Chapter 14
SABINE
The café was small. Sabine liked it for that reason—unassuming, unpretentious, and full of real food.
Not curated plates and cold smiles. She stirred her iced tea with the tip of her straw.
Across from her, Parthenia sat upright in a beige silk blouse and soft gold hoops, her wedding ring catching the sunlight like it was trying to be noticed.
They hadn’t done this in a while. Lunch. Talking. Trying to be sisters.
Parthenia smiled politely at the server as their food was set down, then picked up her fork, pushing her salad around for a second before actually eating any of it. “You look tired,” she said gently, eyes skimming over her sister’s face.
“That’s because I am.” Sabine smirked without humor.
“How’s Ade?”
“Good,” Sabine replied, softening. “He’s getting tall. Nosy. Still funny as can be.”
“Sounds like he’s doing well.”
“Shouldn’t sound with your own nephew.”
The silence that followed was stiff, not quite uncomfortable but not easy either.
Like a dinner party with secrets. That’s how it always was now, cordial, but cautious.
Sabine knew why. She didn’t blame her sister.
Not really. Parthenia had married into their father’s circle.
A world built on control, appearances, and strategy.
Sabine had walked away and never looked back even after divorcing Adair.
Parthenia? She’d stayed. Not because she was weak but because survival sometimes looked like doing what you were told. Sabine had always been the louder one even while being quiet too. The disruptor in her family’s words.
“I saw pictures from Reeka’s party,” Parthenia finally said. “They were tagged on someone’s story, and I guess I still follow a few people…”
“You mean the ones before everything went to hell?” Sabine raised an eyebrow.
“I didn’t want to say it.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Their eyes met for a moment across the table. A small flicker of the old closeness. The kind they used to share before everything turned into carefully timed check-ins and robotic conversations.
“Surprised your husband let you out for lunch?” Sabine asked lightly, biting into her sandwich. Parthenia blinked, then exhaled through her nose.
“Don’t start.”
“Wasn’t starting. Just saying, we haven’t done this in what…a year?”
“Because you stopped picking up.”
“Because you stopped calling.”
They both paused at that, then looked down at their food like the answer might be somewhere between the romaine and regret.
“I’m not happy, you know,” Parthenia said suddenly. Her voice didn’t rise or break but it dropped just enough for Sabine to hear what it meant.
“I know,” she said quietly. “You’ve never had to say it.”
“You were always braver than me.”
Sabine laughed once, dry and hollow. “You think it’s brave to lose everything and start from scratch with a toddler and nothing but grief?
” she asked, not receiving a response. “I didn’t leave because I was brave.
I left because I couldn’t breathe anymore.
You—you learned how to hold your breath. Even if it killed you.”
“I envy you sometimes,” Parthenia whispered, voice barely above the chatter in the café around them.
“You shouldn’t.” Sabine leaned back in her chair, exhaling slowly. “You’re stronger than you think. Just not in the way they want you to be.”
The silence that followed was quieter. Warmer. Not healed, but…tolerated.
“I miss you,” Parthenia said, her voice a little smaller now.
“I miss you too,” Sabine admitted. It sat between them for a moment. The truth. Heavy and unfinished.
Parthenia looked down, her fingers curling around her fork again. “It’s weird…talking like this. Like we’re still trying to remember how to be sisters.”
Sabine shrugged, but the movement was tight. Parthenia offered a small smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
“Narri always makes it look so easy with you.”
Sabine blinked. “What?”
“You and her,” Parthenia said, too quickly, too carelessly.
“I mean…she didn’t follow the plan either.
Two kids with a man her parents refuse to acknowledge as the father of their grandchildren.
She doesn’t even pretend to want the life we were raised to chase.
But still, she’s always at your place. Always calling.
Laughing like that world doesn’t exist. It was so easy for her… for you.”
There it was. A splinter of resentment buried beneath all that silk and etiquette.
“Narri never judged me,” Sabine sipped her iced tea. “No matter what.”
Defensively, Parthenia replied, “neither did I.”
“No…but you did distance yourself. You allowed the influence which turned into judgement.”
“I didn’t know how to be around you after everything. The ba—” she decided not to finish seeing her sister stiffen. “The divorce. It all happened so fast, and I was still…playing perfect wife, perfect daughter. I didn’t have the room to just be free.”
“But you still could’ve been my sister!” Sabine’s voice elevated, bringing attention to their table.
