It soothed me to know she accepted me regardless. Didn't mean she liked me. Didn't mean she approved. But she accepted me. And for someone like Evie, that meant more than affection ever could. "That means a lot, Ms. Evie," I said quietly, my voice low and careful, like I was afraid the moment would break if I spoke too loud. "It really do. I never thought you liked me. It's... nice to know that maybe you do after all."
She cut her eyes at me immediately, lips curling. "Who said I liked you?" she snapped, sharp as ever. I almost smiled. "At the end of the day," she continued, softer but firm, "you family. Ain't no cut on family."
Something loosened in my chest then.
Family. I had spent my whole life dancing around that word, afraid of it, craving it, never fully trusting it. My bloodline was fractured. My mama's pain still echoed through me. Even my faith had felt lonely at times. I nodded slowly, swallowing past the lump in my throat.
She stood up then, reaching for her purse where she'd set it on the counter earlier. The movement snapped her right back into herself, no softness lingering, no hesitation. "Make sure you finish that food," she said over her shoulder. "I expect to see you Sunday. I will come get you if I have to." I let out a small, breathless laugh. "Yes ma'am." She paused at the door, hand on the knob. "And Ayida?" she added without turning around. "Yes?"
"Don't let nobody convince you that what was put in you is a curse. People fear what they don't understand." The door closed behind her with a soft click that echoed through the quiet house. I stood there for a moment, fork hovering mid-air, heart pounding slow and heavy. The house felt different nowlike it had been shifted, claimed, marked. I pressed my palm flat against my stomach.
I picked up my phone and Face Timed the group chat, needing voices, familiar ones to ground me back in the world. The screen lit up and within seconds, Chiana and Amina answered.
Amina was sprawled across her couch, bonnet crooked, glass of wine in hand.
Chiana was in her kitchen, hair wrapped, stirring something on the stove. Nia's square stayed dark.
"Why Ms. Evie just came in my house," I said immediately, still half in disbelief, "made me eat, and told me I better be at her house every Sunday from now on. She even got a lil soft with me for a second... like she like me or somethin'." Chiana burst out laughing. "She do like you," she said, grinning. "She just got a funny ass way of showin' it. Evie is just Evie, honey."
"Mmhm," I mumbled, pushing my food around my plate. My appetite was still there, but my mind was drifting now. "Any word from Nia?" Both of them straightened up instantly. Chiana sighed. "Not at all. I tried asking Juste, but he keep sayin' that ain't my business." She rolled her eyes hard. "Like please." "Pierre lame ass neither," Amina added, lips pursed. "Every time I bring her name up, he change the subject." My chest tightened again. I hadn't heard from Nia since the night of the casino opening. Since the truth spilled out and changed everything. I kept replaying her face in my mind, cracked open, raw, ashamed, terrified.
"Maybe we pop up?" I suggested quietly. "Just spend some time with her. Let her know she not alone." Amina nodded slowly. "That don't sound bad. I think the kids been at Evie and Saint's anyway, so it should work."
Chiana nodded too. "Yeah. We'll figure it out."
I smiled faintly at the screen after we hung up, my thumb hovering for a second before I locked my phone. The quiet settled back into the house like a thick blanket. I was grateful for them. For Chiana's steadiness. For Amina's fire. For the way they held me up even when my own faith wobbled under the weight of what I knew and what I feared. Still, when the silence returned, so did the ache.
—
Later that week, I rode with Amina and Chiana over to Nia's house. Nobody said much on the drive. The sky was gray and low, clouds hanging like they didn't know whether to rain or stay put. The kind of day that pressed down on your shoulders without warning. I watched the world pass by through the window, my thoughts drifting between prayer and worry, fear and obligation.
When we turned onto Nia's street, my chest tightened. Her house looked... abandoned.
The grass was overgrown, tall and wild like it had been ignored for weeks. Plastic toys were scattered across the yard. a tricycle tipped on its side, a doll missing an arm, chalk drawings half-erased by time and weather. Her car sat in the driveway, dust thick on the hood like it hadn't moved since her world stopped turning.
"This don't feel right," Amina muttered under her breath.
We knocked. Three times. No answer. Chiana bent down, lifted the welcome mat, and found the spare key tucked underneath like she'd known it would be there.
The door creaked open. The smell hit me first. Stale cigarette smoke. Something sour and sad. The house was dim, curtains drawn tight like the sun wasn't welcome inside. Clothes were piled high on both couches, unfolded and untouched. The counters were cluttered with mail, half-empty bottles, dishes that had been sitting too long. The air felt heavy, thick with grief, with fear, with thoughts left unfinished.
This house was grieving.
We moved through it slowly, our footsteps soft like we were walking through a church after a funeral. Upstairs, the master bedroom looked slept-in but restless. the comforter twisted and ruffled, like someone had been tossing and turning without ever finding rest.
Then we heard the bathroom. The faint sound of water dripping. Nia sat on the edge of the tub, robe slipping off one shoulder, a cigarette hanging from her fingers. It wasn't even lit. Her pixie cut that was always sharp, always styled, was wild and uneven, strands sticking up like she hadn't looked in a mirror in days. She looked hollow.
Her eyes were sunken, dark circles carved deep beneath them. Her shoulders slumped forward like she was carrying something far too heavy alone. The bathwater had long gone cold, untouched. As long as I'd known her, I had never seen Nia like this. "Oh, honey," Chiana breathed, rushing to her side.
Nia didn't push us away. She collapsed into us instead. The sob that tore from her chest was raw and unfiltered, loudenough that it felt like it rattled the walls. A sound that came from someplace deep, someplace wounded. "Everything is so fucked up," she choked. "Saint and Evie been keepin' the kids until we figure shit out. I ain't seen Jules. He won't answer me. Nash won't leave me alone." Her hand shook as she brought the cigarette to her lips again, forgetting it wasn't lit. "I just wanna fuckin' die."
My stomach dropped.
"Nia," Amina said sharply, grabbing her hands. "Don't say that." I stayed quiet.
Because sometimes pain needed space before it could be answered. I watched her chest rise and fall, fast and uneven. I could feel the house breathing with her. I placed my hand over her heart, feeling it race beneath my palm. She let out a broken laugh, the sound sharp and jagged like glass scraping against concrete. "Boy, it's funny how I can't seem to get away from this fucked up hand I was dealt." Her words hung in the air, heavy and sour, settling into the corners of the bathroom like smoke. I watched her shoulders shake, watched her chest cave inward as if she were folding in on herself piece by piece.
I closed my eyes briefly.Bon Dieu, I prayed silently, the words instinctive, ancestral. Before I could speak the sound of the front door opening downstairs cut through the thick air.
