I turned, snatching my keys off the counter, more hurt than angry, more tired than anything else. I walked toward the door, but his hand shot out, grabbing my wrist. "Wassam, Yiyi?" he said, frowning. "Who you talkin to like dat?” I almost foldedknowing he was right. I didn't talk to him like that, ever. But I was irritated and lonely in ways I couldn't admit. "Nothing," I muttered. "I'm going to the store." I snatched my arm back and walked out before he could say anything else.
I hopped into my car, slammed the door, and pulled off quick, the tires kicking up gravel like my frustration had its own engine. Before I even made it halfway up the road, my phone rang a call coming through from Amina. I let out a breath and answered, putting her on speaker. "Hey, Mina."
"Hey Ayida, just checkin' in on you. We ain't heard from you, but I know you been wrapped up in havin' your man back." Her voice was warm, teasing, but full of that knowing only real sisters had. "Girl, please," I sighed. "I wish." Her laugh faded quick. "How you and the babies?" I asked, turning into traffic. "Girl, same ol', same ol'," she said, something rustling in her background. "But why you soundin' all sad ?"
I sucked in a breath. Held it. Let it out shaky. "I don't know, Mina," I said quietly. "I guess he's different." She didn't interrupt. She let me vent. "I expected him to be different," I continued. "I wasn't stupid. But I didn't expect him to seem so angry and occupied all the time. Like his mind not here with me even when his body is." Amina clicked her tongue. "Oh, honey yeah That’s in his blood. It’s who he is."
"What you mean?" I asked, blinking back the sting in my eyes as the traffic light changed. "They love hard," she said. "But when they break? Chile, they break in places you can't reach with no prayer, no hug, or no sweet talk." Her voice softened. "They go dark. Inside they mind. And they stay there till they get whatever vengeance eatin' at they insides."
My grip tightened on the steering wheel. "So what am I supposed to do?" I whispered. "Same thing every woman tied toa St. Jean gotta do," she said. "Hold on with one hand, cuss a whole lot and pray with the other hand." I swallowed hard, tears blurring the road. "But hear me, Ayida," Amina said firmly, her voice steady as river water. "Don't lose yourself tryin' to save him. 'Cause once they get revenge. Once they feel like they set the world right again? That's when they come back." Her words stayed with me long after the call ended. Stayed with me through the aisles of the grocery store. Stayed with me when I stood staring too long at the pasta noodles like I forgot what brand I always bought. Stayed with me when I drove home with my chest tight and my prayers tangled.
After spending about an hour in the store, I finally found myself back home in the kitchen, cooking by myself. The house was quiet except for the low hum of the AC and the soft clinking of utensils against bowls. When I put the pasta salad in the fridge to cool, the front door opened. Heavy footsteps. Keys jingling. A familiar rhythm moving through the house.
When he walked into the kitchen, he had a bag in one hand and his keys dangling from the other. His shoulders looked weighted and his eyes shifted around the room like he was checking for something even before he looked at me. "What's in the bag?" I asked, leaning against the counter, trying to read his spirit. "Had some business out in the sticks," he said, scratching the side of his head. "Saw a lil shop and stopped. I grabbed you some stuff for your altar and shit." My heart tightened in that soft place he still reached even when he didn't try.
I reached out and took the bag from him, peeking inside.
Candles. Crystals. A few herbs in brown paper. Florida water. A small jar of honey. Things only I would care about. Things he didn't believe in but believed mattered to me.
Things a man thinking about another woman wouldn't buy.
"Thank you," I half smiled, the warmth I tried to hide slipping into my voice. I looked at him across the counter, that familiar ache rising in my chest. He held my gaze for a second.
He walked over to the bar area, grabbed a bottle of Patron and two glasses, and came back to set them on the counter next to me. The bottle thudded softly against the marble, catching the kitchen light. His eyes flicked up to mine quiet, open in that rare way he only showed when it was just us two. "You ready to let me kick ya ass?" he grinned, that boyish spark slipping into his expression.
It made me giggle before I could stop myself. "Noles, please," I said, rolling my eyes and lifting one eyebrow. "You easy as hell. If I show you one titty you out." He threw his head back laughing, deep and loud, like I'd said the funniest thing he'd heard in weeks. The sound loosened something heavy inside my chest. He kept laughing as he poured the liquor into our glasses, the amber liquid catching the light like honey.
I took mine off the counter and walked toward the living room, leaving him to follow like he always did. I heard him chuckle and trail behind me, footsteps lazy, familiar.
In the living room, he placed the bottle on the coffee table with a soft clink, then went over to the cabinet where we kept all our board games stacked crooked and worn from years of playing. “Before we get started, you need to let me rebraid that fuzzy hair on your head,” I mumbled, lifting my cup and taking a slow sip, letting the burn settle my nerves. He glanced back at me, mouth twitching. “It startin’ to look a lil’ bit like coochie hair, ain’t it?” I barked out a laugh before I could stop myself, the sound bursting loose like air from a cracked balloon. “Noles, grow up,” I giggled, already reaching for the comb on the counter.
