"Ma," I said flat. "What happened?" She leaned back in her chair. "We the same age," she said. "Grew up together. She met Fidel when she was fifteen. They was together till he died." My jaw clenched. "The white folks say aneurysm," Mama went on. "That's bullshit. Fidel was healthy as an ox. Just like your daddy. Anybody with sense know she did that." She stacked the towels neatly. "A year or two before he passed, she killed his hoe." I sat back in my chair, Taking in everything she was saying. "Some woman he'd been creepin' with for years. She got pregnant. Kept the baby, that time.” She sided eyed me. “That sent hell through that house." Mama's voice stayed calm, but I could hear the old anger under it. "She killed her. Then found out Fidel had been keepin' tabs on that baby. Givin' money to the family. And that?" She shook her head. "That sent even more hell through her."
My thoughts started pacing. If that woman was capable of that, and If Nash grew up under that roof, who knew what the nigga was capable of. My hand tightened around my fork.Paranoia crept in quiet. Just questions stackin' on top of each other until my chest felt like it was caving in.
"Why you so nosy in peoples' business all of a sudden?" Mama squinted her eyes at me, lips pursed tight as she reached for a cigarette from the pack on the table. She tapped it against her finger once, slow. "This got somethin' to do with that girl you done brought in my family?" I stared at her hard. "Ma, what I told you 'bout that?" I said, my tone firm, not loud but heavy enough to land. "No. This don't got nothin' to do with her." I leaned forward, forearms on the table. "And you already know, we one now. If you don't like her, you don't like me. And I'ma have to stop comin' over here sittin' wit' you, talkin' shit wit' you like you love." I flashed her a grin to soften it, but I meant every word.
She sucked her teeth, shaking her head. "Noles, please. You comin' 'cause that girl can't cook and you love a home-cooked meal." She rolled her eyes and stood up, already reaching for her lighter. "Don't flatter yourself." I snorted, leaning back in my chair. "That might be true too," I muttered. She slid open the back door, the screen creaking, and stepped outside to smoke. The door hadn't even shut all the way before Juste walked in, phone in one hand, already eyein' the counter like he smelled food from the driveway. "Ma, how you cook and ain't tell nobody?" Juste said, yelling through the screen door at her. "Juste, go to hell," she snapped without reason. "I cook every damn day." He laughed and shook his head, grabbing a plate and loading it up like he hadn't eaten in weeks. "Wassam, baeebbyy brudda," he said, dropping into the chair across from me.
I nodded once but my mind wasn't there. Juste noticed. "You good?" he asked, chewing slow, eyes studying me over his plate. "You look like you somewhere else." I shrugged. "Justthinkin'." "Dangerous," he muttered. I nodded agreein with him. "Speakin of dangerous, fuck was all that about the other night?" I questioned referrin to the situation with Jules and Nash. I watched him swallow the food that he was eatin'. "Man I don't know what the hell goin on. I'm hopin it don't go past that." He said shakin his head like he was tryna make sense of it all. "Know that shit real. Ya brudda had the look of murda in his eyes," I mumbled. Juste didn't say nothin' back after that. He ain't have to. Some truths sit too heavy to argue with.
?
I pulled up to the house after bein' gone damn near the whole day, engine still runnin' while I sat there a second longer than I needed to. The sky was turnin' that dusty purple blue, the kind that always made my chest feel tight. I stared at the front of the house like it was a picture I needed to memorize. I made a mental note to get the grass cut before fall really blew in. Could already see the edges curlin' up, weeds tryna creep through like they always do when you ain't payin' attention. Funny how shit fall apart the second you stop watchin' it close. Just like people.
I cut the engine and stepped out, gravel crunchin' under my shoe louder than it should've been. I checked the corners out of habit. Windows. Porch. Side yard. My body still moved like danger was waitin' on me, even when my mind tried to pretend otherwise. Inside the house, it was quiet. Then I heard Ayida's voice drifted down the hallway, soft and lilting, wrapped in Creole. The words curled around each other, prayer-like, familiar. She sounded tired. Like her spirit had been holdin' somethin' heavy all day and was finally lettin' it rest on somebody else's shoulders.
