Chapter 9 #4
“Why you so pressed about me having a wedding—which isn’t going to happen—have you even set a date for you and Chi’s wedding?”
“Imanio, I already told y’all I’m not getting married until I can walk down the aisle… and not with a cane!”
See, that was the real Dessign… stubborn as hell.
After her accident three years ago, the doctors told her she’d never walk again… but they didn’t know who they were dealing with.
When you have money, God, and a therapist so exclusive you can’t even find them on Google, you start rewriting your own story…. and we did.
Dessign still wasn’t fully walking, but she could take plenty of steps—with a cane. The problem was that she hated using it. Dessign claimed it made her feel old—like she needed to be sitting in somebody’s bingo hall.
“Well, sis,” I said, standing up and stretching a little, “I suggest you put your pride to the side and get in some walking with that cane like your therapist told you.”
“I hate that damn thing!” she hissed.
“I know.” I walked over to her. “But let me say this—you’ve come too far to stop here. You’re walking, Dess… walking. That’s a miracle in itself.”
She glanced away, chewing on her cheek like she was fighting back emotions.
I leaned down and kissed her forehead.
“You hear me? You took steps doctors swore you never would. That ain’t just therapy, that’s God.
But even miracles need maintenance. You can’t be out here letting your progress collect dust because you’re worried about looking ‘old.’ You’re strong as hell, Dess.
But strength ain’t always about pushing through; sometimes, it’s about showing up for the slow days too.
Use the cane. Walk like you own the ground under you.
I got to head back to the crib,” I finished, grabbing my keys.
“Let me guess… to make sure she ate? Slept? Had her daily spoonful of applesauce and bedtime lullaby?” Dessign kidded, with a smirk.
“If you must know, she’s sleeping.”
“You’re falling for her, brother of mine, and you don’t even realize it… yet . Or maybe you do, but your pride is just too big for you to admit it.”
“I’m not falling for her,” I lied so smooth I almost believed it. “This is business… nothing personal.”
“Mm-hmm,” she hummed, leaning back in her chair like a smug auntie at a barbecue. “You’ll believe that lie as long as you keep convincing yourself. But seriously, Imanio…”
Dessign looked at me with something rare in her voice—vulnerability.
“Take care of her. If you’re gonna do this, do it the right way.”
I nodded. “I will.”
Then I glanced at her cane propped in the corner. “You need to do the same.”
She looked confused.
“You’re gonna walk down that aisle, Dess… with or without that cane. But the only way that happens is if you keep showing up. I believe in you, sis… even on the days you don’t.”
“I hate when you get all deep and motivational and shit! Now I got no excuse!”
“Exactly! So get up and walk across the living room like you Beyoncé on tour… with a cane!”
She flipped me off with a grin. “I hate you!”
“Love you too.”
When I heard a car door shut outside, I glanced out the window, only to see that our mama had pulled up.
I sighed. “ Yo’ mama just pulled up, and that’s my cue to leave.”
Dessign groaned loud enough to shake the curtains.
“Ugh! I forgot she was coming over. My nerves can’t take her today,” she grumbled.
“Why is she here?” I questioned.
“She’s taking me to therapy,” Dessign muttered, already irritated. “My car’s in the shop.”
Dessign was the only paralyzed woman I knew who could still whip a car like a NASCAR driver in heels and hoops. She didn’t have no regular chair either… and damn sure not a regular ride.
Her car was one-of-a-kind. Custom built. Push-to-start. Modified gas and brake paddles. Seats made out of Egyptian cotton and Drake’s tears, probably. I paid for her it and her chair. I’m sure if her and Chi were together at the time of the accident, that he would have.
Seconds later, the devil herself strolled into the room like she paid the mortgage.
Giselle Kors.
She wore a sharp Balmain blazer that fit her perfectly, black slacks that probably cost more than my entire outfit, and spiked Louboutins that clacked menacingly on the wooden floor.
Diamonds adorned her wrists, and a Hermès scarf was tied around her neck.
Her lipstick was a striking red, sharp enough to cut egos in half.
Giselle paused when she saw me and immediately pursed her lips like someone had farted near her vintage perfume.
“Well, good morning, son! I didn’t expect you to be here,” she said, setting her purse down on the console table.
“Morning,” I replied, uninterested in her presence.
“Wait! It’s Monday? Why aren’t you at work?” She tilted her head, voice sweet but laced with that rich-woman judgment, like she was asking why I wasn’t at school.
I smiled—just enough to be disrespectful.
“I took a personal day.”
What I wanted to say was: Mind the business that pays you.
“Well, son, you know we can’t afford?—”
“ I can afford to take as many personal days as I want,” I cut her off.
Giselle narrowed her eyes at me like she was measuring how far she could push before I reminded her who signs the checks.
I stepped back, sliding on my shades like her aura gave me migraines.
“Anyway, my time’s up. Hit me later, sis.”
“Oh, I will,” Dessign called out. Then mouthed, “ Pray for me. ”
We shared the same mama, so I wanted to tell her to do the same for me.
When I hopped in the whip, the first thing I checked for was the bear and the portfolio—more so the bear, though. It was still there, tucked safely behind the folder like it had a job to protect it.
By the time I made it back to the crib, Naji was knocked out, snoring loud as hell. I guessed it was all that sleep she’d been missing was finally catching up to her.
I stood there for a minute, watching her… just watching.
Face soft, peaceful for once. Hair half-wild. Lips slightly parted. Comforter pulled up like she was hiding from the world.
She looked… beautiful. Not the kind of beauty that walks across a stage; the kind that’s just there when nobody’s looking.
I had to remind myself— this is business… right? Yeah… business. That’s what I keep telling myself .
I walked over and quietly placed the portfolio, her phone, and the bear next to her on the bed.
I left the room, closing the door behind me, still thinking—too much, honestly.
So I figured I’d do what I always did—drown the thoughts in work, focus on my real business, make the numbers move, and get my hands back in what I could control.
Because feelings? Yeah… that was a different kind of territory, and I wasn’t ready to get lost in that yet.