He came and sat between my legs. He leaned back into me, heavy and warm. He lifted his cup again, took a sip, relaxed deeper. I ran the comb through his hair, slow and careful. It snagged a little at the ends. I detangled him gently, parted his hair clean down the middle, my fingers working from muscle memory. This was love to me. Hands busy. Mouth quiet. As I started the first braid, his shoulders loosened. “I can’t wait till you give me a lil’ boy,” he said, casual, like he was talking about the weather. “Mini me. Good hair just like his daddy.” My hands didn’t stop moving, but something inside me did.
It was like the room shifted just enough for me to notice. Like the ancestors leaned in closer, not loud, not angry—just attentive. Watching. I swallowed. A future that sounded so easy coming out his mouth.
My fingers tightened at the base of the braid before I forced them to relax. I kept my voice light. “Your ego don’t need no mini version runnin’ around,” I said softly. He laughed, real and easy. “Nah, for real though,” he continued. “I want that. A family. Legacy shit.” The words pressed against my ribs like it knew it didn’t belong there.
My chest warmed, then burned. Because I wanted that too. Because every prayer I’d whispered over candles and bones and beads had asked for that same thing, even when my mouth wouldn’t say it out loud. Because my body knew secrets my heart was still bargaining with.
I kept braiding. Inside, my thoughts twisted tight and quiet.If I tell him now, I break him.If I wait, I betray him.If I keep praying, maybe God or the lwa will fix what I can’t confess.
The comb scraped softly against his scalp. I finished the first braid and started the second, my movements steady eventhough my spirit wasn’t. Noles leaned back further, trusting. Comfortable. Already imagining a future that felt like a knife wrapped in silk. I leaned forward and pressed my forehead briefly to the back of his head, breathing him in. Sweat. Liquor. Familiarity.Ancestors,I prayed silently,don’t let me break under this. Don’t let my silence turn into a curse.
I finished the second braid and tied it off neat. “There,” I said quietly. “You decent again.” He smiled, unaware, reaching back to touch his hair.
____
I watched him from across the living room, sipping the liquor from my cup as he leaned back against the couch shoveling pasta salad into his mouth like he hadn't eaten in three days. He was drunk as hell, eyes half-lidded, shoulders loose, and chewing loud. just looking a damn fool. We'd been drinking and playing games for the last three or four hours, talking about everything and nothing, laughing like we'd forgotten there was a storm tucked under our floorboards. "Slow down, Noles. It's a whole bowl of pasta salad in there. It's not going nowhere," I giggled. "Nah, I gotta make sure I got room for pussy and ass too," he slurred, pointing his fork at me like he was making a serious point. I busted out laughing, choking on my drink. He looked so proud of himself for that one. "Don't drink nothing else," I said, wiping my mouth. "You past your limit."
"Ima have a few more drinks," he announced, ignoring me completely, "and yo ass is too. I know I got some makin' up to do. Believe me." His voice trailed off as his eyes dropped straight to my chest. Right at my nipples showing through my T-shirt. I smacked my lips loud. "Noles, hush." He blinked hard like he was snapping out of a trance, then lifted his cup again. "For real though" he murmured, eyes softening in a way I hadn't seen ina while. "I know shit been iffy with me and you. I know my head been all fucked up and I ain't been able to give you all of me like I should." His voice cracked a little.
"I love you, baeeebbyy," he said, dragging the words out just how he always did when he meant them. "I need you to know that. This shit just temporary." He poured himself more liquor like he was scared to sit still in his own vulnerability. I didn't respond. I just watched him. Watched the way guilt sat on his shoulders. Watched the way the liquor loosened the truth in his mouth. I was glad he was able to be accountable but it didn't change the ache sitting heavy inside me.
"You wanna know what's crazy though?" he said, sipping from his cup, eyes narrowing at me like he was about to drop something he'd been holding in too long. "What?" I asked. "Fucked up part is, I think my daddy might've set this shit up." My whole body went still. My eyes widened before I could stop them. "The hell, Noles?" I breathed. "Why would you even—"
"I'm serious," he cut in, leaning forward slightly. "That nigga been actin' weird as hell since shit changed wit the business. Timing perfect. His reactions off. The nigga suspect. I'm tellin' you, Yi." He took another sip, watching me over the rim of his cup. "It's not him," I said immediately, shaking my head. "I'm tellin' you, Mon Cheri. It's not Saint." His eyes narrowed. "Like you held that nigga hand and know," he challenged, "or you just feel like you know?"
I rolled my eyes so hard it made my head tilt.
