I thought about Quest. His mouth on mine at the mall. His hand on the small of my back in Nordstrom. The way he’d said “I didn’t ask” like my independence was cute but irrelevant. The way I’d let him say it and felt safe instead of threatened.
“I’m working on it,” I said.
“Mmhmm.” She smiled like she knew more than I was saying. She probably did. Zainab always did.
Bryce’s apartment was in a complex off Georgia Ave. Its was a one-bedroom on the second floor of a building that was clean but basic. When we pulled into the lot, the first thing I noticed was the motorcycles. Four of them, parked in a row near the entrance. Dark colored, customized, loud even when they were off.
We took the stairs up and Bryce opened the door before I could knock, grinning wide with a party hat tilted sideways on his head that somebody had clearly forced him to wear. I bursted out laughing, while pointing at it.
“Chiiiilll Samaya made me wear it. I’m takin’ it off when I go to the strip club tonight,” he greeted.
“No the fuck you ain’t goin’ to no strip club,” I heard her voice from around the corner. He waved her off and mouthed, “Yes the fuck I am.”
“Y’all made it!” He hugged me first, then turned to Zainab and his whole face changed. Softer. Almost shy. He’d been a little kid the last time he’d seen her. She’d left the home with Zahara when he was not much more than a toddler, and now she was standing in his doorway. A beautiful woman with his father’s eyes and their shared history written in the curve of her cheekbones.
“Bryce.” Zainab’s voice cracked. “Look at you. You’re so tall. Oh my God, you look just like?—”
“Don’t say Baba,” he laughed.
“I was going to say you look like me.” She pulled him into a hug and held him for a long time, and I watched my sister and my brother hold each other in the doorway of a cheap apartment in DC and thought about all the years between them that Shamir Ali had stolen. All the birthdays and holidays and Sunday dinners that should’ve happened and didn’t because our father ran his house like a prison and scattered his children like seeds in a storm.
“Aight, aight, y’all gonna make me cry and I got company,” Bryce said, wiping his eyes and stepping back. “Come in. It’s small but it’s mine.”
The apartment was exactly what a nineteen-year-old with limited funds and big dreams would put together. A pleather sectional that was probably from Value City Furniture, a TVmounted on the wall that was too big for the room, a coffee table with a couple of candles on it that Samaya had probably picked out. The kitchen was small but clean, with trays of food laid out on the counter—wings, mac and cheese, a fruit platter, and a cake from a grocery store bakery that said “Happy Birthday Bryce” in blue icing.
But what got me was the crib. It was already set up in the corner of the living room, next to the window where the afternoon light came through. White, simple, with a mobile hanging over it that had little stars and moons. Samaya wasn’t due for months but that crib was ready. A framed sonogram was taped to the side of it with a Post-it note that said “Coming soon” in Bryce’s handwriting.
This boy was going to be a father and he was excited about it in a way that our father had never been excited about any of us.
“Babe, come here,” Bryce called toward the bedroom. “My sisters are here.”
Samaya came out, a pretty, petite, brown-skinned woman with long copper toned locs pulled up in a bun and a belly that was starting to show under her fitted dress. She had warm eyes and a shy smile and when she shook my hand I noticed the tattoo on her inner wrist. A small viper, coiled and detailed, matching the one on Bryce’s hand.
Matching tattoos. Matching crew.
I filed it away the same way I filed away everything that worried me about Bryce—quietly, without comment, waiting to see if the picture got clearer or darker.
“It’s so nice to finally meet y’all,” Samaya said. “Bryce talks about you all the time.”
“It’s good to meet you too. And congratulations. Do you know what you’re having?”
“A girl,” they both responded.
“You have twins, right?”she directed her attention to Zainab.
“Yep, and they’re a handful.”
“We’re gonna have to talk! I’m so nervous,” she laughed.
“I’ll tell you everything I know.”
There were about ten people in the apartment, which meant the space was tight but the energy was good. Music playing from a Bluetooth speaker. People eating, laughing, talking over each other. A few of Bryce’s friends were there. It was a bunch of young guys around his age with the same lean builds and dark hoodies and viper tattoos on their hands and necks.
Bryce introduced us to everyone.Most of them dapped us up and kept it moving. Samaya’s brother Keyvon was posted up by the speaker with a plate in his hand. He was taller than the rest with a square jaw and a viper tattoo crawling up the side of his neck.”
“Yo Key, these my sisters,” Bryce said.
“What’s good.” Keyvon lifted his chin at us and went back to his food.
