“What?” she snapped.
“Nothing. Told you the oxtail was good.”
“It’s fine.”
“Your face said more than fine.”
“My face didn’t say anything. Eat your food and mind your business.”
I ate my food. But I did not mind my business.
“So,” I said between bites of plantain, “you always carry two knives?”
“You always ask women about their personal belongings?”
“Only the ones who use them on me.”
“One on each side,” she said, like she was telling me the time. “Left pocket, right pocket. I sleep with one under my pillow, too.”
“That’s three knives.”
“And?”
“Nothing. Just doing inventory in case I need to approach you again in the future. I’d like to know how many times I’m going to get stabbed.”
Her mouth twitched. She covered it by taking another bite of oxtail, but I saw it. A crack in the armor so small most people would’ve missed it. I didn’t miss it.
“Can I ask you something?” I said.
“You’re going to regardless.”
“Fair. What’s your plan with Thad? Like actual plan. Not the ‘watch me’ tough talk from the parking lot. What are you actually going to do?”
She set her fork down. “I already told you. That’s not your concern.”
“It became my concern when his baby mother texted me asking for help. She’s got a baby boy and a three-year-old daughter who keeps asking where Daddy is. That’s real life, Mehar. Those are real kids.”
“You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t think about those kids?” Her voice had an edge to it that wasn’t anger. It was something rawer than that. “I think about them every time I go to that warehouse. But that man killed my sister. He ordered a hit on Zahara and let Zainab sit in prison for it. He’s a rapist. He used me as a side piece and lied to my face every single day. So don’t sit here and lecture me about real life like I don’t understand consequences.”
“I’m not lecturing you.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“Trying to convince you to give him up or kill him so his baby mother and the rest of the family can have some closure.”
She exhaled through her nose. “You don’t know anything about me,” she said after a while. Quieter now.
“I know some things.”
“You know what Prime told you. That’s not the same.”
“Then tell me something Prime didn’t tell me.”
She was quiet for a long time. Pushed a piece of oxtail around her plate with her fork. I didn’t rush her. One thing I’d learned in business and in life is that when someone is deciding whether to trust you with something real, the worst thing you can do is push.
“I didn’t have a childhood,” she finally said. “Not in any way that counts. My father was a monster who hid behind religion. I was married off at eighteen. I’ve been surviving since before I knew that’s what I was doing.”
“I didn’t have one either,” I said.
