Juste watched us both without sayin shit, probably waitin to see which one of us was gon' snap first. I could feel the tension stretchin thin, tight as wire. Five minutes passed, but it Felt like longer. "What the fuck y'all niggas got goin' on?" Juste finally asked, breakin the silence. Saint didn't look away from me. "I'm just checkin' the disrespectful young nigga out," he said flat. I raised my eyebrow. "Oh yeah?"
"Yeah," he replied, voice steady, eyes locked. Pierre stepped in before it could turn into something else. "What up? What's the beef between y'all, man?" Saint waved it off like it was nothing. "Ain't shit to it. This nigga just got shot and act like the world at his ass. Paranoid as fuck. Lookin' at me like I sent them people at cha." He said it clean, And he looked me square in my face when he did. I turned slightly, tightenin my tie again, watchin him through the mirror. My reflection stared back just as hard. "Did you?" The question came out calm. Saint chuckled low, deep, and confident. "If I sent somebody at ya ass, you wouldn't be here lookin' at me." Something twisted in my chest. "Noles, come on wit' that shit," Juste said, rubbin the bridge of his nose like we was all givin him a headache. "You know Pops ain't have shit to do wit' that. What I tell you 'bout all that hot, hostile-ass shit? Chill out."
"For real," Jules added. "Yo young ass ain't gon' keep tryna beef with Pops. I'll hit you in ya shit." Pierre sneered at him immediately. "You shut your pussy-ass up, instigator." That pulled a short laugh out of me, but my eyes stayed on Saint. Long enough for him to know, I wasn't convinced.
I shifted the conversation before it could spiral. "Since we gotta get sugar-sharp for this bullshit-ass event Mama makin' us go to," I said, "I hope you not expectin' us to pull out suits and ties for the casino openin'. I can't do it, bruh." Juste didn't even look up from his phone. "Nah."
Saint cleared his throat. "On a serious note," he said. I felt it coming before it landed. "I love y'all. All y'all." His eyes dragged to me last. I didn't blink. "Y'all are my legacy," he continued, "and I'm damn proud to see y'all keepin' the name clean and keepin' shit afloat." He nodded once. The room went quiet. Pierre squinted. "That shit sound soft as hell. You ain't finna tell us you got cancer or some shit, is you?" Jules laughed under his breath. "Shit do Sound like a farewell tour."
Saint chuckled but it didn't touch his eyes. "Hella nah. I just see so much of me in all y'all," he said. "Even in them youngins y'all keep havin'. I just love y'all, is all." I shifted in the suit, the fabric suddenly feeling heavier than it should've. Like it was pressin into my skin instead of fittin me. Pops didn't talk like this. He showed love through pressure. Through silence. Through makin you earn air. This felt like a confession without context.
Saint's phone rang, the vibration loud in the quiet room, and he pulled it from his pocket like nothing heavy had just been dropped between us. He put it on speaker without thinkin, thumb tapping the screen. "Can you stop at the market and grab some apples for the grands?" Mama's voice came through thephone, sharp but warm at the same time. In the background, I could hear feet thumpin, kids yellin, somethin crashing like a toy got thrown too hard. Pops furrowed his brows. "I thought they went home this mornin'?"
"One asked to stay another night and you know how that go," she replied. "Plus they mammies at happy hour with champagne glasses turned up to the mouth like always." I knew she was rollin her eyes by the way she said it. I could hear the sarcasm wrapped up in affection. Juste, Jules, and Pierre busted out laughing all at once, the sound cutting through the earlier tension like a blade. "Since y'all think everything so funny," Mama snapped back, "come get ya damn churren!" That shit had me snickerin before I could stop myself.
"I'm on the way. Love you," Saint said, his tone softer now, different than it was ten minutes ago. He ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket. Watchin them like that always threw me off. Saint and Mama both had big personalities. Strong. Loud. Stubborn as hell. But them kids had softened somethin in them, rounded the sharp edges. I saw it every time they talked about the grandkids, even when they pretended to complain. It made me think about Ayida. About the way she talked to the ancestors like family. The way she believed love changed bloodlines, not just people.
"She love tryna act like she don't like bein' a grandma," Juste said, smacking his lips, "when deep down she don't even be wantin' them to come home." Pierre nodded. "Facts. She be sad when they leave."
Saint adjusted his jacket, already halfway gone mentally. "I'm out. I meant what I said." He walked out the building without looking back, the door closing behind him with a soft click that somehow sounded louder than it should've.
The room felt different after that. Lighter but uneasy. Pierre made calls out to Amina and got her voicemail a few times. "Them women say somethin' to y'all about meetin' up?" Pierre asked, breakin the silence.
We all shook our heads at the same time. They usually didn't. "I wonder where they ass at," Pierre muttered. "Nine times outta ten yo house or mine," Juste said casually. I pulled my phone out my pocket without thinkin, thumb already movin'. Ayida's location popped up quick, that little dot sitting steady like it always did. "Look like they at Ju house," I said. "That's where Ayida location say she at." Pierre laughed under his breath. "Know they drunk." I leaned back in my chair, starin up at the ceiling for a second longer than necessary, lettin that statement settle. Drunk usually meant loud. Loud usually meant truth.
