Chapter 17
ADAIR
The backyard was loud with laughter and whirling bubble wands.
The sun sat low, casting long shadows over the grass while the kids tore through the yard like they had nowhere to be and all day to get there.
Ade was barefoot now—his sneakers somewhere near the porch and TJ had lost his shirt already. Typical.
But it was Nariyah that Adair couldn’t stop watching. She toddled toward the sprinkler with that fearless wobble all toddlers had, pigtails swinging, her soft giggle high-pitched and contagious. Her little teeth barely filled her mouth, but her smile was full face. Big. Bright. Whole.
She was beautiful. She looked like everything he imagined Ariyah would’ve been. He swallowed something that tried to climb his throat. Sat back deeper into the lawn chair with a bottle of water pressed to his lips just to keep his hands busy. Just to keep himself from losing it.
He’d never heard Ariyah laugh. Never saw her eyes open. Never struggled through a ponytail or tied little barrettes at the end of braids that didn’t lay flat. He never got to tie a bow in her hair or tell her no to candy before dinner and hear her pout about it.
He never got to be her dad. But he was still watching his goddaughter like she was a living mirror. One that cut deeper the longer he stared.
“She make it hard sometimes, huh?” Tate asked, plopping down in the chair beside him. Adair didn’t answer right away. Just nodded. “You remember how she got her name?”
“How could I forget?”
“I ain’t know what to call her. I just knew she was beautiful as fuck.
Small lil thing that I couldn’t believe was mine bro.
Me and Narri was beefin’ that whole last month of her pregnancy and I felt bad as fuck that she had to go into labor feelin’ like she did.
She wouldn’t even talk to me so we could name her.
Lady kept comin’ in, askin’ if we decided yet and her stubborn ass ain’t say shit.
But Sabine came to the hospital, held her for a minute and said, ‘her name should be Nariyah. That’s what she feels like.
’ And Narri just said, ‘then that’s what we’ll call her.
’ Ain’t ask me or nothin’ but…I knew that shit was personal for them. ”
They both knew why Sabine named Nariyah—Nariyah and why Narri agreed without any objection. Another beat of silence passed before Adair finally spoke again.
“She beautiful man.”
“Yeah,” Tate nodded, following his gaze, staring at his baby girl who was twirling the bubble wand in a circle. So carefree. “And she nosy. And mean as hell when she don’t get her way, just like her momma.”
Adair looked away—he wondered if Ariyah would have been kind and sweet like her momma.
He was watching Ade now, watching how his son took care of TJ like a little brother.
Made sure he didn’t fall when they climbed the low stone wall, handed him the blue ice pop even though Ade wanted that one.
He was a good kid. A sweet boy and Adair didn’t want him growing up thinking he and Sabine’s relationship or lack thereof was normal.
He didn’t want his son to ever, even remotely do to a woman what he’d done to his mother.
“I went to see Sabine last week,” Adair said quietly.
“I know. Narri told me she ain’t hear from her that whole night, just said she looked...drained the next morning.”
“For somebody that hate you every other day, she sure tell you every damn thing.”
“Narri talk all that shit but call me all day bout the smallest stuff. If her nail tech went up on prices, her stiff face ass mama talkin’ down on a nigga, blamin’ me for her hemorrhoids,” he said, and they both laughed.
“But let you do somethin’ to Sabine, you and me is bitch ass niggas and she wish they never met us, and she should sock me in my shit just off GP cause my homie ain’t shit. ”
Adair was cracking up, but he truly wasn’t mad.
He appreciated that Sabine had Narri because outside of his family, whom she chose to isolate herself from, she didn’t really have anyone.
Narri held his wife—ex-wife down and he couldn’t even feel some type of way when she was ready to ride on her behalf.
“What y’all talk about though?”
“She ain’t tell you that?”
“Nope, she said to ask your bitch ass,” Tate laughed.
“Your baby mama a trip nigga.”
“I’m already knowin’.”
Adair let out a long breath, eyes fixed on the kids. “Honestly, everything. I told her the truth—the truth that wasn’t walked around and told in bits. I told her everything. Out my mouth. From my heart. Then I let her say everything she’d been holding in.”
“And?”
“I walked away.”
Tate didn’t say anything at first. Just nodded slow. “That’s real.”
“It wasn’t easy.”
“Truthfully, ion think it was supposed to be.”
Adair looked at his best friend, jaw tight. “I think that’s the problem. I wanted easy. I wanted her to just...forget. To love me like nothing happened. To make it make sense when it never could.”
“Yeah,” Tate said. “But it don’t work like that…trust me I know.”
“I know that now.”
“So what now? You done? You finally movin’ on?”
“I think I have to be,” Adair admitted. “Not for her or me. For Ade. For all the shit I already broke. I can’t keep asking her to carry that weight and I can’t keep showing up hoping she’ll hand me back pieces of her I destroyed.
” He looked down at his hands. “I walked away, Tate. For real this time. Took all the hurt with me and left her with the peace I should’ve never stolen. ”
“You think she’s good now?”
“Ion know but she better off without me and that’s all I want. I just want Sabine to be better. To feel better. To heal and shit. I’m cool with it bein’ fuck me.”
The words hurt to say…but they were true.
“She working on something big,” Tate said after a while. “Narri said it’s a whole software program.”
Adair nodded slowly. “She always said she wanted to create something. Something with her name on it.”
“Well, now she is.”
They both looked back toward the yard. Nariyah was spinning in circles. TJ was chasing bubbles. Ade was putting his hands over the sprinkler, trying to stop the water that sprayed out once he removed them.
Adair smiled faintly, the ache in his chest dull but steady.
