Her perfectly arched brows were knitted to match the concern washing over her face. Seeing us, she stood up and met us on the sidewalk near the wheelchair-accessible entrance.
“Mama, I tried to get here as soon as I landed. I don’t even want to ask you if everything okay ’cause the expression on your face is telling me that it ain’t,” Romelo stated. “How bad is it?”
She sighed, then darted her eyes over at me. The corners of her lips turned upward into a closed-mouth smile. I hated for this to be our first time meeting each other over tumultuous circumstances.
“Shit, my fault,” Romelo said. “Ma, this my girl Synthia. Synthia, this the love of my life, Ma.”
“I really hate to be meeting you like this,” I spoke up first.
“Same, baby, same,” she smiled. “Trecee is your cousin, right?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I nodded. “My first.”
“Oh.” She giggled nervously, looking from Romelo to me, then from me to him. I knew she was reading the room, trying to understand what the fuck happened and how it happened.
“Ma, I’ll explain all that other shit later,” Romelo chided amid the drama. “Where she at?”
He attempted to walk past her with his arm draped around her waist, but she patted her hand on his chest to stop him.
“Romelo, baby, hold on.”
“Ma, what we waiting on? What’s up?” His voice was etched with irritation.
She glanced back at me and released a deep sigh before opening her mouth to speak. I could tell she was hesitant about whatever she was prepared to tell us—me.
“Synthia, I think it’s best if you stay here or wait in the waiting room, sweetie,” her voice was soft and calm.
“Why?” Romelo asked, making her glance at him with a stern expression.
“It’s the last thing Trecee needs right now.”
“Can you at least tell me what they’re saying?”
“She overdosed on opioids.”
I gasped.
“How the fuck she get her hands on that shit?” Romelo hissed.
She shrugged. “They’re taking her to Parkwood?—”
“The crazy house,” Romelo spat in disbelief.
“They want to keep an eye on her for the next seventy-two hours to get her the help she needs. I know you and her are at odds, Romelo, but she needs you.”
“What difference would that make? It wouldn’t solve shi—nothing. Trecee will think there’s anus, and she ain’t got that wit’ no more. I’ll support her because she needs it, but that’s a stretch.”
I was so full of hope, despite her being at her lowest point. I wouldn’t use this moment to mock her. The love was there, and I doubt we’d get over this hump because it was too steep. There was no mending anything, and the toughest pill to swallow was losing the one person I had love for.
They disappeared into the hospital, leaving me behind. Tears stung in my eyes as I sat down on a nearby bench. I didn’t want to cry. I didn’t want to be hurt—maybe Trecee’s energy was transferring over to me now. It sucks that it had to come to this. I never wanted things to be this way. Laughing at another woman’s pain would make me inhumane. I just want her to heal and go on a journey where she finds herself a better life—one that she deserves—the one she was depending on Romelo to give her.
A week from that day
““Synthia, can we get some pizza after this?” Moriah asked kindly.
We were on the porch at Yolanda’s house, and I was doing her hair for school. Mimi had braided her hair into a cute ponytail while I put beads on the ends.
“Yeah. You know we can.”
