I looked at him. "I hope so."
Deja started taking out my braids and humming.
I took another hit of the joint and relaxed in the chair.
The movie screen was visible from where we sat. I could see the theater below filling up with more people. Kids were runningdown the aisles. Women were settling into seats with their children. Older couples were finding spots together.
But there weren't many men.
My stomach twisted.
They must be guarding the island.
I handed Zo the joint and looked down at my phone.
No messages. No updates.
This heavy anxiety crept back in, damn near suffocating me.
I forced myself to breathe.
Zo grabbed my attention. “Have you eaten yet?”
“No, but I’m not hungry.”
“You’ve got to eat, Nyomi.” Then, he whispered, “You’re pregnant. You’re eating for two to five people now.”
“What the fuck?”
He rose and headed off.
“I am not, Zo! And two to five people? Stop smoking, Zo.”
“Could be triplets or something.”
Nika gasped, “Girl, are you pregnant?”
“Oh.” Deja undid a braid. “That’s why you didn’t have time to do your hair right. You had a lot going on—”
“First of all, these braids are nice. Second of all, I am not pregnant.”
Zo huffed. “Well, I’m making a plate for the babies.”
“Oh my God.” I rolled my eyes.
While Deja worked on my hair, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye.
Somewhere in between that conversation, Nika had quickly wandered over to the food table. She wasn't even making a plate. She was holding one of the forks up to the light, turning it slowly, and inspecting it like a jeweler examining a diamond.
What is she doing?
Nika ran her thumb along the handle, nodded to herself, and then glanced left. Glanced right.
Girl, I'm watching you.
Nika opened her purse and slid the fork inside. Then she picked up another one. Inspected it. Slid that one in too.
A third.