After we left the shop, I trailed them back to Jules' house. We stood out front for a minute, passing a blunt around, smoke floatin up into the night air while the porch light flickered. Nobody rushed inside. We never did. There was always that pause, like we was bracing ourselves for whatever kind of chaos waited on the other side of the door. "Noles, make sure you get your hair did," Juste said, exhalin smoke. "That shit nappy as a cat's ass."
"Y'all crab-ass niggas stay on my dick," I shot back, snatchin the blunt from his hand mid-pass, makin him laugh. "You just the lil brother, nigga. That's all that is," Jules added, shaking his head. I took one last pull, put the blunt out on the edge of the ashtray by the door, and tucked it away before we stepped inside. Soon as the door opened, I knew.
The house was loud. Drunk loud. Happy loud. Women-on-a-mission loud. When we rounded the corner into the livingroom, I stopped dead in my tracks. Amina was laid flat on her back on the coffee table, legs up in the air, turkey baster in her hand pointed at her cat like she was conductin a damn science experiment. Ayida stood over her, tryin her hardest to be serious but failing miserably, her shoulders shakin as she tried not to laugh. "Come on, y'all, be forreal," Nia said, attemptin to sound authoritative and failin just as bad. "Quit laughin' and pay attention." That just sent Chiana and Ayida into wheezin laughter, clutchin each other like they couldn't breathe.
"Ay man, what the fuck y'all in here doin'?" Pierre barked, makin all of them jump and snap their heads toward us like they'd just been caught by the police. Chiana pressed her lips together, trying to hold it in, cheeks puffed. "None of y'all gon' say shit?" Pierre continued, hands on his hips. "Amina, why the hell you laid out on these people coffee table with a damn big-ass syringe in ya hand?" That was it. They lost it. Ayida, Chiana, Nia, and Amina all howled at the same damn time, bent over, crying, laughing, barely able to stand. "Ain't shit funny," Pierre muttered, shakin his head. "Y'all ass just get drunk and be doin' shit." Amina rolled off the table and immediately tried to pull him into a hug, plantin a kiss on his cheek. "Relax, babe," she laughed.
I walked straight up to Ayida, took the champagne glass from her hand, and took a slow sip. Then I hooked my free arm around her waist, pullin her closer until her body fit against mine like it always had. "What y'all got goin' on, man?" I asked quietly, eyes locked on hers. She stared back at me for a long moment then giggled it off like it was nothing. "It ain't nothin'," she said lightly. But I knew her. And it was something.
Before I could press her, the sound of muffled voices driftin from down the hallway caught my attention. Jules andNia. Raised voices. Sharp tones. Whatever it was, it wasn't playful. I didn't even noticed them slip away. "You ready to go?" I murmured, lookin back down at Ayida. "But we drinkin', the energy is great," she pouted, lips pushed out, eyes shinin. "You can do that at home with me," I said, brushin my lips against hers. "I'm yours for the rest of the day." That did it. She smiled up at me with that goofy, unguarded smile like she felt chosen, and safe.
"I'm about to go," I said, glancin at Juste, then back down the hallway one last time. "We right behind ya," Juste agreed, already noddin. "P and Mina, if y'all ridin', let's go." We filed out one by one, the night air hittin different now, quieter, calmer. Everyone split off into their cars, engines starting, headlights cutting through the dark.
Ayida played DJ on the ride home, champagne glass still in her hand, shoulders rolling as she danced in her seat like the world wasn't heavy at all. "I like how yo roguish ass stole that glass from my brother house," I chuckled, glancin over at her. She rolled her eyes, laughin, never missing a beat.
Watchin her in the passenger seat had my chest doing weird shit. Butterflies. Calm. Gratitude. All mixed together. She was a different breath of air for me.
A pause.
A peace.
No matter how loud the world got, no matter what chaos waited around the corner, I knew one thing for sure, The peace she brought me, That shit was unmatched.
Ayida
The heat pressed against my scalp in slow, patient waves, the flat iron gliding through my hair with a steady hiss that sounded almost like breath. Steam curled upward, carrying the scent of coconut oil and something faintly burnt, something familiar. I sat still in the chair, hands folded in my lap, eyes lowered to my nails that were freshly manicured, pale pink, smooth and perfect. The ring on my finger caught the light every time I moved, the diamond flashing like it had a voice of its own. I stared at it longer than I meant to. It shined the same way it had the first day Noles slid it onto my finger, his hands shaking just a little, his mouth tight like he was trying not to show how serious it all was.
I remembered the weight of his palms. The way his voice dropped when he said my name. The way the world felt like it shifted around us. Now, my mind wouldn't sit still. It paced. Circles on circles. Running into walls it already knew were there. My period was late this month.
Not late enough to panic but late enough to hope. Late enough for Noles to notice before I did. He'd said it casual, like he wasn't trying to read into it, but I saw the way his eyes lit up. The way his shoulders straightened. The way he started imagining something he didn't even know he was imagining yet. "You late?"
The test was negative. One thin line. He'd hugged me like it didn't matter. Like he was fine either way. Like love didn't come with expectations or futures or legacy tangled up in blood. But I felt it. The flicker of disappointment he tried to bury. The hope that had bloomed too fast to kill quietly.
