Chapter 42 Discomfort
Discomfort
Alex’s voice buzzes through Gutta’s phone. “Anyhow deh bwoy deh make
me buck him, lone shot him a get.” I stay quiet, rolling my spliff smooth while listening.
“Who dat?” Gutta ask him.
“Nuh the bwoy Weneil, eh bwoy diss me, mi affi kill him,” Alex insists. A taxi pulls up nearby, dropping off a schoolgirl. She glances my way, smiling as she slips inside the gate.
“Black shirt,” she calls out. I’m at Johns Rd, minutes away from my mother’s place. I exhale smoke, watching her fade into the yard, then take the phone.
“Who him link wid?” I ask.
“Weneil from the Mob Gang.” Hmm. We and Mob nah war, but one spark here could ignite one. We done inna shit with the Golf Gang and the feds dem a pree mi.
“Yow, mi o’ deal wid it,” I tell Alex.
“Alright, mi Don,” he’s less tense. I slide off the wall, climb in my car, and open my MacBook, paying bills for my mother, Jet’s mother, then my house bills.
I send money to my siblings and Zara’s account.
Once I’m done, I close the laptop and rejoin the crew outside.
Hennessy in my hand, they vibe to Kartel and Teejay’s Pressure, teasing Rick who’s missing his singing part.
Laughter breaks loose, until the gate creaks again.
The girl from before walks out, cheeks flushed.
“Black shirt,” she smiles, eyes shy but bold. “A Nathan yuh name?” She fans my smoke, acting like I should know her.
“Why yuh wah know man name?”—a woman slaps a boy nearby.
She shrugs it off, “Mi see yuh dung yer before.”
I play it cool.“Anuh me yuh see.” She sits beside me, asks about some friend named Ava.
I don’t remember, then she claims she’s seventeen with grown friends.
I nod, uninterested. Names fade when they don’t matter.
I call Gutta over. “Mi wah link the youth weh Alex a talk bout, time fi check before mi head back.”
“Mi a fawud,” he says, always ready. Loyalty runs deep, but trust is thin—Juaqína was like that once. Had to cut her loose before she tek man pointe. We dap the others and step off.
ZARA
I stare at the screen, watching Riverdale but not really watching. My mind’s a mess. I just want peace, but peace feel foreign lately. “Yuh know seh Veronica father nuh like Archie,” Sash says from the floor, legs crossed, eyes locked on the TV.
“Mi hate Archie lakka poison,” Gavin adds, lounging on the opposite sofa.
“Mi wouldn’t be surprised if him try kill him,” Sash laughs, but it fades in the background. Zahir nudges my leg and I stroke his curls. He presses his cheek against me. I kiss his wrist, barely present.
“How yuh so silent?” Sash asks. Gavin answers for me.
“She a go through it with her man.”
“Mi alright,” I lie.
“Lie that,” he mutters, like he’s reading my spirit. “She soon good, man.”
“Yeah,” Sash agrees, but her eyes don’t believe me. Zahir coos, arms up. I lift him, pull my breast out. He latches, playing with his hair while feeding. I stare at him like he’s the only thing that calms me.
“My businesses ready now,” I say, tone flat.
Gavin sits up. “Wah yuh mean businesses?”
“Yeah, wah yuh mean?” Sash echoes.
“I have it in different branches.” Instant chaos. Screams, laughs, pure joy. It don’t settle for five whole minutes.
“Girl yaw go rich rich now enuh!” Sash hollers.
“You have workers?” Gavin asks, hype.
“That’s why mi bring it up. Mi did wah know if unuh want work the Kingston branch?” Screams again. I smile. They’re proud of me.
“Zara, mi proud enuh,” Gavin says, wiping fake tears.
“A fi real,” Sash grins. “Mi ready fi lef the call center work right now.” We laugh. Gavin leans closer.
“So yuh good inna the other branches or yuh wah mi recommend some good girl and set up a likkle interview?”
“That sweet, but Nickoi already get workers,” I tell him.
“Ohh, well it’s a good look, girl,” Sash nods.
“Yeah. Mek we finish the series.” Later, after popcorn and two more episodes, I tuck the babies in and find them in the kitchen… eating again.
