Chapter 52
Chapter Fifty-Two
NAJI
W hen I stepped outside, the heat enveloped me like it had a vendetta, pressing down with an intensity that felt almost personal.
But I had already made peace with the sweltering forecast and the unpredictability of my edges.
I wasn’t stepping out to fight against the relentless heat; to be seen and to make my presence known.
The day of the annual block party had finally arrived.
I told myself that I wasn’t hiding under the shade of trees, layering clothes to shield myself from scrutiny, or letting nerves dictate my confidence.
I stood tall and ready, fully aware that whatever the day had in store—be it heat, sweat, or chaos—I was prepared to embrace it all.
I noticed how the block had been transformed into a lively fairground.
People were everywhere; their laughter and chatter filling the air, creating a symphony of joy.
Brightly colored tents lined both sides of the street, while cheerful balloons danced above, bobbing like excited little spirits.
Children raced around, snow cones in hand, their sticky fingers leaving trails of color as they sprinted past, sneakers kicking up clouds of dust in their wake.
A DJ booth filled with turntables and speakers pulsed out clean yet classic hip-hop.
There were bounce houses, face painting booths adorned with whimsical designs, tables overflowing with school supplies, exciting raffles waiting to be drawn, and even a dunk tank.
The sweet and savory aromas of grilled ribs, crispy fried fish, and caramelized onions wafted through the air, mingling like an enticing perfume that made my mouth water and my stomach growl.
My tics—those pesky involuntary movements—were fewer than usual.
They still made their presence known with an occasional eye twitch or a subtle flex of my hand, but they no longer overwhelmed me as they once did.
I had learned to navigate through those moments, breathing deeply to regain my composure.
I counted backward in my head to ground myself, reminding myself gently that I was safe, that I belonged here.
Today was a celebration, and I was ready to shine.
Imanio and I walked hand in hand for a bit—me trying not to let the sight of so many people overwhelm me, him watching every face like a bodyguard disguised as a block captain.
“Babe, you outdid yourself,” I exclaimed, eyes scanning the crowd. “Look at all these people!”
He gave me that proud little smirk I knew too well.
“Nah… we did. Don’t count yourself out… or Dess.”
“P-Please not her!” I chuckled.
Imanio reached up gently, brushing his thumb across my cheekbone like he was wiping away something that wasn’t even there.
“You good?” he asked quietly, just for me.
I nodded, already feeling the heat rise in more places than the sun could touch.
“Will you be good for a few minutes? I need to go check on a few things, and I know you don’t wanna walk around all day with me,” he asked, already glancing at his phone like ten people were waiting on him.
I scoped the area, then spotted Dessign parked under a shade tent, looking like royalty with an attitude problem.
“I see Dess. I’ll just c-chill with her for a while,” I responded.
“Aight.”
Imanio leaned in and gave me a kiss—soft but quick—then we went our separate ways without needing to say much else.
Dessign sat angled in her wheelchair under the shade tent like a VIP in exile, sipping Sprite through a Twizzlers straw.
Her sunglasses were bedazzled… her attitude was not.
She looked radiant in her burnt orange romper, gold hoops and legs crossed in her chrome-accented wheelchair.
Dessign’s walker was nearby, but she didn’t use it much unless her legs started tiring.
She was improving every day, and I could see it in the way Chi looked at her.
I strolled up, grinning. “Okay, ma’am. You’re out here lookin’ like you just rolled off the Essence Fest cover. G-Give me some warning next time so I don’t look like your a-assistant.”
Dessign lowered her shades just enough to glare over the rim, smirking.
“Please. You’re glowing like you done signed a deal with Jesus, like Chi when he thinks he won an argument and like you ain’t paid a single bill this month. You’re still stealing the shine, but it’s cool. I’ma let you have it today.” She chuckled then added, “But heeeeeey, boo!”
We shared a laugh and hug.
“That romper is pretty, though. You’re killing it, girl!” I complimented.
Dessign grinned, twirling her straw like it was a baton.
“It is isn’t it? Girl, soon as I wheeled in, three men asked for my number.
I had to tell the first one, ‘My man so crazy, he’d help you fix your flat tire, then beat you with the jack when you tried to thank him.
’ Then a second one came along, thinking he could win me over with smooth talk and a church smile.
I told him, ‘My fiancé so crazy, he’ll fight you in broad daylight and dare the cops to lock him up for cardio.
’ And the third one? Oh, sis he really tried it!
He leaned down like he was gon’ whisper something in my ear.
