Chapter 18
Ray had already set the table when Meadow and Zaire finally walked in. Magnolia sat in her usual chair with a blanket over her lap, humming some old song only she and God remembered.
The house smelled like baked chicken, garlic rice, and green beans. Zaire paused at the doorway, taking in the warmth of it, the family of it, the comfort he didn’t get often. He closed his eyes briefly, letting the scents fill a space inside him that was usually empty.
He didn’t have a big family. Once his father was sent to prison, it was just him and Lesha and although she made their small house feel grand with her love it wasn’t that small town warmth he witnessed with Meadow and her family.
“Y’all took y’all sweet time,” Ray said, glancing up from the pot he was stirring. “Food been done.”
Meadow dropped her eyes to her plate, hiding the last of her blush. “We was outside talking.”
Ray wiped his hands on a towel. “Mmhmm, I bet.”
Zaire smothered a smirk and pushed Magnolia’s chair closer to the table.
“Thank you, baby,” Magnolia said, patting his hand like she’d known him forever.
Meadow watched that little tenderness hit Zaire right in the chest. Something about Magnolia trusting him made his shoulders settle.
Ray sat down with a grunt. “Say grace, Meadow.”
Meadow grabbed their hands, including Zaire’s. The moment her fingers brushed his, her pulse jumped. Zaire felt it. She knew he did because he squeezed lightly, his thumb brushing across her knuckles.
Meadow cleared her throat and prayed the prayer she’d been saying since she was old enough to recite it.
“Amen,” everyone said in unison.
They ate for a few minutes. It was quiet and peaceful. Magnolia tapped her spoon against her bowl every few seconds. Ray chewed loud like he always did.
Then Ray spoke from nowhere. “How Tia doin’?”
Meadow perked up. “She’s good. Well…she’s okay.”
Ray glanced sideways. “Why just okay?”
Meadow poked at her rice. “She think she might be pregnant.”
Tia had sent her a text a few days ago saying she missed her period. Meadow would’ve brought it up on their FaceTime had Zaire not caught her dry humping the ground.
Ray’s brows shot up. “Oh damn. Already?”
“She’s married!” Meadow laughed lightly.
“That don’t mean nothin’… Me and your Mama waited a while to have you.”
Zaire snorted but kept eating, just minding his business.
Ray leaned back in his seat. “You gon’ go see her?”
Meadow paused, chewing her chicken slowly. “I mean…I want to.”
“Then go,” Ray said plainly, like life was that simple. “Ain’t nothin’ stoppin’ you.”
Meadow’s fork froze mid-air. There was always something slick on the tip of her tongue but she’d been raised to always honor her parents and show respect. Like always, she swallowed it down.
Zaire looked up at her.
Ray sipped his sweet tea, oblivious to the tension. “You always talkin’ ‘bout wantin’ to go to Emerald City. Why don’t you?”
Meadow forced a smile. “Daddy, I can’t leave you and Mama by y’all self.”
“We ain’t helpless.”
“I didn’t say that.” She chewed not making eye contact.
“You don’t have to,” Ray waved a dismissive hand. “Just go. Bring your friend some support.”
Meadow’s voice thinned. “Who’s gonna watch Mama?”
“I’ll watch her.”
“Daddy… you need a break too.”
“I’m fine.” Ray wasn’t trying to hear it.
Meadow rolled her eyes. “You’re tired.”
“You tired, too,” Ray countered, “and young. You need to live too.”
Meadow looked away, choking down the lump in her throat.
Zaire watched her fingers tremble around her fork.
People loved to rave about legacy, especially Black legacy, but nobody talked about the weight of it.
They never mentioned how being the golden child could drain you dry.
How trying to carry the torch for your family could leave you worn down and empty because you never learned how to carry yourself.
Ray kept going, clueless to the water almost being cut off, oblivious to the bills piling up.
“Just pay Rena to come in for the weekend.”
Meadow swallowed hard. “She only comes during the week.”
“So pay her extra.” He said it so smooth like he’d solved the world’s hardest math problem.
Meadow’s chest tightened. “We can’t-” She caught herself. “Dad…I’ll see.”
Ray shrugged, wiping his mouth. “If you gon’ see her, make a plan. Ain’t no reason you shouldn’t get a break.”
Meadow nodded, but her eyes were glassy.
Zaire watched the whole thing…every flicker of Meadow’s face, every swallowed truth, every little disappointment she didn’t want Ray to see. He wanted to reach over the table and take her hand, but he didn’t want to make her emotional in front of her parents.
Magnolia looked up suddenly, like she’d been dropped into the world for a second. “You should go see your friend, baby. You always here.”
Meadow’s eyes softened. “Mama…”
“Go, I’ll be good.”
Ray nodded like that solved everything. “See? Even your Mama agrees.”
Meadow pushed a piece of chicken around her plate, unable to speak.
