Chapter 13 #5
“Everybody chill and let me work my magic before somebody really ends up on a helicopter,” I said, then turned back to Adrian with a pointed stare. “You… stay still."
He obeyed like a scolded toddler.
My mind swiftly shifted into full command mode as I laid out antiseptic, gauze, and a roll of medical tape with quiet precision.
“This might sting,” I warned, gently dabbing some antiseptic onto the wound with a cotton ball.
Adrian whined, like I had doused him in fire. “Fuck! It burns!”
“Stop moaning and dragging,” I muttered, not even looking up, still focused on my task.
I tore open a fresh pack of gauze and began wrapping his knee.
“It’s deep, but not jagged,” I added, winding the gauze like a pro. “So there’s no reason to act like I just sawed your leg off with a butter knife.”
Once I smoothed down the end, I sealed it with medical tape.
I leaned back to assess my handiwork. “All patched up! You’ll live to lie another day,” I finished with a slap to his knee like it was a tourniquet.
“Aghhhhh!” Adrian hollered.
“You want some Tylenol or a bottle of shame to drink?” I teased, raising an eyebrow.
Before he could respond, I tilted my head. “Shame… definitely shame. How about a peppermint? I’ve got those, too.”
Adrian sank to the couch with a dramatic groan.
Bryce strolled over and tossed him the frozen bag of peas. “For your injury,” he joked. “Put it on your ego.”
Isis stood off to the side, arms folded tightly, looking as if she wanted an honorary degree in herbal homicide.
“Next time—God forbid there ever is one—but if by some wild twist we get stuck at the same place again and an injury occurs, we’re calling 9-1-1… or at least someone who ain’t get certified on TikTok Live with Mama Rootz.”
“That was a legit cleanse, okay?" Isis argued. "And it would’ve worked had you not jumped in with your Walgreens kit and colonizer spirit. Just because you don’t recognize ancestral healing when you see it, don’t mean it doesn’t work!
My receipts come with testimonials! I got people who’ll vouch for me… real people!”
“Yeah… sure.”
I shook my head, already weary of the circus unfolding around me.
My plans for that weekend had been simple: to sink into the cozy embrace of the couch with a steaming mug of spiked hot coffee and lose myself in the pages of a good book.
I was supposed to be curled up, reading about a man who worked three jobs to fund his girlfriend’s dreams, until she made it and said he didn’t ‘fit her brand’…
not catering to a grown man’s injuries, with weak knees and a soft spot for his nurse.
Three hours later, I took a slow, savory bite of the chili and damn near moaned. I snapped my fingers and nodded in approval like a Black grandma on Thanksgiving who just tasted somebody else’s greens and realized they finally got it right.
“Oh yeah… that’s it. That’s the one.”
I pulled the cornbread from the oven, and heat rushed up to my face. It was baby-soft in the middle, with that crispy, golden edge, and was giving everything it needed to give.
“Food’s done!” I called out.
I filled a bowl for myself—because self-care—then added a corner of cornbread so it soaked up just enough juice. Then I grabbed a bottled water from the fridge. When I turned, I damn near collided with Isis… who, of course, had changed into a new outfit.
Of course.
Isis clasped her hands together slowly, eyes sliding to the pot.
“I’ve been waiting for this,” she gushed, voice smooth and expectant. “I hope it’s good.”
I paused and let my eyes drag over her like I was scrolling past something I didn’t ask to see.
“Mmm,” I said thoughtfully. “I bet you said the same thing this morning… right before you tried to cook breakfast. You remember… when the eggs were still wet but somehow burnt, and the bacon looked like it lost the will to live?”
Her smile faltered.
Satisfied, I kept walking.
When I hit the living room, Adrian was still laid out on the couch, head tilted toward the ceiling, with one leg stretched out and one arm dangling dramatically, looking like a decorative liability who had overstayed his welcome.
I didn’t break stride. I just raised an eyebrow and kept walking toward the recliner.
“You ain’t gon’ fix my plate?” he had the audacity to ask.
I turned, slow as molasses, with my eyes narrowed on him like a laser beam, and said, “No. Niggas who lie can walk to the pot just fine. I only serve truth-tellers and trauma victims, not part-time carpenters with full-time delusions. Next time, lead with the truth… and maybe your legs won’t lock up trying to keep up with your lies. ”
I took my seat, tossed my blanket over me, and blew gently on my spoonful like the man behind me didn’t exist, hadn’t spoken, and wasn’t currently experiencing the consequences of his own foolishness. Real peace tastes hot and well-seasoned.
Adrian’s mouth opened, then shut. Realizing that I was standing on business, he stood up slow, limped a little for sympathy—real dramatic with it too—then made his quiet, defeated journey into the kitchen like a man heading toward his last rites.
I glanced around the living room, spoon paused mid-air, suddenly noticing that Bryce had been MIA for some time.
He’d already told me we were good on everything, so I knew he wasn’t still running around trying to be Captain Snowpocalypse with a clipboard and a checklist. Maybe he just needed a minute to himself to mentally recover from the chaos of the trip or the lies and the audacity wrapped in one grown man.
Honestly, I couldn’t blame him.
A few minutes later, I texted Klarissa.
Klarissa: Hey, boo! How’s it going? I’m just checking in. Y’all snowed in yet????? Please tell me nobody is dead!
Me: Hey, Snow-Whisper!?? Lol. Yes, it’s snowing. You got your wish. But girl… you will not believe the chaos you summoned! I’ma kick yo’ ass for telling me to bring this nigga on this trip!
Klarissa: Oh, Lord! What happened now, friend?!
I sighed and started typing, thumbs flying. I proceeded to tell her about how the entire morning went down, starting with the roaming bear to Isis cooking. After that, I went into detail about Adrian’s incident.
Me: So you know how Bryce gets—overly prepared, dead serious, and acting like this cabin trip came with a survival certification? Tell me why he took Adrian’s ass outside with him to help cut some wood, and this nigga damn near chopped off his knee trying to impress me.
Klarissa. LMAO! Girl, what?! How?! But wait! Didn’t you say he was a carpenter?
Me: That’s the lie he told, bitch! Come to find out, this man dropped out of trade school early, apparently. This nigga can’t cut wood, cut corners, or even cut the bullshit properly. If confidence was a skill, he’d be licensed. Unfortunately, reality showed up with receipts.
Klarissa: Stoppppppppppp!
Me: Then… he had the nerve to let out a howl like the trees were gonna echo back and send help.
Klarissa: Not a HOWL!
Me: Yes. Sounded like a damn werewolf going through a breakup.
Klarissa: ?? Chess, I know Bryce dragged him!
Me: Girl, dragged, educated, and humbled his ass!
Meanwhile, Isis walking around in designer socks, like hypothermia can’t see labels.
This whole trip had turned into a character reveal, and the snow hadn’t even been here a full day.
A bear, weather, wood, and somebody being put on the spot to cook will really expose people. Pray for me, friend.