Her voice cracked slightly on the last word, but she didn’t stop. Tears slid down the side of her face and disappeared into her pillow as she kept singing. It was like the music was the only thing holding her upright now.
She was so into her moment of what I knew to be grieving that she didn’t even notice us. She didn’t turn our way, and she didn’t even open her eyes. She just stayed there, lost in it. I stood in the doorway for a moment longer than I probably should have. My chest squeezed as I took her in like that. Because I knew that kind of heartbreak. It was not the surface kind that people talk about and move on from. It was the kind that settled deep and made you feel like something inside you had shifted in a way you can’t undo. I had been there before. Before Malik and I became what we are now, solid and unshaken, I had my own moments of lying in a room just like this, letting music say everything I didn’t have the strength to put into words.
Honestly, she was lucky her father had gotten up early and left the house. Whew, if he had heard this shit playing, he probably would have busted into her room demanding answers. I gave grace for moments like this because I understood what it was like to be a young girl in love. More importantly, I knew what it was like to be young and to get my heart broken. So, for a second, I didn’t move. I just watched her. But Tori wasn’t built for silence like that. She stepped right past me like the heaviness in the room didn’t stand a chance against her energy.
“Oh, nah,” she said, half singing, half talking as she started swaying dramatically. “We’re not about to let you drown like this.”
Before I could say anything, she was fully in it. She was singing along, adding her own extra notes and spinning around like she was on a stage instead of in a bedroom full of heartbreak.
“I wish I wasn’t in loooove with you,” she dragged out, placing a hand over her chest like she was performing.
Then she made her way over to the speaker and turned the volume down just enough so the room could breathe again. Just enough so that we can all talk without yelling over the music. Maliah still didn’t move, and she still didn’t open her eyes. She still quietly sang along, with tears falling as if she didn’t even realize we were there. Tori paused her homemade concert and looked at her for a second. Her expression softened just a little before that familiar spark came right back. She walked over to the bed with her hands on her hips while shaking her head.
“Alright now,” she said as her tone shifted into that teasing, no-nonsense energy that she always carried. “Which one of these nappy-headed, crooked hairline little boys got you in here like this?”
That did it. We didn’t get a full reaction from Maliah, but we got just enough. Her singing faltered just slightly, and her brows pulled together like reality was starting to creep back in around the edges. I finally stepped further into the room and then sat on the edge of the bed near her feet. I looked at my daughter, and I mean really looked at her. And my heart ached. Because no matter how grown she thought she was, heartbreak had a way of reminding you just how young you still are. It could get the best of any of us. She opened her eyes slowly, like it took effort, like even that much felt exhausting, and when she looked at me, I saw it clear as day. She had new, raw heartbreak sitting right on the surface.
“Tahari…” she started, her voice cracking before she even finished his name. She swallowed, trying to steady herself, but the tears came anyway. “He said he doesn’t want to see me anymore. He said he needs space.”
The words landed softly, but the weight behind them didn’t. I frowned as I listened, because I knew that kind of pain. I knew what it meant to hear something like that from someone you had already given a piece of yourself to. And looking at her now, I could tell this wasn’t just a little crush or something fleeting. My baby was really in love. Like, love love. And that realization sat differently with me than I expected it to. I reached out and gently brushed her hair back from her face. I made sure that my touch was soft and careful.
“I’m sorry, baby,” I said.
I meant it. I really did. Because no matter how I felt about the situation, her pain was real. But even as I comforted her, another thought crept in, one that made me pause. A mother’s instinct wasn’t anything to play with. Because love like that… sometimes didn’t stop at just feelings. Where the mind went, the body would surely follow. My hand stilled for a second before I spoke again, and I made sure to steady my tone before opening my mouth.
“Maliah,” I started before pausing. I hesitated just enough for it to feel awkward even to me. “Have you… been deflowered?”
She blinked at me. Confusion immediately replaced the sadness on her face as she pushed herself up slightly.
“What?” she asked as she looked at me like I had just spoken a different language.
Before I could even clarify, Tori let out a loud laugh from across the room.
“Girl, she is asking if you are out here fucking?” she said bluntly while folding her arms with a smirk.
Maliah’s eyes widened.
“No!” she said quickly.
She was sitting up all the way now, and her face was a mix of disbelief and embarrassment.
“No, I’m not!” she doubled down with a little bass in her voice.
I let out a small breath that I didn’t even realize I was holding while nodding slowly as I sat back just a little.
“Okay,” I said with my tone easing, though the seriousness didn’t leave completely. “I just needed to know.”
Tori shook her head while muttering under her breath.
“Deflowered is crazy.”
I shot her a look, but she just shrugged, completely unbothered.
I turned my attention back to Maliah, my expression softened again, but this time there was more intention behind what I was about to say.
“I was letting things play out between you and him,” I began, choosing my words carefully, because this moment mattered. “I wanted you to experience things for yourself, to figure out what you like, what you don’t.”
She looked at me, still emotional, still trying to piece herself back together, but she was listening.
