Her lips twitched. Not anger. Something more tender. “You think because we divorced, love wasn’t real?”
“You like Quentin,” I pressed. “Like you liked Daddy.” That was me questioning her wisdom but she didn’t take the bait.
“You still like him.” I was speaking of Daddy.
Her gaze held mine. Then she gave me the smallest, saddest smile. “I do. I never stopped liking your Daddy.”
My chest squeezed. “Then why—why let it go?”
She exhaled, slowly. “Because we were young. We had you and Darren before we even knew ourselves. I wanted more—wanted to see more, be more—and I felt like he was standing still. Like if I stayed, I’d drown. So I let him go.” Her voice dropped. “But I never stopped caring. Not for him. Not for the family we built.”
I stared at her, my throat tight and the realization that both Daddy and Mama realized their flaws and still loved each other through them. “You want him back. Don’t you?”
She shook her head too quickly, grabbed a rag, and busied herself with the counter. “That ship has sailed.”
“Not if you both get on it,” I said quietly. “Like that cruise.”
Her hand froze mid-wipe. Just for a second. Then she set the rag down, shoulders stiff, the silence answering for her.
We sat in the kitchen a while longer, the pot still simmering, R&B humming soft from the speaker on the sill. Maze—Before I Let Go. I closed my eyes, let the groove fold over me, memory opening like a door.
Kennywood Park in the summer. Mama dragging us onto roller coasters while Daddy stood on the ground, listing ways they could break. That one time he gave in, rode The Jack Rabbit with her, came off smiling, her kissing him so hard the whole line clapped. Cedar Point in Ohio—Mama hauling us across the park to ride the biggest coaster twice before the lines got crazy. Daddy trailing behind with kettle corn, shaking his head but smiling.
There had been arguments, yes. Hard words I’d overhear at night. But there had also been love. More love thanI’d let myself remember. Maybe I’d been avoiding Mama not because she was cold, but because she reminded me of what I’d lost. And what I was afraid to lose again.
Later, when the tears slowed, she reached out, brushing my hair back the way she used to when I was sick as a girl. The touch undid me.
“You can’t keep running from what makes you vulnerable,” she said softly. “That’s where the real living is. For you. For that child. For the love you already know you want.”
I folded into her hand, quiet sobs slipping free. She pulled me against her chest, and I let her hold me, just like when Daddy left.
That night, I stayed. Her bed smelled like lavender lotion and soup that had seeped into the walls. She hummed low, stroking my hair until I drifted. For the first time in weeks, the ache in my chest eased.
And in that in-between place, half asleep, I thought,maybe I don’t have to do this alone.
Chapter 26
The Empty Side of the Table
The afterschool program was buzzing when I dropped in. Kids bent over robot kits and art projects, the smell of pizza hanging thick in the air. I meant to just dap Malik up, drop off the extra sodas in my trunk, and bounce. But when I pushed through the back door, I caught him leaning on the front desk, bodyloose but eyes giving him away. His voice was low, soft in a way I didn’t hear often, a grin tugging like he didn’t want it there but couldn’t help himself.
The woman with him—brown skin, slim frame, locs pulled up neat, blazer over a soft blouse—kept her eyes down on a stack of folders. Professional. But her mouth betrayed her, curving in a smile she tried to hide. And the way her hand lingered on the edge of the desk, not pulling away fast, said enough.
Then she noticed me. That smile tightened like she’d just remembered she was on the clock and kids were running wild in the hall behind her. Malik saw me a beat later. His jaw flexed, and he muttered something under his breath before pushing off the desk. By the time he reached me, he was already shaking his head.
“You saw nothing,” he said, already moving me toward the door.
I smirked. “Right. Just two coworkers talking about… what, phonics and multiplication tables?”
“Man, don’t start.” He laughed once, short, embarrassed, then shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket like that could cover the glow in his dark face.
“Wasn’t starting,” I said lightly, pulling my coat tighter as the cold air slapped us on the sidewalk. “But you might want to tell your face to calm down before she files HR paperwork on you.”
He barked out a real laugh at that, hard enough to fog the air between us. “Her name’s Cierra. And relax—she’s not thinking about me like that.”
“She looked like she was.”
He paused mid-step, cut me a look, then sighed. “She’sgood with the kids. Quick. Got this way of making you want to do better without saying it. And yeah… I like her. More than I thought I would. But she’s locked on keeping it professional.”
