Mama walked over to him, her eyes sharp, assessing.
“You better not bring no trouble around my house,” she said, her voice suddenly serious.
Amai met her gaze head-on. “That will never be an issue, ma’am.”
His voice was different. Softer. Respectful.
The code-switch was so smooth I almost didn’t catch it.
But Mama did.
She tilted her head, studying him for a long moment.
Then she nodded. “Mm-hmm. We’ll see.”
She turned and walked back to her chair, picked up her glass, and settled back in like nothing had happened.
“Y’all can put them bags in Truth’s room,” she said, waving a hand toward the hallway. “And close the door behind you. I’m tryna watch my show.”
I led Amai down the narrow hallway to my room—the same room I’d grown up in, the same room I’d come back to after Phillip took everything.
He set the bags on my bed without a word.
I set mine next to his.
“Thank you,” I said again.
He looked at me. “You keep saying that.”
“Because I mean it.”
He didn’t respond. Just stood there, his hands in his pockets, his eyes on mine.
The air between us felt heavy.
Charged.
“Come on,” I said, breaking the silence. “I’ll walk you out.”
We walked back through the living room. Mama didn’t look up from the TV, but I saw her eyes flick toward us as we passed.
Outside, the street was quiet. A few kids were riding bikes down the block. Somebody’s dog was barking. The smell of barbecue was stronger now, mixing with the smell of cut grass and gasoline from a car idling somewhere nearby.
Amai stopped at the bottom of the porch steps and turned to face me.
“The fertility clinic will reach out in a couple days,” he said. “Dr. Simone Beaumont. She’ll be your doctor.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
“If you need anything before then, let me know.”
“I will.”
He stared at me for a moment longer, like he was about to say something else.
But then headlights cut across the yard.
A car pulled up to the curb.