I followed the sound to the bedroom doorway and stopped there. She was laid up in the bed, wrapped in my hoodielike it belonged to her more than me, sheets pulled up around her waist. Hair wild on top of her head, coils rebellin' in every direction. Her legs were tucked up, knees bent like she was protectin' herself from somethin' invisible. Madame Laurent's voice floated through the phone speaker, low and steady, sayin' things I couldn't fully understand . That woman always sounded like she was talkin' to more than just the person on the line. Ayida hummed softly in response, eyes closed.
When she ended the call, she didn't move right away. She just laid there. Chest rising and fallin' steady. I stood there watchin' her like I was tryin' to memorize the exact shape of her in this moment. Trying to figure out what was up with her. "Wassam wit' you?" I asked finally, my voice rougher than I meant it to be. "Why you lookin' blue?" She opened her eyes and looked at me like she'd been waitin' on that question. Like she'd been holdin' it in. "I started my period," she said quietly. "And it's a bad one." Her lip pushed out in that small pout she got when she was fightin' tears she didn't want to let fall. Her eyes were already puffy, lashes damp. That shit hit me harder than it should've.
Every month was the same. The pain. The disappointment and guilt she tried to pretend wasn't eatin' her alive. I hated that look on her face. Hated the way her body betrayed her over and over again. Hated that she blamed herself for somethin' she never asked for. Hated that I couldn't fix it with money, or muscle, or bullets. Hell, I wanted a baby too. Wanted somethin' pure and new, that didn't come with blood on it. Another reason to stay alive and choose home instead of chaos.
Juste made that shit look easy. Wife. Kids. Laughter. Purpose. A future that didn't feel like it was borrowed time. Afteralmost dyin', I knew one thing for sure, if I left this world before her, she wouldn't survive it. Not like she deserved to. She blamed herself too much already. Took on pain that didn't belong to her. Carried weight meant for generations before her.
I crossed the room and bent down, pressing a slow kiss to her mouth. Her lips were dry and warm. Familiar. Grounding. I lingered there a second longer than necessary, lettin' myself breathe her in. "You need somethin'?" I asked, brushing my thumb over her cheek. "Can you bake the cookies in there?" she said, voice small. That made me smile, even though my chest still felt tight. Cookies meant she probably hadn't eaten shit all day. "What you eat today?" I asked, straightenin' up and lookin' at her closely.
She rolled her eyes, already knowin' I was about to fuss. "I just want the cookies and ice cream." She snapped it, but there wasn't no real bite behind it. Just exhaustion. I chuckled low. "How 'bout I order us some food, smoke me a blunt, then put your cookies in?" She thought about it, eyes driftin' to the ceiling like she was weighin' the offer against how bad her body felt. "Mmhmm, I guess," she mumbled. I nodded, already reachin' for my phone. I'd do whatever it took to make her comfortable. Food. Silence. Distraction. Protection. Because loving her wasn't optional. It was instinct. There was no question or limit that I would burn the world down for her if I had to.
I left her in the room and slid the back door open and stepped out onto the porch, lettin' it creak behind me. Night air hit my chest, thick and warm, smelling like damp grass and smoke from somebody grillin' down the block. I leaned against the railing, sparks flickin' off the blunt as I sparked it up, lungs already beggin' for the burn. I inhaled slow. My mind didn't slow down not even a little.
Ayida not bein' pregnant sat heavy on me. Not in the loud, obvious way either. It was quiet. Sneaky. The kinda thought that slips in and plants itself without permission. I stared out into the yard, eyes unfocused, watchin' shadows move where the porch light didn't quite reach.
I'd told her I was cool either way. And I was. But that didn't mean I ain't feel nothin'. I pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth, jaw tight. After almost dyin', you start thinkin' different. Start wantin' proof you was really here. Somethin' permanent. Somethin' that'd outlive all the bullshit. A family, my family would've been that. Instead, all I had was questions stackin' on top of each other, pressin' down on my ribs until my chest felt like it was caving in.
I growled low under my breath and unlocked my phone, thumb movin' on instinct. Hit the group FaceTime with my brothers before I could overthink it. The screen rang out three times. Pierre picked up first. He was already outside, smoke curlin' up past the camera, eyes low and relaxed like he'd been waitin' on a reason to sit still. Juste popped up right after, phone shaky as he stepped out his back door, porch light flarin' behind him. Jules never answered.
