Page 10 of The Wright Man

When I stepped into the office, I had to smile.

My older sister, Tina, was perched on the arm of the loveseat like it was a runway, legs crossed, phone in one hand, mimosa in the other. Her curly afro was fluffed to perfection, kissed by copper highlights and crowned in a colorful scarf tied like a turban. She wore a yellow vintage Bob Marley tee, tied at the waist over a sheer mesh skirt and thigh-high boots, because of course she did. Statement earrings the size of small wind chimes dangled from her ears.

Our baby cousin-turned-sister, Bella, sat behind my desk, feet kicked up, her jet-black bob framing her face like a comic book villain in soft glam—high-waisted sweatpants, a bandeau crop top, and UGG slides, all in matching dusty rose. Her brows were arched, lashes curled, nails long and fire engine red.

They couldn't have been more different if they tried.

And yet, somehow, we'd always fit.

I smiled and shook my head as I walked in. "Y'all are way too comfortable in my office."

"Compliment accepted," Tina said, holding up her glass in a toast.

"Are those apology biscuits I smell?" Bella asked, already reaching for the tote bag in my hand like it belonged to her.

I laughed. "They're just biscuits."

"Girl, nothing is 'just biscuits' in that house of trauma and drama." Bella said, dead serious.

I snorted as I unpacked the containers, setting them on the small round table in the corner of the office. "I made gravy too."

Tina gasped. "Oh, she's feeling BIG feelings today."

Bella flopped onto the couch dramatically. "I want soft scrambled eggs."

I tossed a napkin at her head with a laugh. "Get a skillet then."

We hugged in between bites and setups, smearing lipstick on each other's cheeks, fake-gagging at the sight of Tina's boots being kicked off onto my velvet ottoman. Bella fake-fainted onto the couch when she tasted the gravy, groaning like I'd just served her the Lord's Supper.

And just like that, I felt like myself again.

We sat cross-legged on my office floor, plates in hand, laughing with our mouths full, roasting old crushes and doing dramatic reenactments of our favorite skits from A Black Lady Sketch Show. Tina recalled her last date with a man she'd dubbed "Mr. Clitless Wonder," and I almost choked on a biscuit laughing.

Tina launched into a full one-woman play about her recent adventure swimming with pigs in the Bahamas—"one of them tried to hump me while I was getting out the damn water. I thought I was gonna end up on Pork Hub!"—and we all screamed laughing until our bellies hurt.

The laughter softened after a while, tapering into contented chewing and happy sighs.

I took a slow sip of orange juice.

I was going to tell them about the fight with Gavin, but Bella beat me to the punch.

"Well, I heard from a little birdie," Bella cut in, all casual mischief.

Tina jumped in without missing a beat. "A little birdie named Dad."

I chuckled, shaking my head. "Lord. Daddy needs a damn hobby."

"He has one," Bella said, rolling her eyes. "It's called gossiping with his favorite child over coffee to escape the boredom of retirement." she added with a smirk, grabbing another biscuit.

I smirked back. "Okay, so what did this little birdie tell you?"

Bella dropped the bomb with zero warning.

"That Maleek is coming home."

I choked.

Not a little cough. Not a dainty, ladylike clear-your-throat moment.