Zaire’s jaw flexed because they didn’t understand just how impossible going to see her friend truly felt to Meadow. He didn’t want to get out of line, so he kept his comments to himself.
Ray cleared his throat. “Oh, yeah, Meadow, Zaire has a tournament lined up in a month…our boy is getting back out there.”
Zaire lifted his head and just smiled.
Meadow blinked at him. “A month?”
Zaire’s eyes darted toward her. “Yeah.”
“You didn’t tell me that.”
He shifted in his seat. “I ain’t had a chance.”
Meadow set her fork down. “We was just talking.”
“It just got confirmed,” Zaire said, tone measured. “And I ain’t wanna stress you out.”
“Stress me out?” Her voice clipped sharper than she meant. “It’s good news.”
“Yeah but-”
“You should’ve told me.”
Zaire leaned back. “I’m tellin’ you now.”
Meadow looked away, lips pressed tight.
Ray cut in. “It’s gon’ be good for you, son. Reset…New team…New start.”
Zaire nodded, but his attention didn’t leave Meadow. She was pushing her food around, pretending she didn’t feel a way, pretending her stomach didn’t drop, pretending she didn’t just let him kiss her stupid not even twenty minutes ago.
Dinner went quiet again.
Magnolia hummed.
Ray scraped his plate.
Meadow stayed small.
Zaire stayed watching her.
After they finished, Meadow stood to clear the plates. “I got it,” she said.
Zaire stood too. “I’ll help.”
“No!” she stressed firmly.
He took the plates from her hands anyway and carried them to the sink.
Meadow stared after him, irritated but soft.
Zaire washed the dishes like he’d lived there for years.
Warm water running, muscles flexing under the kitchen light, chain swinging just enough to annoy her feelings.
Meadow dried each plate he handed her. They worked in silence because Zaire didn’t feel like arguing with her, knowing Meadow kept something slick tucked in her pocket at all times.
When they finished, he wiped his hands on a towel and looked down at her. “You busy tonight?” he asked.
“Always,” she sassed wiping the table down.
“Stop playin’ with me, cuh. Come to the guest house.”
Meadow lifted her chin. “For what?”
“To finish the conversation we ain’t finishin’ in front of your folks.”
Her stomach flipped.
“And,” he sniffed, thumb brushing the side of her hand, “so I can make sure we straight before you go to bed actin’ like you not in your feelings.”
Rolling her eyes, Meadow hated how Zaire’s voice made her weak.
“Meet me there,” he told her like it was final and the decision had already been made for her.
He walked out before she could argue, leaving Meadow gripping the counter, heart beating too fast, annoyed that he saw through her and even more annoyed at how much she wanted to follow him.
Meadow didn’t rush.
Instead, she wiped the counter down three extra times, checked on Magnolia, straightened the napkins Ray didn’t care about.
Stalled like hell, but her body kept buzzing.
Her skin remembered his kiss.
Her palm remembered the weight of his black card.
Her throat remembered the way he’d said don’t do that shit again like he owned her pulse.
Eventually, she threw her towel down. “Fuck it.”
She stepped out the back door, soft night air touching her shoulders, fireflies still floating around the grass…
The walk to the guest house felt longer than usual.
When she reached the door, she didn’t knock, she pushed it open.
Zaire was sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, head bowed. His chain dangled low. His watch flashed under the warm lamplight. His forearms flexed when he looked up.
His eyes dragged over her, like he’d been waiting. “Close the door.”
She did but made sure to scoff while she did it.
He nodded toward her. “Com’ere.”
Meadow crossed her arms. “You got something to say, say it from here.”
Zaire laughed. There was no humor, just disbelief. “Here you go.”
“Here I go what?”
“Acting like you ain’t mad but want to argue.”
“I’m not mad.”
“You are.”
“I’m…not.”
Zaire sat back, spreading his knees slightly, giving her a look that loosened her spine. “Meadow…you got an attitude ‘cause I got a tournament next month.”
“I don’t have an attitude,” she insisted, cheeks warming.
Zaire tilted his head. “Your whole face changed at the table.”
“Because you didn’t tell me.”
He raised a brow. “And that bothered you why?”
“It didn’t.”
“Baby…”
“Don’t call me that,” she whispered.
Zaire stood up.
Big…slow…controlled.
He walked toward her with that Cali swagger, his shoulders relaxed, a walk that meant he wasn’t arguing, he was informing.
Meadow’s breath shortened the closer he got.
When he reached her, he slid one finger under her chin, lifting her face up. “Tell me why it’s bothering you.”
Her pulse jumped so hard she knew he felt it. “Because,” she whispered. “It just did.”
“Aight,” he slow bobbed his head. “Let me try it this way.” He leaned closer, lips inches from hers. “You wanted to hear it from me first ‘cause you care.”
She swallowed.