The door opened before he touched it.
A small woman stood there, thick and sturdy, skin lined but glowing. She stared for a minute, then gasped. Her eyes were wide and glassy with tears and looking, searching his face, his frame, his scars. For a long second, she didn’t say anything. Then her hand flew to her mouth.
“Oh, my God. My baby… my Mekhi… Oh, thank you, Jesus. I knew You would answer my prayers. Thank you, Lord!” she cried.
Her knees almost buckled. Mekhi lunged forward, catching her, his hands cradling her.
“MawMaw…” he breathed. “I’m here. I’m here.”
She reached up to cup his cheeks, tears rolling freely now.
“I prayed for this,” she sobbed. “Every night I asked the Lord, just show me they okay. Just let me see them one more time…”
He pulled her into his chest, and she held on like she was afraid he’d disappear again. Tears gathered in my eyes, too, not from hurt, but from just beingfull. I crossed my arms and smiled through it.
“Told you she was gon’ love seeing you,” I said.
His grandmother pulled back and looked at me then, really seeing me for the first time.
“And you must be the reason he looks so happy?” she asked, grinning slyly.
Mekhi glanced at me. This man who terrified full rooms of grown men suddenly seemed shy.
“This is Farrah. She’s my… everything,” he said simply.
I beamed, loving the sound of that.
“Then, I like her already,” his grandmother said. “Come on in, both of y’all.”
Before stepping inside, I leaned a little closer to Mekhi.
“You owe me,” I murmured.
“For what?”
“For telling you she wasn’t gon’ slam the door in your face.”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “What you want? Another ring? A bookstore? Half of North Village?”
“I want silver,” I said sweetly. “We going to my jeweler. I deserve some nice silver after all this.”
He frowned, eyes flicking down to my hand.
“Silver?” he repeated slowly. “I done put diamonds on your finger in platinum, Little Thug. You ain’t gotta settle for silver.”
He lifted my left hand, the late sun catching the ring there, a wide band of platinum holding a large, cushion-cut diamond that caught light in wild, dancing flashes. Smaller stones hugged its sides like guards protecting a queen. My ring was elegant, classic, expensive in a way that didn’t need to scream. It rested there like it always would.
“See that?” he murmured. “That ain’t no silver energy.”
I grinned at him. “You right. But the silver ain’t for me.”
His brow creased. “Then who?”
I slid my hand back into his.
“For one of them little silver spoons you mentioned.”
Silence. I didn’t say anything else. I just watched as his face changed—confusion first, then realization, then shock, then something so happy, it spread like sunlight.