I looked him dead in the face and said, ‘My husband so crazy, he’d break into your dreams just to fight you in your sleep…
and then wake you up just so he could fight you again in real life.
’ Knowing damn well I aint married… yet . ”
“That part,” I said. “And Chi will do a-all those things,” I agreed, laughing.
Dessign sipped from her Twizzlers straw, smirking. “Needless to say, nobody else asked me for my number after that. I guess they spread the word that I had a crazy man.”
We chatted for a good ten minutes before Chi rolled up on us.
He flopped next to Dessign on a busted lawn chair like he’d just survived a marathon—shirtless, chest glistening, and unnecessarily proud.
“What’s good, ladies?” Then his focus his attention went on Dessign. “Baby, if I pass out from this heat, put some ice cubes in my boxers before you call 911.”
“Boy, ain’t nobody trying to handle yo’ spicy pickle. You gone melt with dignity. Or better yet, I might put some hot sauce in yo’ boxers instead. Let’s see how quick you’ll wake up then.”
“You ain’t right,” Chi said, adjusting his shorts.
Dessign lightly pinched his jaw. “You’ll be alright, baby. The ancestors just want you to sweat out your sins.”
Chi grabbed a cup of punch and took a dramatic sip.
“Just know, if yo’ ass pass out, I’m putting a donation jar on yo’ lap— let the block help pay yo’ hospital bill.”
Dessign cocked her head. “Oh, yeah? Chi, I’ll pay somebody to drop a fridge on your shins. Don’t test me. We’ll be racing chairs by the weekend and have matching rims on our chairs and everything by Christmas. Couple goals, baby.”
I held my breath, thinking Chi was about to go off, but instead, his lips spread into that mischievous grin, and he leaned right into it.
“That would be dope, baby. We’ll be side-by-side at the cookout, racing to the bathroom after Ms. Shirley’s baked beans. And when we roll across the finish line, once we reach the bathroom, we’ll hold hands like it’s the Special Olympics of love .”
I couldn’t hold it in—a laugh burst out of me so hard my stomach ached. Only those two could turn roasting each other into a love language. For all their fussing, fighting, and pettiness, Chi and Dessign were a perfect match. They made chaos look like chemistry.
A twitch took me mid-laugh, snapping me sideways, and the words came crashing out, too loud and too wild to cage.
“Roll me to glory, Jesus! Straight into heaven’s driveway!”
“Anyway, I’m trying to decide what kind of inspiration I’ma be today—hood philosopher or DJ Unnecessary,” Chi said.
“Be quiet,” Dessign advised. “Last time you gave a kid a speech about choosing violence.”
Chi nodded, unbothered. “And he’s doing amazing now. I heard he runnin’ the 4th grade lunch table like a cartel.”
Dessign shook her head. “You ruined that little boy. He’s probably taxing kids for ketchup packets.”
“And teaching financial literacy,” Chi shot back. “That’s entrepreneurship.”
Their playful banter was infectious. They were ridiculous, in love, loud, and beautiful.
I wiped my forehead again, breathing slow through my nose like it might cool me off—it didn’t.
My eyes swept across the crowd and landed on a familiar figure under a wide straw hat with feathers, rhinestones, and way too much nerve.
Mama Rose.
“All I’m saying is,” Mama Rose leaned forward, eyes wide, “if Deacon Miller’s wife wear that same crooked wig one more Sunday, I’ma march right up there and tilt it straight during altar call.”
The ladies hollered, one nearly spitting out her lemonade. “Chile, leave that woman alone!”
Mama Rose slapped the table. “Leave her alone? That wig be leaning so bad, it looks like it be nodding off during the sermon! And that lime-green suit she wore last week? Lord, have mercy! She looked like she was directing traffic and selling Sprite at the same time!”
The table shook from laughter, one woman fanning herself with a napkin.
“And while she’s sitting there pretending to always catch the Holy Ghost,” another lady chimed in, “her grandkids be running up and down the pews like it’s Chuck E. Cheese on half-off night!”
“One of them little gremlins stole my peppermint, unwrapped it, and put it back in my purse,” Mama Rose said. “I swear, I’ma put a mousetrap in there one Sunday. They go digging in my purse, they gon’ catch the spirit and arthritis.”
The whole table collapsed into cackles, wiping their eyes, their laughter booming louder than the DJ’s music.
I let out a soft laugh and stepped closer. “H-Hey, Mama Rose.”
She turned, grinned widely.
“Naji! Hey, baby!”
She was surrounded by a group of ladies, all leaning in with paper fans, cold drinks, and enough opinions to power a city.