Me: Talk tomorrow. Need sleep.
Talia: Okay. GN.
I set the phone face down, cutting off its illumination. Sleep seemed impossible, with my brain spinning like this, replaying moments from the cabin on an endless loop. Ronan’s chuckle was rare but genuine. The careful way he’d handled me. How he’d held me afterward.
I pulled the blanket under my chin, wishing it held a trace of Ronan, proof that what happened between us was real. I spent one night against his chest, and now my solitude felt like loneliness. Missing a man I barely knew wasn’t me. I knew who I was, what I stood for. Devon’s memory demanded nothing less.
Sleep finally crept over me, but it wasn’t my brother’s face I saw behind my closed eyes. It was Ronan’s, looking at me in that moment when everything between us changed, when he became more than a sex symbol, and I became more than a cause. And I wasn’t sure if it was betrayal or growth.
The next morning, I texted Ronan.
Me: Hey, you, I'm going to have breakfast with Mama and then head to campus for the lecture, just checking in.
Ronan: I’m walking out the door now. I’m sure it will be a long day.
Me: Don’t work too hard.
Ronan: I’ll try.
Mama’s front porch still had the same wooden swing that had seen every big moment in my life. First heartbreak at fifteen? That swing. Acceptance letter to Howard? That swing. The night we got the call about Devon? The swing, too, so it made sense that I ended up in it before even knocking, holding a paper bag of warm scones.
I didn’t need to knock. Mama had a maternal radar. The screen door opened, and there stood Vivian Price, five foot, four inches of librarian fierceness, her graying locs swept up in a colorful scarf.
“Thought I heard that swing complaining. You gonna sit out there all morning or come give your mama a proper hello?” she asked, eyes crinkling at the corners.
I got up from the swing and crossed the porch to hug her, breathing in her scent, unique cocoa butter and Earl Grey tea. Some things never changed, thank God.
I lifted the paper bag. “I brought breakfast from that bakery you like on Fifth.”
Her eyes lit up. “The one with the blueberry scones? Girl, you trying to butter me up for something?”
I laughed, following her inside. “Can’t a daughter just bring her mama breakfast?”
The kitchen looked just as it always had, with yellow walls repainted the same shade at least four times, family photos covering the fridge, and the wooden table that still wobbled a little. Daddy always meant to fix it, but never did before he passed.
Mama took plates from the cabinet while I poured coffee into our old mugs. Mine had faded cartoon characters, and hers read, Librarians Do It By The Book.
Mama sat across from me, her reading glasses hanging from a beaded chain. “You gonna tell me what’s got you looking like you’re carrying the weight of the world? Or are we just going to pretend these scones are that interesting?”
I couldn’t help but smile. Mama never liked to beat around the bush.
I tore my scone into small pieces instead of meeting her eyes. “It’s been a long week. The protest for Jaylen Harris got ugly. They sprayed us with tear gas, and I was arrested. It was a mess.”
“I was worried sick when I saw that on the news, but Talia told me she was working to get you out. And then you texted me the next morning. I also saw Birmingham’s fine-looking police chief got himself arrested right alongside you. How did they arrest the police chief? That was interesting.”
Heat rose to my cheeks, and I focused harder on my demolished scone. Should’ve known she’d cut straight to the point.
I finally looked up at her. “Chief Banks was trying to keep things from escalating. When the National Guard moved in with tear gas, he actually tried to stop them. He’s . . . not what I expected, Mama.”
She shrugged slightly. “Oh?”
That one word said a lot. I took a deep breath, knowing I couldn’t hide anything from the woman who taught me to speak my truth, especially when it was complicated.
“He listens, really listens. Not just waiting for his turn to talk, but hearing what I’m saying about the system, about what happened to Devon. He got arrested in his own jurisdiction because he stood up for what was right, even against his own people. Who does that?”
Mama’s eyes narrowed a little as she studied my face. She put on her reading glasses, as if they’d help her see me more clearly.
“Sounds like you spent some time with this man beyond just seeing him at the protest,” she noted carefully.
