I let out a small breath. “He has.”
David Sr calls. Texts. Sends scriptures. Not preachy. Just present.
“He sees you as family,” Caleb says firmly. “You and Zaria.”
Zaria. Her name alone steadies me. Knox tosses a chip into the pot.
“Y’all built something with Lena,” he says. “That don’t disappear. It just shifts.”
Maverick nods. “Grief ain’t a solo sport,” he adds. “You let us carry some of it.”
The room goes quiet for a beat as I look around the table.
My brother. A man who had to bury his wife before he was ready. Not only did he fight grief and win. He found the strength to love again and be happy.
“You really think I’ll be okay?” I ask quietly.
Caleb snorts.
“No,” he says bluntly. “You’ll be wrecked sometimes.”
The guys chuckle.
“But you won’t be alone,” he finishes.
That part matters more. CJ deals the next hand.
“Alright, enough feelings,” he mutters. “Y’all making me uncomfortable.”
Laughter breaks the tension.
I take another sip of scotch as they get back to talking trash. They argue about sports. Ahmir accuses Knox of cheating. James Jr laughs so hard he knocks over his chips. And somewhere between the third and fourth hand, I realize something important. The grief is still there. It still aches like a mothafucka. But it doesn’t feel like it’s suffocating me tonight. Because they’re right. Lena wasn’t loved by one man. She was loved by all of us. And I’m not carrying this alone.
Sunday mornings feel different now. Everything is so quiet without Lena. She brought life to every room she was in and now the silence feels suffocating.
Lena didn’t want a funeral. She said she lived her whole life imprisoned by her body and she didn’t want to leave this earth in one. We made sure we didn’t put her in a box. We took her to the beach instead. Her ashes scattered into saltwater. Paper lanterns floating into the night sky—each one filled with letters we wrote to her. Words we never wanted to say out loud. Promises. Gratitude. Confessions.
Paradise.
She got paradise.
Walking into David Sr’s church without his baby girl makes my chest tighten.
The choir is already singing when I slide into the pew near the front. Zaria squeezes my hand before sitting beside me. She has a beautiful understanding of her faith and she is often at church on Sundays. Kimberly catches my eye from across the aisle and gives me a soft nod.
When David Sr steps to the pulpit, the room stills. He begins like he always does—steady voice—grounding presence.
When he sees me. He stops mid-sentence. The entire sanctuary holds its breath as he steps down from the pulpit. Walks directly to me and pulls me into his arms.
Tight.
I try to hold it together.
I fail.
It breaks open inside me all at once.
Six months of taping the pain shut.