“Bwoy Zara, yuh house full a food,” Gavin says with hotdog in his mouth.
“Mi love it here,” Sash grins.
Gavin’s eyes bulge. “Anuh Nickoi food we a nyam out?” He throws the last bite in and we all laugh hard. Mi cyaan even hold a straight face round dem.
I shake my head. “Nah. Mi buy those. Nickoi food a just him seafood and him Hennessy dem.”
“Girl, you love him enuh. Look how yuh face light up when yuh talk ‘bout him,” Gavin says.
I blush. “Mi love him.”No sense hiding it. It’s the truth. I’m still sitting here, pretending not to check the time. Pretending not to notice that Nickoi hasn’t called or shown up. Again.
“What time him a come home? Cause a after eight and mi nuh wah deh drive too late,” Gavin says, and my face drops.
“A wahm?” He raises a brow, remote in his hand. He already knows something’s off. I never told him Nickoi’s been avoiding me, but it’s obvious. He pauses the TV.
“Wah really a gwaan? Cause a’ after eight now and Nickoi nuh call or come. Unuh lef and yuh nah tell me?”
“We’re still together. Him just a give me cold shoulder,” I admit.
“Give him cold shoulder back. Make him miss yuh too,” Sash chimes in, unbothered.
“How the problem a guh fix if mi prolong this? It draining enuh,” I mutter.
“A true man. Unuh need fi talk,” Gavin says, serious now. “Find out wah a the problem, fix it. And find outside who a the problem, and fix that too.” Preach, mi bwoy… Can I get an amen? He didn’t even show up last night. Only sent his mother today to “check in.” Like I’m a damn child.
“Just call him, Zara,” Sash says gently.
“And when him answer,” Gavin adds, “pour out yuh heart. Admit weh yuh go wrong, stand fi yuh right, and allow him fi do the same. Just like that, the problem fix.” I nod.
It sounds simple, but it never is. When they’re ready to leave, I hug them both.
Gavin tells me again to call. I wave them off as he drives out.
Mr. Joe gives me a knowing smile from his post.
“Goodnight, Zara. Time you go inside,” he says.
I smile weakly and close the door. Their voices linger in my head.
I’m gonna do it. But first, skincare. I head upstairs, wash my face, tone, moisturize…
everything to delay this confrontation. Once I’m under the covers, AC humming, I pick up my phone.
Then I hear it, soft at first, then sharper.
A cry. Zahir’s. It cuts straight through the stillness.
I sit up fast, heart already racing.“Zahir?” I whisper into the dark.
I turn on the light and rush over to the crib.
He’s crying, his tiny face red, hands curled into a fists.
“Aww, baby… what’s wrong, sweetheart?” I scoop him up gently, cradling him to my chest. I sway side to side, rocking slow. “It’s okay, mommy’s here… mommy’s here, shhh…”
I hum the lullaby I always sing when they get restless.“Hush little baby, don’t say a word…”
But he doesn’t stop. His cry only gets louder.
Zahir’s rarely fussy. He’s always been a quiet baby.
That’s what scares me most. “Please baby,” I whisper, kissing his warm forehead.
“You’re scaring mommy.” I bounce lightly, rubbing his back.
I sniff, realizing I’m crying too now. The tears come easy when I’m scared.
“Mi nuh know wah fi do…” I whisper through a shaky breath. I try mama. Voicemail. I try my mom. Voicemail. My chest tightens. I call Gavin with one hand while bouncing Zahir with the other.
“Maybe him belly a hurt him,” he says. I rub his belly softly, but nothing changes. His little face stays scrunched, and the crying doesn’t stop.
“I’m calling the doctor,” I say, wiping my face.
“Alright. Call mi back,” Gavin says. I hang up and dial Dr. Jacobs. No answer. Mi cyaa bother enuh. I try Nickoi. Once. Twice. Three times. Straight to voicemail.
“Mi cyaa manage dis alone…” I whisper, trying not to cry again.
Zahir’s cry weighs on me. It’s been almost fifteen minutes.
His pain feels like mine now. My baby, and I don’t know what’s wrong.
I hold him tighter, rock him, kiss his cheeks.
