Chapter 41
Chapter Forty-One
NAJI
I sat cross-legged on the edge of the bed, on speakerphone with Dessign while scrolling through a list of local vendors for the block party.
Two more weeks and the block would be lit.
“We still need a second bounce house,” she advised. “One isn’t gonna cut it for all them kids. And how ‘bout Chi trying to be in charge of the water balloons. Talking ‘bout freezing some of them for ‘strategy.’”
I chuckled. “ Oh, my God! Let him be over the food.”
“Girl, you trying to lose half the guest list to food poisoning on the first block party? We’re trying to build a legacy, not a lawsuit.”
“Bless the burnt biscuits!” I barked out suddenly, making myself—and Dessign—pause for a second before we burst out laughing.
“I meant the meat. H-he can barbecue, right?”
“Oh… yeah,” she dragged out. “My man can throw down on the grill. Right before my accident, I used to do these kinds of events all the time. So trust me—there are three tables I know Chi gotta stay away from. One—the ice cream cooler. Last time, he took out all the vanilla sandwiches and said we need to support the ‘funky flavors.’ Second—the face painting station. That nigga gave a kid a ‘Spider-Man’ that looked like a roach with anxiety.”
My thumb tapped the screen three times fast—one of those little compulsions I couldn’t control. The screen kept opening and closing before I forced myself to stop.
“Stop it—stop it—stop it!” I giggled.
My words skipped like a scratched CD before I caught my breath.
“I’m serious! Now, last but not least—the liquor. Girl, everybody gon’ be drunk before the DJ even plugs his speaker in! Last time he tried to serve ‘jungle juice,’ we needed prayer and Pedialyte.”
I chuckled. “S-see? That’s why we need rules, wristbands, something . ”
“Mm-hmm. We gon’ have to Chi-proof this whole damn event. I’m already telling everybody else who plans on bringing a dish, if they show up with anything that sounds like a ‘twist on tradition,’ they’re eating from the kid’s table.”
Dessign was the kind of person who said what everybody else as thinking—but funnier. She was one of those people you just had to love. If you didn’t, you were either a certified hater or just somebody who couldn’t handle real, unfiltered people.
We continued sorting through the plans—game stations, school supply counts, and the DJ schedule.
As Dessign went on about finding someone to donate folding chairs, my mind slowly wandered.
I hadn’t been back to work since the restaurant incident. After being humiliated, wrongly accused, and nearly breaking down in front of a room full of strangers, I just… couldn’t.
Truthfully, after that day, something in me shifted.
I kept thinking about what I mentioned to Dessign a while ago—about starting a modeling agency for people with disabilities.
I brought it up to Imanio one night, half-expecting him to shoot it down or ask a million questions.
But instead, he just said, “I’ll fund it. ”
No hesitation. No strings.
While I appreciated him— truly , deeply—there was an insistent voice echoing in the back of my mind.
It urged me to possess something that was entirely my own.
Because loving a man like Imanio meant accepting both sides of him.
And though he treated me like royalty, I had seen how quickly his switch could flip, and I didn’t want to ever wake up one day, lost in his shadow, with nothing to call my own if he ever looked at me differently…
or ever regretted choosing me. So the agency?
It wasn’t just for the people who needed it; it was for my confidence, peace, and survival.
“Naji, you still there?” Dessign’s voice snapped her back.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m here. I’m just... thinking.”
“You good?”
“I will be.”
We wrapped up the call a few minutes later, promising to check in again before the week was out.
Just as I reached over to plug in my phone, a new notification popped up.
Messenger: 1 New Message—Chiamaka Ali
It was my sister.
I hadn’t expected to hear from her—at least not that soon.
I stared at the screen, caught somewhere between surprise, curiosity, and caution. Then I tapped the message open.
Hey, Naji. It’s me. I know I’m probably the last person you expected to hear from... but I had to reach out.
Naji, they lied to me. They told me you chose to stay with Grandma. That you liked it better here. I only found out the truth a year ago.
I stared at the words, blinking back something I didn’t want to call tears.
I’m not mad at you. You didn’t know. I typed back after a long pause.
A minute passed before her next message came in.