She looked out the café window for a moment.
A young couple walked by, arms wrapped around each other.
“You know what the hardest part was?” she asked.
“It wasn’t losing Ariyah. It wasn’t even Adair.
It was feeling like no one really saw me after.
Like I became a walking tragedy everyone tiptoed around and felt sorry for. ”
“I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”
“But you did,” Sabine said simply. “All of you did, in some way. Except Narri. She showed up even when I refused to see anyone, she showed up. Do you know how it feels for your own parents not to even give a fuck that you lost your child? That didn’t even bring them around.”
“I want to do better,” she said. “I want to be around again. For you. For Ade. Even if it’s awkward or…late.”
Sabine didn’t answer right away. Just shifted in her seat and took a slow sip of her drink. Her throat felt tight. Like there were too many words lined up and none of them could figure out who was going first.
The server came by, asked if they needed anything else, both responding with a shake of their heads.
“I didn’t mean to disappear,” Parthenia said again. “It was like...I blinked and suddenly we weren’t on the same side anymore. I didn’t know how to talk to you without feeling judged. Or guilty.”
“I wasn’t judging you,” Sabine said. “I was grieving and you weren’t there. You were being primped and coached.”
Parthenia opened her mouth. Closed it. Then tried again.
“I really do miss you,” she said. “And I mean that. I miss laughing with you. I miss telling you dumb shit about my day. I miss feeling like...my sister was still my sister.”
Sabine’s face didn’t move at first but something in her eyes softened. “I miss that too,” she said. “But I don’t want a fake relationship. I don’t want check-ins and ‘thinking of yous’ and holiday texts and no follow-through.”
“I can do that.”
“Can you?”
“I want to.”
They were quiet again.
“You don’t gotta do much. Just listen and be there…like we used to be. And I want to listen and be there for you too. Even if the topic is something or someone we don’t necessarily want to talk about.”
“Like Adair?”
Sabine’s expression went flat. “You wanna talk about Adair?”
“Okay,” Parthenia raised a hand. “Not yet.”
“Good call,” Sabine muttered. They both laughed—real, this time. Not too loud, not forced. Just a little pocket of peace between them. Sabine signed for the bill she volunteered to pay then gathered her purse.
“I gotta pick up Ade.”
“Tell him I said he and I miss him so much.”
“Better yet...tell him yourself next time. You can come by. He’ll like that.”
“Okay.” Parthenia’s eyes shined with surprise.
They stood. For a second, neither of them moved then Parthenia stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her. Sabine didn’t hesitate. She hugged her back. It wasn’t quick. It wasn’t awkward. It was the kind of hug that said I’m sorry. I’m still here.
When they finally pulled apart, Sabine looked at her and said, “Don’t wait a year to do this again.”
“I won’t,” Parthenia said, eyes a little glassy. “I promise.”
Sabine nodded, adjusting her purse. “Text me when you get home.”
Parthenia smiled. “I will.”
They walked out together, no rush. No fixing everything in a day but for the first time in a long time, they left on the same side. At least it felt that way.
The house smelled like fried fish. Pam was the queen of catfish, and couldn’t a soul tell Sabine someone made it better.
She stood just inside the doorway, clutching her keys in one hand and her phone in the other like she needed an excuse to leave quickly, even though she knew damn well she wasn’t going nowhere but home.
The second she stepped through the door, noise crashed into her from every direction—the TV loud as hell in the living room, somebody’s baby crying in the back, cousins crowding around dining room table yelling over spades like they were ready to fight behind it.
She should’ve known everybody and they mama was gonna be in here.
It was Saturday. That’s how Pam’s house worked. You pulled up, and half the family just happened to already be there—on the porch, in the kitchen, out back watching the kids tear up the grass. A Black-ass sanctuary. Full of love, full of noise, full of memories.
Sometimes, even when it was her week with Ade, he wanted to see his grandmother and they didn’t want him to ever feel like he could only be with her on his father’s time so usually when he asked, Sabine would take him, or Pam would be at her front door grabbing her baby.
Ade’s voice carried from the back, mixed in with his cousins’. The same backyard where they once popped a balloon and blue confetti flew everywhere. The day they found out he’d be a boy.
That memory hit hard. Made her throat tighten. She didn’t even knock. Pam had always told her she didn’t need to. Sabine stepped fully inside, letting the screen clap behind her.