. And before I could convince my mouth to stay shut, "I can't have babies," I whispered. The room fell silent. Complete stillness. Even the clock on the wall seemed to stop ticking. Chiana's glass froze halfway to her lips. Amina's eyebrows folded slow and soft. Nia's entire face changed ,her shoulders dropping like she'd been punched in the heart for me. Their features softened as one. A wave of sisterhood shifting toward me. Not pity just presence. My breath caught again, chest tight.
I set my wine down before my hands betrayed me and shattered the glass like before. Inside, something sacred cracked open. I could feel the ancestors stirring behind me, not loud, but aware.
Watching.
Listening.
Waiting.
My voice shook when I continued, even quieter this time. "I'll never be able to give him babies." Nia didn't hesitate. "Aww, Ayida girl come here. She scooted forward and pulled me into her arms, holding me the way only another woman who's carried too much knows how. I let a tear fall, wiping it quick before it could betray me again. "Ugh he doesn't even know," I breathed out, defeat sitting low in my chest. "Don't tell him yet," Chiana said gently. "How 'bout we get a second opinion first?"
Before I could answer, the boutique door swung open and Evie strutted in with Cicely right behind her, fanning cigarette smoke away with her acrylics. "What y'all hens in here carryin' on about now?" Evie asked, eyes sharp as she scanned theroom. "You," Chiana shot back without giving her any more time to analyze the room. Giggles erupted around us, softening the heaviness that had just filled the air.
_____
Later That Afternoon
After almost three hours of fittings, pins, adjustments, and Evie's bossy commentary, we finally wrapped up. Evie dropped us off, and we ended up piling into Amina's house, the only child-free home besides mine, since her Nana had her kids for the weekend. Amina insisted we needed girl time, something light to wash the weight away.
Outside on her patio, the sun was leaning toward evening. We sat around a large table peeling crawfish, our fingers seasoned red, margaritas sweating in the humidity. The smell of lemon, spice, and butter lingered in the air. They listened, as I told them the story of my childhood. My mama. The affair. The curse. Fidel. Why my womb was marked before I even knew what it meant to be a woman. "Wait, Fidel is yo daddy?" Nia asked, eyebrows pulled together. "Fidel Baptiste?"
"Biologically," I nodded, continuing. "But nothin' about him ever been a father to me." The table went quiet in that respectful way women go quiet when they hearing something sacred. "I just think that whole thing is real fucked up, Ayida. I'm sorry," Amina said, voice soft as she cracked another crawfish tail. "Yeah," Chiana added, licking seasoning from her thumb, "I still think we should get a second opinion. Maybe take a road trip, see a specialist or somethin'." I laughed, but bitterness crept into the sound. "Crazy thing is I know Evie really not gon' have me a part of this family when she find that out."
"Girl, Evie don't run nothin' but her damn mouth," Chiana said, waving it off. "Whatever goes on between you and your husband is between y'all. She can't make no decisions for him."
"We never know what can change," Nia added softly. "Don't be so hard on yourself." Their words washed over me. Not fixing the hurt but easing it, smoothing it, giving it somewhere else to live besides inside my chest. The cicadas hummed. The air thickened like it always did before sunset. And my spirit finally loosened its fist just a little, the burden didn't feel like mine alone anymore.
Noles
We all sat at the table in the back of the cigar lounge, tucked away from the front like niggas who needed privacy. Thick smoke hung low over our heads, movin slow toward the ceiling, mixin with the low music barely audible under the bass of other niggas talkin' business in nearby booths. Laughter, money talk, threats wrapped in jokes, it all blended together into background noise I wasn't really hearin'.
Juste was ramblin' through the last lil details of the casino. Shit like workers, permits, security schedules, timelines but my attention wasn't nowhere near that shit. My eyes were glued to Jules. That nigga wore a mug straight from hell. Jules didn't get mad often. He had a long-ass fuse, always did. But when he did get there, You could feel it before he ever opened his mouth. It stuck to him and moved through his body. Changed the way he breathed. The way he held his shoulders.
He stood up from the table fast, chair legs screechin' against the floor, damn near knockin into Pierre, and marched toward the single-person bathroom near our booth. He shut the door hard enough to make the wall shake. Then I heard him. Not word-for-word. But the heat in his tone. The way his voice bounced off the tile like he was pacin back and forth, cussin' somebody out, hand probably pressed to his forehead the same way he did when he was tryin' not to lose his shit completely.
I frowned, leanin back in my chair, listenin through the haze of smoke, my instincts flarin' even if I couldn't name why yet. Juste stopped mid-sentence, lips parted, eyes narrowin like he was replayin' the last few months in his head all at once.Pierre looked from me, to Juste, to the bathroom door like he expected somebody to come flyin' out of it at any second.
After a few minutes, the toilet flushed, just for show clearly, and Jules came out. His jaw was clenched so tight a vein was pushin' out his neck. He sat back down slow, like his body was heavier than it should've been, slidin' his phone face-down on the table like it offended him. "What up, Ju?" Juste asked, blowing smoke upward, eyes locked on him. "Not shit," Jules muttered, straight face, not lookin' at none of us. I raised my eyebrow. "Nigga, you betta tell us what the fuck goin' on. I'm liable to think you tryna set me up, bitch." Jules snapped his head in my direction. "Shut yo paranoid ass up, Noles."
"Then talk," I said plainly. "'Cause somethin' off." He huffed, lookin away, shoulders still tight, like even turning his head cost him effort. "I just got some shit goin' on at home, aight? Nothin' I wanna sit up and have group therapy about." Pierre scoffed under his breath, adjustin the cutter on his cigar. "Yo ass betta not be fuckin' off again. Nobody got time for that bullshit."
