I kept my gaze forward. “Am I?”
“You are,” she said gently. “And it is not like you.”
I allowed a small smile to touch my mouth, more out of habit than amusement. “I assure you I am fine.”
Treasure stopped walking, and I stopped with her. She turned her body toward me fully, the way she used to do whenwe were younger and she needed me to understand she was serious.
“Abeni,” she said, calm but firm, “you have told me you are fine more times than I can count. You only say it when you are not.”
I held her gaze and stayed composed because composure was a language I spoke without thinking. Even when my mind was crowded, even when my heart was heavy, I had trained myself to look the same. I had been doing it for decades.
“I have a great deal on my mind,” I admitted, choosing honesty without offering too much.
Treasure nodded like she already knew. “Is it Kojo?”
“No,” I said. “Kojo and I are fine.”
“Is it Pressure?” she asked.
My throat tightened slightly at my son’s name, although I did not show it. “Pressure is well.”
Treasure waited. She gave me the kind of patience you only give to someone you love.
I turned my attention back to the flowers to give myself something else to focus on. The new blooms looked delicate, almost fragile, and it made me think about how much strength it took for anything soft to survive in this world.
Treasure followed my gaze and then she spoke again. “What is it, Abeni?”
I wanted to dismiss her. I wanted to smile and change the subject and continue walking, but something about the quiet of the yard, and the way the sun was lowering, made it harder to pretend. The truth had been sitting in my spirit for months, and lately it had been pressing heavier. It was not guilt in the way people like to imagine guilt, with crying and panic and regret spilling out. It was a quieter thing. It was a pressure behind my ribs that did not leave.
I exhaled slowly. “Pressure and Pluto visited with the children a few days ago.”
Treasure’s expression remained calm, but her eyes sharpened slightly. “And?”
“And my son mentioned Kashmere,” I said.
The name settled between us. Treasure did not react the way most people would react because she knew too much about my life. She had seen things, and she had held things, and she had carried them without letting the world touch them.
“What did he say?” she asked.
“He said Kashmere texted him,” I replied. “He said he didn’t respond, but he said it with a certain awareness, as if the message itself was not the only thing on his mind.”
Treasure’s lips pressed together. “Because he remembers you were looking for her.”
“Yes,” I said lowly.
Treasure didn’t need me to explain why. We both remembered the night Pressure was shot. We both remembered how close I came to losing him, and how the world narrowed into a single point of rage inside me. I had survived many things in my life, but nothing had ever prepared me for that moment. Nothing had ever made me feel so helpless and so violent at the same time.
“What did you tell him?” Treasure asked.
“I told him I did not know why she would reach out. I told him perhaps she was seeking closure, or perhaps she was seeking to disturb his peace. I gave him the kind of answer a mother gives when she doesn’t want her child to look too closely at her hands.”
Treasure’s gaze stayed on me. “And he believed you?”
“He did not challenge me,” I replied. “But my son is not foolish.”
Treasure nodded slowly. “No, he is not.”
We started walking again, moving deeper into the yard where the grass was trimmed so neatly it looked like fabric. I could feel Treasure’s thoughts beside me, but she didn’t interrupt me.
