Page 8 of When a Soul Cries

That night, Zari stayed on the phone with me until my battery died.

By morning, she had purchased a bus ticket from Pinehaven, Mississippi, to Crestmont, Georgia. She sent me enough money for a ride to the station and told me her home was mine for as long as I needed it.

I arrived in Crestmont at twenty-two years old, carrying one suitcase, thirty-seven dollars, and more fear than I knew what to do with.

Zari was waiting at the bus station.

She wrapped her arms around me before I could say a word. It was the first time we had ever stood face-to-face, but being held by her felt more like home than Aunt Trice’s house ever had.

She gave me a place to sleep, helped me search for work, and showed me how to navigate a city that felt too large and too fast for a girl who had never been far from Pinehaven.

Three weeks after arriving in Crestmont, two pink lines appeared on a pregnancy test.

I stared at them until my legs gave out.

Zari found me sitting on the bathroom floor with the test clutched inside my hand.

She didn’t ask whether I was sure.

She didn’t question what happened or make me explain it again.

She sat beside me, pulled me against her chest, and held me while I cried for the life I thought was over.

When I finally asked what I was supposed to do, she gave me the same answer she had given me that night on the curb.

“I got you.”

By the time Lo-Lo was born, I had turned twenty-three.

Zari was there through every appointment, every sleepless night, and every moment when I questioned whether I was strong enough to raise a child while still trying to put myself back together.

When Lo-Lo turned one, Zari had already become more than my best friend. She was my sister, my daughter’s auntie, and the closest thing either of us had to family.

She had been proving that she had us ever since.

“Soleia!”

Mr. Daniels’s voice ripped me away from the memory.

I lifted my head and found him standing near customer service, staring directly at the phone in my hand. His blue tie sat crooked around his neck, and the deep frown on his face told me I had about two seconds before he came marching over.

“Put that phone away and take your next customer.”

“One second,” I said, lowering my eyes to the screen again.

The woman at the front of my line pushed her cart forward and released an impatient sigh. I could feel Mr. Daniels watching me from across the store, but I couldn’t put my phone away until I knew everything was handled.

A quiet laugh slipped from my mouth before I could stop it.

I glanced toward customer service and found Mr. Daniels still glaring at me.

Mr. Potato Head was painfully accurate.

I locked my phone and slipped it back inside my vest. Lo-Lo was taken care of, but the message from my landlord still sat unanswered.

That problem would be waiting for me when my shift ended.

I pulled the next customer’s groceries toward me and forced another polite smile.