CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
NAE
Malik wore a button-down shirt to family court like collars created parenting history.
I wore black pants, a cream sweater, and the same flats I used for job interviews and funerals. My legal-aid attorney sat beside me with a folder thicker than mine.
Neither outfit changed the receipts.
The hearing was for temporary parenting time and support while the larger case moved through the court. The judge asked questions in a voice that made every answer feel like it needed to fit on one line.
Where did Amir live?
With me.
Who paid daycare?
Mostly me.
How often had Malik exercised overnight parenting time in the last four months?
None.
Did I want to prevent contact?
No.
What did I want?
“A schedule that does not change based on whether we are getting along,” I said.
Malik’s attorney brought up the trip money and the gossip post.
My face heated before the judge finished reading the question.
“Did you take funds belonging to friends and use them for personal expenses?”
“Yes.”
My attorney touched one finger to the page in front of her, reminding me to keep answering instead of defending.
“I used seven hundred and twenty dollars for daycare and rent. I returned all of it on my next paycheck. It was wrong, and it was not money belonging to my child.”
Malik leaned toward his attorney and whispered.
The judge looked at him. “Mr. Coleman, social-media conflict between adults is not the issue before me unless it affects the child’s care or safety. Do you have evidence Amir lacked housing, food, medical care, or daycare?”
Malik’s attorney said no.
My shame stayed in the room.
It just did not get to drive.
The temporary order gave Malik Saturday daytime visits on alternating weeks.
No overnights yet because there had been no recent pattern and Amir was still two.
Pickups and drop-offs would happen at daycare when possible or at a public exchange location.
Both of us had to use an approved car seat.
Communication about Amir would go through a parenting app.
Temporary support was set based on our income records and daycare costs.
The amount covered most of one week of daycare each month.
Malik did not look at me when court ended.
In the hallway, his mother caught up before I reached the elevator.
“I hope you happy,” she said.
I pressed the down button. “I’m not.”
That seemed to surprise her.
“I wanted us to handle this without court,” I continued. “We didn’t. Now, it’s written.”
“You making him look like he don’t do nothing.”
“I brought his payment history. He made the history.”
The elevator arrived.
Ms. Yvette looked away. “He loves that baby.”
“I know. Love need a car seat and a calendar too.”
I stepped inside before anger made me say something that would follow us into the next hearing.
My mother had kept Amir during court. When I picked him up, he ran toward me holding one shoe and no coat.
“Mama! Jori pass test!”
I looked at my mother.
“She sent the group chat. Said she finished the final.”
Pride rose before the complicated part could stop it.
“Good for her.”
Amir shoved his foot toward me. “Shoe.”
“I see that.”
“Other shoe gone.”
“It is not gone. You took it off.”
“Gone.”
We found it beneath my mother’s couch.
On the ride home, I called Malik through the parenting app’s voice feature. I explained Saturday’s exchange, asked whether he had a current car seat, and kept my tone plain.
He answered yes to the seat and no to needing help installing it. Then, he said, “You really got an app listening to us.”
“The app saves what we agree to.”
“You don’t trust me.”
“Trust ain’t the schedule. Saturday at ten is.”
He ended the call without saying goodbye.
I did not chase him for a better ending.
That afternoon, I made baked chicken, macaroni, and greens because feeding people was easier than talking to them and I needed both.
Kye was staying at her mother’s but had reopened the salon. Ari had started answering direct messages with full sentences instead of reactions. Jori had taken the pharmacology final and was waiting on the grade.
None of that meant we were ready to sit around one table.
I texted anyway.
NAE: I cooked too much. Bringing food to Kye shop at six. This is information not pressure.
Jori reacted with a laughing face.
JORI: Proud of the wording.
NAE: Don’t make me take it back.
Kye sent the address, even though we all knew it.
Ari read the message without responding.
At six, I carried two pans into the salon while Amir dragged a bag of rolls against the floor.
“Pick it up,” I told him.
“Heavy.”
“It got bread in it.”
“Heavy bread.”
Kye came from behind the chair and lifted him. “My nephew been through enough. Stop making him work.”
“He volunteered by grabbing the bag.”
Amir wrapped both arms around her neck. “Kye hair pretty.”
“See? He got taste.”
Jori arrived next with paper plates and the pharmacology final behind her.
“How you think you did?” I asked.
She adjusted the plates in her hands. “Better than the last one. I’m not guessing past that.”
I hugged her before remembering we were still rebuilding.
Her arms came around me after half a second.
“Don’t make it weird,” I said.
“I wasn’t.”
“You was thinking it tight.”
Kye laughed from across the room.
Ari walked in while we were sitting food on the counter. She carried the three gift bags from the Airbnb.
The room quieted.
“I was tired of them in my trunk,” she said.
Kye looked at the gold names. “You kept them?”
“I paid for them.”
“That is the Ari answer,” Jori said.
Ari looked at her.
Jori lifted both hands. “Observation. Not criticism.”
Ari sat the bags down. “I don’t know what to do with them.”
Amir solved it by reaching into mine and pulling out a sheet mask.
“Monster face.”
“Put that back,” I said.
He ran.
Kye chased him around the styling chair until both of them were laughing. The sound loosened something in the room.
We ate from paper plates with clients’ dryers pushed against the wall. For ten minutes, conversation stayed safe.
Jori’s final.
Kye’s daytime schedule.
Amir refusing vegetables while eating everybody’s macaroni.
Then, Ari put her fork down. “Nae.”
“I paid everything back,” I said.
“I know. I need to say this anyway.”
I nodded.
“You decided I could afford to lose the trip because you needed the money more. You didn’t ask. Then, you watched me keep planning.”
“I was scared as hell you would say no.”
“I might have.”
That answer hurt.
“I know,” I said. “That’s why I took the choice.”
Ari’s eyes stayed on me.
“I’m sorry. Not just because the payment failed. I’m sorry I made your trust part of my budget.”
Kye stopped moving behind Amir.
Jori looked down at her plate.
Ari swallowed. “I don’t need you to be the responsible one all the time.”
“I know that now.”
“I need you to tell me when you ain’t okay before you decide what I can handle.”
“I can do that.”
“We’ll see.”
The same words I had given Jori outside the courthouse.
Fair.
I looked at the other two. “And none of y’all loan me money you can’t afford to lose without putting the plan in writing. I mean that.”
Kye frowned. “We need contracts to be friends now?”
“We need fewer opportunities to resent each other in silence.”
Jori nodded. “That is reasonable.”
Kye pointed her fork at her. “Don’t bring court voice into dinner.”
Amir looked around the table. “Y’all friends?”
Nobody answered fast enough.
He looked at me. “Mama?”
“We working on it.”
He considered that. “Work done?”
Ari’s mouth twitched. “Not yet,” she said.
“Take nap.”
That broke all four of us.
We laughed until Amir laughed too without knowing why.
The problems were still there when the room quieted.
But so were we.