Nia
I walked through the door of Evie's house with the kids behind me.
They disappeared quick once we got inside, voices fading into the rest of the house.
Evie stood in the kitchen mixing up drinks, and Chiana, Amina, and Ayida stood at the counter talking to her.
She had cooked Sunday dinner and invited everybody over.
She and Saint had plans to leave for a cruise tomorrow, so naturally, they wanted to see all of the kids before they left.
The house smelled like seasoning and butter the second I stepped inside.
Evie always cooked like she expected people to stay awhile.
Pots on every burner. Aluminum pans lined across the island.
Music playing low from somewhere in the living room.
"Hey, Ms. Thang, that hair looks good," Evie complimented me as I turned the corner.
I smiled, but it didn't reach deep; lately, smiling had become something I did out of habit.
I had got my hair styled earlier that day into finger waves, so it was freshly done. Still, Evie had to be in a good mood to pay a compliment. She looked around me like she was looking for somebody, making me frown. "What you looking around for?" Chiana asked her with her head cocked to the side.
"Evie, don't do my niece," Amina rolled her eyes.
"I don't give a damn about her being your niece. She my granddaughter." She shot Amina a bird.
"Anyway," Amina rolled her eyes before shifting her attention to me. "It's good to see you, girl," she smiled.
"It's good to see y'all too," I said, walking closer to the counter.
Evie pushed a drink towards me, and I sipped from the cup.
I could hear Saint and Juste talking in the dining room.
Evie was talking about everything she planned to do while they were on the cruise.
They were supposed to be gone for two weeks.
The glass felt cold in my hand. I took another sip, letting it burn slow down my throat while the kitchen filled up with voices.
Saint's laugh carried through the dining room wall.
Juste's voice came right after it, lower but just as relaxed.
Men talking about something that probably had nothing to do with anything important.
Or maybe everything important. In this family, the lines between business and life blurred so often that nobody bothered separating them anymore.
Evie kept talking while she moved around the stove. "Now I told Saint I ain't finna sit around that boat looking crazy. I packed three swimsuits, two dresses, and that little white number he like."
Amina snorted. "Evie, you are not about to have Saint out there chasing you around the cruise ship."
"That man been chasing me since he met me.
He ain't finna stop now." Chiana laughed at that, leaning against the counter with her glass.
Ayida smiled softly but didn't say much.
She was always the quietest one in the room.
Observing more than speaking. My body was present in the room.
But something inside me felt detached. Like I was watching everything happen from a small step outside of it.
Jules walked through the door, interrupting her talk.
He spoke to everybody before slipping in the dining room with his brothers and daddy.
I didn't miss the faint smell of soap on him, but truth be told, I didn't care to address it.
Old Nia was long gone, and no one had even realized it.
There used to be a time when I would've noticed that smell and asked questions.
Measured the distance between truth and whatever explanation he offered.
But that woman had disappeared somewhere along the way.
She faded slowly, like a picture left out in the sun.
Now, when I noticed things like that, I simply acknowledged them and moved on. Because I understood something most women don't admit to themselves until much later. Knowing everything doesn't always give you peace.
By the next Saturday, I was up before the sun again. I showered and got myself ready for the day, leaving Jules in the bed, one of the few nights he spent there recently. I made my way to Julise’s bedroom, walking up to her bed, shaking her awake. "Get up, Julise," I said, standing over her.
"Ma, it's Saturday," she sat up frowning.
"I know exactly what day it is. Get up, get dressed, meet me in the car in 15 minutes.
" I said, leaving her there. I grabbed the keys off the counter and went outside to the car, where I sat and waited for her.
The air outside still held that early morning quiet that only existed before the rest of the world woke up.
The sky was barely starting to turn gray at the edges, the sun still hiding somewhere behind the houses down the street.
Streetlights buzzed faint over the pavement.
A dog barked in the distance, and then everything went quiet again.
I slid into the driver's seat and shut the door softly behind me.
For a moment, I just sat there. Hands resting on the steering wheel.
The house behind me was dark except for the faint glow of the kitchen light I had left on.
Julise opened the front door ten minutes later and stepped outside, still tying the strings on her hoodie.
Her hair was pulled back in a loose bun, and she looked half asleep.
She climbed into the passenger seat and shut the door.
"Where are we going?" she asked, rubbing her eyes.
I didn't answer her; instead, I pulled away from the house.
The street was still quiet that time of morning.
Most of the neighborhood hadn't even started moving yet.
Porch lights were still on. Lawns still wet with dew.
The sky was just starting to lighten at the edges like somebody had rubbed gray chalk across the horizon.
I went through the drive-through of the local coffee shop, ordering for both of us.
I pulled up to the therapy office, going on 6:30, right in time for the appointment that I had scheduled for her.
"Where are we?" She questioned, looking out of the window.
"You need to go inside and check in at the front desk. You have an appointment with a therapist. I'll be right here when you get out." I told her.
She blinked at me like she was trying to make sure she had heard me right. "A therapist?"
"Yes."
"For what?" I didn't answer that question right away.
Instead, I shifted the car into park and turned the engine off.
The quiet settled around us immediately.
The building in front of us was still waking up.
A cleaning woman pushed a cart through the glass lobby doors while the receptionist inside turned the lights on behind the desk.
Saturday mornings at therapy offices always looked strange to me.
The world outside still half asleep while people inside were already unpacking their lives.
"For what?" Julise asked again, slower this time.
"For talking," I said finally. “The kind you been avoiding."
She stared at me like she was deciding whether to be mad or confused. "I don't need therapy."
"Yes, you do."
"I'm not crazy. “That word always came quick with kids. Like feeling something too deeply automatically meant something was wrong with you.
"I didn't say you were."
She crossed her arms and leaned back against the seat. "I'm not going in there."
"Yes you are." The way I said it made her pause. I didn't raise my voice or threaten her. I just said it like a fact. Children understood the difference between a suggestion and a decision. She stared out the window again, watching the building like it might change shape if she looked long enough.
"Why can't I just talk to you?" she asked quietly. That question sat between us for a moment. Because the answer wasn't simple. It was just honest.
"Because you don't talk to me," I said. She looked down at her hands.
"You don't talk to anybody." That part was harder for her to argue with.
"Go ahead," I said to her. She didn't respond, instead she stared at the coffee lid while the morning light started creeping across the parking lot.
For a second I studied her face. There was something about that moment that made my chest tighten.
Julise had always been strong. Strong in that stubborn, quiet way that reminded me of Jules.
But lately there had been something else there too.
Something restless and wounded. she opened the door.
Cold morning air rushed into the car for a second before she stepped out and shut it again.
I watched her walk toward the entrance. Her shoulders looked smaller from this distance.
Still a child. Even though she was trying so hard to act like she wasn't. The glass doors opened and swallowed her inside. And suddenly the car felt too quiet.
I leaned back in the seat and stared through the windshield.
Finally this morning, there was nothing to distract me.
Just silence. Silence had a way of bringing thoughts forward that you had been pushing down for years.
I realized When Julise asked why she couldn't just talk to me.
.. I didn't answer the real reason. Because the truth was harder to say out loud.
My children had spent years watching me absorb everything.
Stress. Disappointment. Loneliness. I carried it all without speaking, complaining, or asking for anything in return.