Calm.
Cold.
Final.
Nash chuckled under his breath, a dark, entertained sound, before letting Filesha tug him away. "Can we go?" I whispered, staring up at Noles with tear-bright eyes. He frowned, studying me like he could feel something tearing inside my chest.
He nodded once. But as we stepped away from that table, one thought chilled my bones, Even with his arm around me, even with his presence solid and warm beside me, This was something deeper than we all understood. Something old and blood bound. Something that had been waiting on me to catch up to it.
The ride home passed in silence, but it wasn't peaceful. Streetlights blurred past the windows in long yellow streaks, and every red light felt too bright, too sharp, like it was trying to wake me up from something I wasn't ready to see. I stared straight ahead, hands folded tight in my lap, fingers twisting around each other like they were trying to pray without words.
Noles kept glancing at me. I felt it every time his eyes left the road and came back to my face, like a question hovering between us. He didn't rush me. Didn't push. That alone told me he already knew something wasn't right.
When we pulled into the yard, he didn't cut the engine right away. The headlights stayed on, washing the front of the house in white light like a spotlight. He turned the radio down until the music disappeared completely, then reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a blunt he'd rolled earlier. The sound of the lighter flicking felt loud in the stillness. Smoke rose up between us, thick and slow. "What happened to you back there?" he asked finally. Concern wrapped in control.
I swallowed hard, eyes fixed on the front porch like it might give me answers if I stared long enough. "Nash and Filesha," I said quietly. He took a slow drag, held it in, exhaled through his nose. "What about 'em?" My chest tightened. The words felt too big for my mouth. Too heavy for the space between us. "They're my brother and sister," I whispered.
The smoke froze in his lungs. He turned toward me so fast the seat creaked. "The hell you talkin' 'bout, Yi?" I stayed facing forward, pulse thudding in my ears. My heart felt like it was trying to crawl up my throat. Then I saw Realization settling in behind his eyes like pieces clicking into place. "Fidel yo daddy?" he asked slowly. "You never told me that, Yi." He shook his head once, disbelief laced with something else before taking another drag like he needed it to ground himself.Noles stared at the windshield like he was watchin’ a movie only he could see, jaw workin’ slow, eyes empty but lit at the same time, like a match struck in a dark room.
"Well, it's not somethin' I go around talking' about," I said, heat rising in my chest. "Considering' he was married. With a whole family." I rolled my eyes, but it didn't land the way I meant it to. My voice trembled just enough to give me away. "We married, Ayida," he said, irritation creeping in now. "Ain't nothin' you shouldn't be able to tell me. That shit lame as hell, forreal."
The word married hit harder than anything else. I turned toward him then, finally. "It's not somethin' I'm proud of, Noles," I said quietly. "You come from a perfect family. Two parents. Big house. Traditions. It never felt like the right time to bring up my mama's life." My lips pressed together as old shame crept up my spine, cold and familiar.
He stared at me for a long second, jaw tight. "You gotta cut that shit out," he said. "Forreal." He took another drag, eyes narrowing in thought. "They know?" he asked. I laughed once, hollow and tired, then leaned my head back against the seat. "If Filesha as spiritually inclined as her mama is," I murmured, "I'm sure she do now."
The silence stretched again. Then he spoke, slower this time. "I remember Ma on the phone years ago," he said. "Talkin' 'bout how they mama put roots on a lady Fidel was creepin' with. Folks said it killed her. Everybody and they mama talked 'bout that shit back then."
My stomach dropped. Cold rushed through me like ice water. I started rubbing my hands together without realizing it, palms sliding against each other over and over, like I was trying to wipe something off that wouldn't come clean. Fear crept in sideways, not loud, just sharp enough to cut. Fear that he knew too much. Fear that he knew everything. Fear that he might say the one thing I wasn't ready to hear.