Would you be willing to have dinner with me? Just us? No family. Just... sisters?
It was just a message, but it felt like a door I wasn’t sure I was ready to open. Everything in me warred with the hesitation, the memory, the old ache.
But then I typed:
Yeah. I’d like that. I’ll reach back out to you with the date, time, and place.
And hit send.
I leaned back against the pillows, letting the silence wrap around me.
A part of me still wasn’t sure if that was the beginning of me healing or just reopening a wound I didn’t know how to face. But I answered… that had to mean something.
After lying in my thoughts for about thirty minutes, I got up and headed to the kitchen in search of something sweet. For a week or so, I had a sweet tooth. I opt for some of Ms. Shirley’s peach—if she hadn’t hidden it again.
Once I made it to the last step, I heard a strange, stifled sound from the dining room—a soft sob.
I froze.
Something flickered beneath my skin, a nervous rhythm I couldn’t will away. I let it pass through me like a chill in the wind—No time to be panicking. Not with something wrong just ahead.
I crept toward the edge of the wall, breath held, and peeked around the corner.
There was Ms. Shirley—slumped forward in one of the dining chairs, her back to me. Her hand clutched around her phone against her chest, and her whole body shook with silent crying.
I stepped in quietly. “Ms. Shirley?”
She looked startled, quickly wiping at her face.
“Oh, Naji! I didn’t hear you! Lord, I look a mess!”
My eyes didn’t leave the screen. The man in the photo had her smile—the same wide stretch when it was genuine, the same slant in the eyes when it wasn’t. His nose was hers, too, just a little sharper. He was kin to her in some way—no denying it.
“Who is he?” I asked gently, already feeling like the answer was gonna sit heavy.
Ms. Shirley tried to wave it off at first—but her hand barely made it halfway before she broke. Her voice cracked mid-breath.
“This… this is my son. I miss him so bad!”
I swallowed.
“Wh-where is he?” I asked softly, not trying to sound like I was prying… too much.
She looked down at the phone in her lap like it weighed a thousand pounds.
“He’s in jail.”
Then she told me everything—how long he’d been in, how far away he was, what the charges were. The way her voice dropped lower with each sentence like she was trying not to shatter all over again.
“I know he’s not dead,” she said, a sad laugh breaking through her tears, “ but he’s not here. I haven’t hugged my baby in two years. He got more time ahead and… sometimes it just hits me out of nowhere, you know?”
My eyes softened.
I didn’t say anything right away. Just nodded. I knew that kind of ache—the kind that settled deep, where words couldn’t reach. It wasn’t just pain. It was the absence that echoed.
After a long, quiet pause, I reached for her hand.
“Come on with me.”
She looked up, confused. “Come where?”
“To the bathroom.”
Ms. Shirley blinked. “ Naji, I love you. But are you okay? Did the tics mess with your head?”
I smiled faintly. The corner of my mouth lifted even as a tremor crept up my neck.
“I’m.. I’m fine,” I assured her with a chuckle, then took a seat next to her. “You remember when I first came here… broken, shaking, scared of everything?”
She nodded.
My hand twitched, and my voice pitched up.
“Watermelon!” I blurted out, then blinked through the sting behind my eyes.
A tear slipped down my cheek.
“You… you didn’t laugh at me or judge me. You didn’t even really question why I was here. I mean, y-you asked if I was here against my will—but you knew how far to go without pressuring me. You just… gave me space. Gave me kindness I didn’t even know I needed.”
I let out a shaky breath, blinking back more tears.
“Now you did give me them sleeping horse pills—but I needed that.”
A small laugh slipped between the ache in my throat.
“Y-you always made sure the food was to my liking.
Like… when I told you I liked my eggs a little r-runny, and you never forgot.
You started adding extra honey to the cornbread ‘cause you caught me sneaking seconds. You would even make me a cup of peppermint tea before you would end your s-shift after I mentioned it h-helps me sleep better.”
My voice cracked and my shoulder twitched, but I didn’t stop.
“You didn’t treat me like I was broken; you treated me like I mattered… like I belonged.”
She chuckled quietly, wiping her own tears now.