Then, I swipe through my contacts. My hands are trembling, but I find the name.
Gutta and press call.
NICKOI
“…that’s why mi fawud miself,” I say, eyes locked on Weneil and his crew outside of the corner store. They’re leaning against cracked walls, talking low like they own this block. The night is thick with the smell of burnt rubber and stale liquor.
Trigga steps forward, calm and collected like always, but there’s a silent warning in his gaze. “Alright,” he nods, daps me up with a hard slap. Then he calls out, loud enough for the whole street to hear, “Gwan in, boys.”
Boys? I bite back a smirk. Mi deeven ‘bwoy’ round my G them.
He bumps his fist into mine. “Mi rate how yuh handle this hombre,” Trigga says, voice low.
I nod slow, eyes cold. “Time fi cut out certain style. Bigger moves fi focus pan.”
He shrugs. “No lie in a that, mi G.”
The conversation ends, I step off slow, my Clarks boot hitting the cracked concrete.
The GLE waits in the shadows, its sleek black body only visible by the glimmer of headlights.
Suddenly, Gutta’s phone breaks the silence, ringing nonstop.
I slide inside, engine purring low. He climbs in behind me, hands me the phone.
“A Alex?” I snap, irritation creeping in. “Tell him mi deal wid it already.”
“No… a Zara,” he says, voice quiet. I check my phone and see five missed calls blinking red on the screen. My jaw tightens. I snatch the phone. Her voice, hoarse and shaky, cuts through the silence.
“Nickoi, come home… please. Something’s wrong with the baby.” My chest tightens, but I keep it steady.
“Mi a fawud,” I say, gripping the wheel, foot pressing down harder. I hear our
baby crying through the line, sounding ra.
Jah… and a twinnem.
“Wah a happ’m?” I ask, voice low but urgent.
“Him a cry nonstop… and n-nothing nah calm him,” Zara says, voice breaking.
“Yuh call aunty?”
“Mi nah get her,” she sniffs, trying to hold it together.
“Hold him close. Mi soon reach.” I hang up, calling my aunt. No answer. I glance at Gutta. “Weh mi fi drop yuh?”
“Anyweh good dawg. Just be there fi yuh family.” He steps out, nods firm. I blow the horn once, and the Benz disappears into the night, every second a countdown to what waits at home.
ZARA
I’ve never felt this kind of helplessness. Half an hour of Zahir’s nonstop crying. Missed calls. Voicemails. Everyone I try to reach is sleeping or not answering.
Why now? Why this? I kiss his belly gently, whispering, “You soon alright.” His little body jerks and the crying doesn’t let up.
The door creaks open. I already know it’s Nickoi.
Still on the bed, I massage Zahir’s stomach like that alone can fix him.
Nickoi crosses the room, takes him from me without a word.
I sit there, just watching. Zahir keeps rubbing at his ears between cries.
Why him a rub him ears? My phone lights up. it’s Mama. I fumble to answer.
“Gavin call me so til, a wah happen to the baby?”
“H-him a cry… and he won’t stop rub his ears. Mi-mi a wonder if a him belly or hurt him,” I say, my voice sharper than I mean it. I’m on edge. Mama shakes her head.
“Zara, get something cold fi him. Like banana. He’s teething, him a feel pain.”
I don’t hesitate. I grab a banana, peel it and hand it to Nickoi. He breaks a small piece and places it in Zahir’s mouth.
“Yes, let him chew pon it,” Mama encourages.
Then, “Wash yuh hand and let him chew pon yuh finger if yuh can.” I’m already halfway to the sink. Kneeling in front of Nickoi, I press my clean index finger between Zahir’s gum. He chews. The crying fades.
“Awww,” I whisper, watching his little body finally relax. Nickoi smiles. I do too.
I thank them, especially Gavin for waking them up. My chest feels lighter, like something massive just rolled off it. Feel like mi woulda mad…
We get him to sleep. Even his sister had woken up from all the bawling, but she’s back down now. I glance at the crib, then shift my eyes to Nickoi sitting on the edge of the bed. I reach over, turn his face toward me. Rest our foreheads together.
“Can we talk?”