“She’ll be good,” he said, voice steady now. “They both will.”
Dinner was quiet. Just the two of them.
Pam had dropped off a tray of baked chicken, cabbage, and mac and cheese like always—said she had too much and didn’t want it to go to waste, but Adair knew better. She always cooked extra during his weeks with Ade. Said she didn’t trust “his non-cookin’ ass” to feed her grandbaby properly.
Ade sat across from him at the kitchen island, kicking his socked feet back and forth under the stool. He was picking the cabbage out of his food one leaf at a time, even though Adair had already told him to just eat around it.
“Daddy,” Ade said suddenly, without looking up. “How come we don’t live in the same house as Mommy all the time?”
Adair’s fork paused mid-air. He’d asked before, in smaller ways—like why there were “two homes,” or why Mommy dropped him off sometimes instead of Daddy picking him up but this was different. This was deeper. He was more aware now. More curious. More ready.
Setting his fork down slowly, he replied, “that’s a good question, man.”
Ade kept his eyes on his plate, stirring his food in little circles. “You don’t love Mommy anymore?” he asked, quiet.
Adair sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. The question didn’t come with attitude. Just...confusion. Curiosity. That little-boy kind of hurt that tried to make sense of what was going on around him even though most of the time he ignored it.
Adair shifted in his seat, then leaned forward, forearms resting on the edge of the island. “Where’d that come from?” he asked softly.
“We don’t live together no more. I don’t see you kiss Mommy…or tell her you love her.”
That hit Adair square in the chest. It was simple.
Innocent but it cut deep. Ade wasn’t over it—not having both parents in the same house.
He might’ve adapted to the schedule, might’ve stopped asking about sleepovers or why he had two of everything but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.
It didn’t mean he didn’t notice what was missing.
They hadn’t been together in a while now but for Ade to say that, to say it like that, meant it had still been sitting in him. Quiet. Heavy. Probably for a long time.
“Me and your mom? We love each other a whole lot. Always will. But sometimes…people who love each other can grow apart.”
“Why?” Ade frowned. “Why do that happen if they love each other?”
Adair stood, came around to the other side of the island, and sat beside him. He put an arm around his son’s shoulders. “Because sometimes love isn’t enough to fix what’s been broken and sometimes the pain people cause each other…it can’t be undone.”
“Do you still love mommy?” Ade leaned into him a little.
“Yes, very much. Just not in a way that we can be together anymore, but I’ll always love your mom. Always respect her. Always want good things for her.”
“Did you do something bad?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Adair answered his little man honestly. “I did.”
“Does Mommy still love you?”
“That’s something you’d have to ask her.”
“But…you still love her?”
“I always will, Ade.”
Ade chewed on that for a minute. “Okay.”
But Adair knew it wasn’t okay. Not really.
Ade was quiet the rest of dinner. He must’ve really felt a way because he hopped down and scraped his plate, something Pam taught him, and he usually forgot.
That was Ade’s way of thinking. He always got really neat and remember his minimal chores when he was carrying something inside.
Adair started gathering the rest of dishes, but before he could even rinse them, he heard Ade’s voice again.
“Daddy?”
He turned. “Yeah, bud?”
Ade was standing by the kitchen entrance, one hand making traces on the wall. His eyes filled with worry that was eating him up. “What happened to the baby?”
“The baby?” he froze.
Ade’s gaze dropped to the floor. “The one Mommy had in her belly. The one that was sposed to be my sister.”
Adair’s heart clenched. “What made you ask about her?”
Ade shrugged again, but it wasn’t careless. Just small. “I was just thinking...why didn’t she come?”
The words were so simple, so innocent but they landed like a blow. Adair swallowed, came over, and knelt in front of him.
“Sometimes...babies don’t make it. Even when they’re really wanted. Even when we’re waiting on them.” Ade nodded slowly, eyes filling just slightly. “You ever talk to Mommy about her?” Adair asked.
“No,” Ade shook his head. “Mommy cries when somebody talk about the baby.”
Adair closed his eyes for a second, then opened them again. “Yeah. I know.” He pulled Ade into a hug and held him tight. “You didn’t do anything wrong, okay? It’s okay to wonder about her. It’s okay to miss somebody you never got to meet.”
Adair hugged him tighter. Let himself hold his son with both arms now, one hand cupping the back of his head, the other rubbing his small back slow. Ade didn’t say anything else for a minute—just let himself be held.
“You know,” Adair murmured against his son’s curly hair, “you don’t have to keep your feelings to yourself, right?” his baby boy nodded against his chest. “What I always tell you?”
Ade pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. His voice was soft, but sure. “If I don’t feel safe with anybody else, I can always come to you no matter what it is or the time of day…my dad is one phone call away.”
“And I’ll come running for you. So talk to me man.”
“I just miss us all together,” he whispered. “Like before.”
Adair’s heart pulled.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know.”
He brushed a hand over Ade’s head. “And I wish I could fix that part for you, little man. I really do but even if me and Mommy don’t live in the same house anymore…we still love you the same. That never changes. You hear me?”
Ade nodded.
Adair leaned his forehead against his son’s for a beat before whispering, “You’re my best thing, man. Always.”
“You’re mine too,” Ade responded so innocently, giving Adair an ache so deep he had to bite his lip just to keep from breaking down in front of his son. He pulled Ade in one more time, even tighter this time. Held him like he was trying to press the pieces of himself back together through the hug.
Because he could live with losing Sabine.
He could carry the guilt of Ariyah.
But this little boy—this soft-hearted, kind-eyed reflection of him—this was the one thing he had left to get right.
“I love you, Ade,” he whispered against his hair.
“I love you too, Daddy.”