“Then you ran me that bath. You called it a ‘royal bath.’ Said every woman needs one every now and then… even the s-strong ones.”
Ms. Shirley’s lips quivered into the smallest smile.
I gave her hand a squeeze.
“I think… I clung to you because…”
My voice caught. My shoulder jolted with a tic, and my hand twitched against my leg.
“Because you remind me of my grandmother.”
I sucked in a breath as the tears came faster.
“She’s mine! Stop the clock, Nana!” The words spilled out loud and raw, my body jolting with the tic.
Ms. Shirley didn’t flinch. She just waited… like she always did—like my grandmother used to.
“You’ve never treated me like I was broken,” I added, quieter, chest tight. “You’ve always treated me like I mattered… like I belonged.”
I looked up at her, wiping beneath my eye with the back of my hand.
“So now it’s your turn. Your turn for me to take care of you . ”
Ms. Shirley tilted her head, narrowing her eyes.
“Okay. But wait. In that bathroom? The big one with the marble tub? That’s his tub. Mr. Kors will have my tail if he catches me soaking in his sacred man spa.”
I rolled my eyes and waved her off, a tic hitching in my throat.
“Girl, please, Gravy boat Gucci gang!” I barked out, then exhaled through my nose. “Ms. Shirley, I run this house j-just as much as he does. I dare him to say something. It’s… it’s fine. I promise.”
Ms. Shirley looked at me for a long moment—then stood.
"Okay. Go to your room, change into a r-robe, and meet me in the bathroom in ten minutes.”
Ms. Shirley looked at me like she didn’t quite believe I was serious—but she didn’t argue. She just nodded and walked off, wiping at her cheeks.
Once she was gone, I got to work.
The tub was already filling with hot water, steam curling softly into the air like whispered comfort.
I scattered eucalyptus leaves , thin slices of lemon, and added a few drops of lavender oil , just like she had done for me that night I could barely breathe.
Then I added a few personal touches—rose petals, because she was always talking about wanting “something pretty in her life,” and a small, folded card that read: “Royal treatment only.”
The towels were fluffed and stacked neatly on the marble ledge.
A small speaker played Anita Baker in the corner, low and humming. Candles lined the edge of the tub , their warm vanilla scent wrapping around the space like a hug.
I was adjusting the bath pillow , making sure it would sit just right behind her neck, when I heard the door creak open behind me.
“Can I come in?” she called gently.
I smiled without turning around.
“Yes, ma’am.”
When she stepped into the bathroom, she froze in place.
“Lord… it smells like peace in here,” she whispered.
I laughed, the sound watery in my throat.
“You deserve it,” I said. “Every bit of it.”
Ms. Shirley started untying her robe, and before I could turn around, she’d dropped it to the floor.
I quickly spun on her heel.
“Whoa—Ms. Shirley! You could’ve warned me.”
“Oh, please,” she said, stepping into the tub with a sigh of deep relief. “You probably wanted me to turn my head when it was vice versa, but baby... I’m old school. We both got the same parts. And if you ain’t seen a pair of real titties before, congratulations… now you have. You’ll live.”
That sent me laughing until she had to brace herself on the counter. A few small tics snuck out—shoulder jerking, a small grunt—but I didn’t care.
“Just know, if that husband of yours comes up in here, you better throw me a towel and act like I fell in by accident.”
I laughed, then turned back around. “With your clothes off ? That will be h-hard to convince him. But Imanio won’t be upset; if anything, he’ll probably ask if you want a glass of wine. Oh! I… I should’ve got you that… and some cucumbers.”
The water lapped softly as Ms. Shirley settled in, letting out a long, slow sigh and tilting her head back.
“It’s fine, baby. This will do. This... this right here is healing. I feel better already.”
That day, I realized giving peace could be just as powerful as receiving it.
“Well, I’ll let you be, and like you told me, take your time.”
Ms. Shirley briefly opened her eyes to say, “Thank you, sweetheart. I don’t know what happened for you to end up here or married to Mr. Kors, but just know, God doesn’t make mistakes. You’re right where you’re supposed to be.”
“Yeah. I think I am.”