Page 93 of Love Overdose: St. Louis

Malik continued smiling as I crossed the living room. Six weeks had passed since the afternoon he said his first words. He hadn’t spoken again. His speech therapist reminded us that one verbal response didn’t guarantee another would come quickly. She had encouraged us to give him opportunities without turning every interaction into a test. I understood the advice. So did Mama. Knowing better hadn’t stopped either of us from holding our breath whenever Malik shaped his mouth around a sound.

The hope was impossible to put away now that we knew his voice was in there. I opened the door. Elijah stood on my porch in dark jeans, a black quarter-zip sweater, and a wool coat that fit across his shoulders immaculately. One hand held a cardboard tray with three drinks. The other carried a small paper bag.

Cool November air slipped into the house around him.

“Good morning.”

The sight of him still made my body thirst for him, as if I hadn’t seen him regularly.

“Good morning.”

He leaned in and kissed me. His lips lingered for a few seconds before my mother's throat-clearing reached us from the living room. Elijah lifted his head.

“Your audience is waiting.”

“She was supposed to be gone.”

“I heard that,” Mama called.

I stepped aside and let him enter.

Malik raised both hands when Elijah came into view. Elijah’s face softened. He placed the drinks and bag on the entry table before crossing the room. Malik held out his hand, and Elijah pressed his palm against it. The quiet slap of their high five echoed through the room.

“Are you ready to see some fish?”

Malik clapped.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“He has been ready since seven this morning,” I said. “He refused to let me take off that sweatshirt even though we weren’t leaving for hours.”

A red Spider-Man hoodie covered Malik’s upper body. The figure Elijah had given him rested in his lap, secured beneath one hand.

Elijah noticed it and smiled.

The toy had become Malik’s favorite. It traveled from my house to Mama’s, to therapy, and back home again. I’d washed it twice after it fell beneath his chair, and Malik had watched me clean it as though I might damage one of his limbs.

Elijah returned to the entryway and passed Mama a cup.

“Tea with lemon.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “For me?”

“Yes.”

She accepted it. “Thank you.”

He handed me the second cup. The scent of vanilla chai rose through the lid's opening.

“You remembered.”

“I remember what you like.”

Mama watched me take a sip of my tea.

“He brought me one too,” she said. “Don’t start acting special.”

“I am special.”