I hugged myself, suddenly freezing. "That was your Ma?" he asked. I nodded. He nodded back, lips pressed together. "That shit crazy," he said quietly. Then he reached over, took my hand, rubbing the back of it with his thumb the way he did when he was thinking but didn't know what to say yet.
The way he did when he was trying not to lose control.
"Call and talk to your grandma," he said finally. That was it.
No sermon.
No pressure.
No questions I wasn't ready to answer.
Just a door.
Noles
The smell of Hot grease, Pepper, and Salt. That iron-heavy smell fried gizzards always carried, thick enough to sit on your tongue before you even ate. Mama had the skillet still popping low on the stove, oil snapping soft through the kitchen. I scooped the gizzards out the bowl she set on the counter, piling them onto my plate without even thinking. My hands moved before my mind caught up. "Ma, you ain't cook no biscuits?" I asked, already looking around her shoulder like I might catch a glimpse of salvation. "Tell me you cooked some biscuits wit these gizzards." She didn't even turn around. "If your hongry ass would hold your horses," she said, fuss sharp but familiar, "I'm pullin' 'em out the oven now."
She opened the oven door and the heat rushed out, thick and wet. Biscuits sat golden and cracked open, steam lifting when she set the pan on the counter. She drizzled honey butter over them like she was blessing each one individually. My mouth watered immediately. I grabbed two, dropped them on my plate, and leaned against the counter ready to eat standing up. Didn't even make it two seconds. "Noles," she snapped, snatching my plate clean out my hands. "Get in there to that table. You not gon' get full standin' up eatin' like a damn stray."
She carried my plate into the dining room and set it down hard, then sat across from me folding towels slow, precise, tight. I ate in silence for a minute, chewing too fast. I didn't even taste it at first. My chest felt tight. That same tightness I woke up with every morning since the coma. Like my lungs forgot how much space they supposed to take up. "That wife of yours must don't cook," Mama said, side-eyeing me over a folded towel. "Everytime I see you, you starvin'." I chuckled low because she wasn't wrong.
Ayida didn't cook like that. She could make a mean ass pasta salad, but she cooked when she felt like it, when the mood hit, when the spirits felt right. And even then, half the time we ended up ordering out. But that never bothered me. Not even a little. Truth was, nothing about her bothered me. Not her silences. Not her rituals. Not her way of driftin' off into herself like she was listening to something I couldn't hear. I loved her through every flaw she thought she had, every one she tried to hide.
That was the part fuckin' with me now. Because love make you blind but it also make you notice when something been missing the whole time. This shit about Fidel bein' her daddy been sittin' in my chest since that night like a stone I couldn't cough up. We'd talked about our childhoods before. Trauma. Loss. Her mama. Her grandma. Her strength. But whenever the conversation drifted toward her pops, it always stopped short. She told me she never met him. Never knew him. And we left it there.
I assumed she didn't know who he was. Finding out she did and just never said it had me in my head. It wasn't betrayal or anger. It was distance. A door I didn't know was there. I sipped from the cup on the table, swallowed, then cleared my throat. "Hey, Ma?" She hummed, folding another towel. "You know we ran into Fidel's kids at that event you set up," I said carefully. "I know they pops gone. I know him and Daddy ran in the same circles. I guess Nash inherited everything?" I kept my tone casual, but my shoulders were tight. My foot bounced under the table without me realizing it.
Mama snorted. "Nawl," she said. "They mama inherited everything." She folded another towel. "Killed that man and continued to raise her kids and live off all that money he made over the years." My fork froze halfway to my mouth. "Ma," I said slowly, smacking my lips. "How you just gon' say that lady killed that man?" She looked up at me then. Dead serious. "The truth is the light. Ion care who tell it." She stared me down like she always did when she meant what she said. "Mozele been an evil low-down bitch all her life," Mama continued. "They always said her folks did black magic. Not the good kind either. Selfish shit. Blood shit. Thats why I can't get jiggy with this lil girl you done went off and married." She pointed at me. My chest tightened harder.