"Y'all smoke one wit' me," I said, voice rough, holdin' the blunt up to the camera like they could smell it through the screen. Pierre smirked, lifting his own. "Already there, nigga." Juste frowned into the camera, brows pulled together. "The hell you done got into, Noles? Talkin' 'bout smoke one wit' you." I chuckled dry, a sound that didn't quite reach my chest. "Bruddaly love, my brudda." Pierre choked out a laugh, head tiltin' back. "Forreal though," I continued, tone shiftin', "I called to get y'all spill on some."
Juste's face sobered up instantly. He leaned against the railing on his porch, blunt glowin' bright in the dark. "Wassam?" I leaned back in my chair, eyes driftin' up to the stars scattered thin across the sky. They looked fake tonight. Too far away. Like they was watchin' instead of shinin'. "How long it take y'all wives to get pregnant and shit?" I asked.
The silence that followed was loud as hell. Pierre raised his eyebrow. "Damn, nigga. Ya boys not swimmin'?" I sucked my teeth. "P, be serious, man." Juste exhaled slow, smoke driftin' out his mouth like he was thinkin' real careful. "Tha boy sound like he serious," he said to Pierre, then looked back at the screen. "Shit, baeebbyy brudda, to be honest wit' you, I wasn't countin' the time frame, I was just doin a whole lot of fuckin." My jaw tightened. That knot in my chest pulled tighter. "Shit just do not seem like it's gon happen for me," I muttered, voice low. Not for us, For me. I didn't wanna admit that part out loud. "It ain't somethin' you can rush, I feel like," P said, tapping ash off his blunt. "That shit just happens when it happens."
"Once you do start havin' them mutha fuckas, they come back-to-back after that first one," Juste said, making Pierre laugh. "Nah, nigga, you know exactly what you be doin'," P shot back. "Keep tryin'. You gon strike out eventually."
"Tie her ass to the bedpost for 'bout a week and don't let her do nun or go nowhere," Juste added seriously. "I bet you juice her ass up." I ran my hand down my face. Even through the bullshit, I felt the pressure in my chest tighten again. "Juste, you ain't always gotta hold a mutha fucka against they will to get what you want," I said, finishing the blunt and tapping the ash into an old candle jar on the porch. They laughed. I didn't.
We ended the call, and everything went dead quiet again. Just air and me and that same damn thought. I stepped backinside. The house felt too still. I slid her cookies in the oven before walking back into the bedroom. "I'm steppin' in the shower," I said. "Food should be here in a minute, and ya cookies in the oven." She nodded, small, quiet.
I stepped into the shower, lettin' the hot water rain down, poundin' on my shoulders, runnin' down my chest. Tryin' to wash off whatever this feeling was crawlin' under my skin. But water can't fix what's inside you. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face tired, disappointed, tryin' to pretend she wasn't. And somethin' in me kept whisperin stupid shit.
Loud shit. I hated that my mind was like this now.
When I stepped out and wrapped a towel around my waist, she wasn't in the bed anymore. I walked out to the kitchen and saw her standin' at the stove, slidin' the cookies off the pan, well, what I thought was a pan, onto another sheet. She looked back at me with attitude already sittin' pretty on her face. "Noles, you make me siccckkk," she said, pointing the spatula at me accusingly. "Why you put them cookies on a cutting board instead of a baking ' sheet?"
I stared at what she was holdin', then back at the cutting board. Hell, high as I was, it sho looked like the right thing earlier. "Hell, I thought that was a bakin' sheet," I said, brows furrowin'. "High shit. My bad." She smacked her lips, dramatic as hell, slidin' the cookies back into the oven before brushing past me and headin' back to the bedroom. I grabbed the food bag off the counter and followed. She sat on the edge of the bed, arms crossed, foot tapping like she had a whole argument built up in her spirit already. "You can kill that funky ass attitude too," I said, digging through the bag before handing her the container with her food inside.
She took it from me without lookin' at me, lip poked out, eyes still low and glossy from cryin' earlier. That shit hit me harder than the attitude. It wasn't her mouth or the PMS. It was the pain underneath it, the part she kept tryin' to hide from me. The part that made me feel like I was losin' her inch by inch, emotion by emotion, month by month.
I sat beside her, food untouched, heart beatin' too loud in my ears. Anger. Fear. Love. Guilt. All of it slammin' around inside me with no space between. "Come here, Yiyi," I said softer, reachin' over and pullin' her onto my lap even when she fought it for a second. Her resistance wasn't real. Her body relaxed against mine after a moment, head on my chest, breath slow but shaky.
