Serenity
“She’s so tiny,” I said, staring at the photo Quest had texted me of Aziza in the incubator.
It hurt to look at. My niece was smaller than some of the stuffed animals people had sent for Sarai, hooked up to machines and wires, fighting battles no baby should have to fight.
I zoomed in on her face and felt my chest tighten because she looked like Mehar.
Same nose, same lips. Even under all the tubes you could see it.
“Is she?” Rita asked from her chair, squinting at my phone screen from three feet away like that was going to help. The woman could barely see the phone let alone a premature baby on a tiny screen.
“Grandma, you need to stop pretending you can see things you can’t.”
“I can see just fine.”
“You cannot. When is your eye surgery scheduled?”
Rita waved her hand dismissively. “It was supposed to be next month but I’m up here with you so it’ll wait. My grandbaby’s freedom is more important than my eyeballs.”
“Rita, your eyeballs are literally how you see the world.”
“I’ve been navigating this world half blind for years, baby. The Lord and my cane have gotten me this far. My eyes can wait. Now, I’m going to pray for Mehar and Aziza tonight. That baby is a fighter and she gets it from both sides. She’ll be home before you know it.”
I set the phone down and looked at Sarai sleeping in the bassinet beside me. Two Banks babies born within days of each other. One in Hartford with an ankle monitor for a mother and one in Baltimore in a NICU. Our family had a flair for dramatic entrances.
Xander showed up around four. He knocked twice and let himself in because at this point he’d been to the apartment enough times that formality felt ridiculous.
He had his briefcase in one hand and a bag of pastries from the bakery down the street in the other because apparently he’d noticed that I lived off hospital food and Chick-fil-A and decided to intervene.
“Got an update from the court,” he said, setting the pastries on the counter and pulling a folder from his briefcase.
“The prosecutor is reviewing the new evidence your father provided. The metadata from Vivica’s computer, the financial records, all of it.
We have an indictment hearing in two weeks. ”
“What does that mean for me?”
“It means a grand jury is going to look at everything the prosecution has and decide whether there’s enough to move forward with the murder charge. Given the strength of our evidence and the weakness of theirs, I think there’s a real chance they don’t indict.”
“You think or you know?”
“I think. But my think is usually pretty reliable.” He gave me a look that was half confidence and half reassurance and I filed it away in the folder in my brain labeled things about Xander I need to stop collecting.
“How was the wedding?” I asked, because apparently I was incapable of keeping conversations with this man strictly professional.
He made a face. The kind of face you make when someone asks about something you’d rather forget. “You know how those things go. It started late. By the time the ceremony actually happened I was over it. Open bar was the only thing that saved the night and even that was questionable.”
“And your girlfriend? Did she have fun at least?”
“Elise.” He said her name the way you say the name of a restaurant you used to like but don’t go to anymore.
“Yeah she sure did have fun.”
“How long have you been together?”
“We’ve been together about six months.”
That was it. Six months and a first name delivered with the enthusiasm of someone reading ingredients off the back of a cereal box. No “she’s great” or “you’d love her.” Just Elise, six months, and a tone that told me everything his words didn’t.
“I’m sorry, I’m asking too many questions.”
“Nah, you’re good. It’s just…” He paused and rubbed the back of his neck.
“The night of the wedding she got really drunk. Like embarrassingly drunk. There’s a video online and it’s blowing back on me a little bit.
But it’s whatever.” He closed the folder and pivoted like a man who’d said more than he planned to.
“Anyway. Sarai is beautiful. She looks just like you.”
That landed on me softer than it should have and I made myself look at the folder on the counter instead of at his face.
“Thanks. She’s a good baby. Barely cries.”
“She gets that from her mama.”
“Boy, I cry all the time.”
He laughed and it was warm and easy and I needed to stop cataloging things about his laugh. He packed up his briefcase and headed for the door. Rita intercepted him in the hallway with her arms open.
“Come here and give me a hug, son. You’re doing the Lord’s work for my grandbaby.”
“Yes ma’am.” He leaned down and wrapped his arms around her and Rita hugged him back and over his shoulder, with his back fully turned to me, Rita mimed grabbing his butt with both hands, squeezing the air inches from his pants with an expression of pure mischief on her face.
I almost choked. I pressed my hand over my mouth and bit down on my lip so hard because if I laughed out loud Xander would turn around and see Rita’s hands hovering over his ass.
They broke apart and Xander looked at me with my face all twisted up trying not to explode.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. Just thinking about something Rita said earlier.”
He studied me for a second with that half smile that did things to my blood pressure. Then he winked. Just once, casual, barely anything, and walked out the door.
The wink went through me like electricity and I hated myself for it.
“Grandma,” I said the second the door closed. “You are going to get me-tooed.”
“Been there, done that, baby.”
“You are OUT OF CONTROL.”
“I’m eighty-five years old. What are they gonna do, arrest me? I’m already in a state I don’t live in babysitting a fugitive. What’s one more charge?” She settled back into her chair looking pleased with herself. “Besides, that man has a wonderful behind. Don’t act like you haven’t noticed.”
“I’m not having this conversation with my grandmother.”
“You’re right. You should be having it with HIM.”
I shook my head and tried to wipe the grin off my face and couldn’t. Rita was ridiculous and she knew it and she didn’t care and somehow that energy was exactly what I needed right now. Laughter over longing. Joy over the mess. Even if the mess was still right there waiting for me.
I let the laughter settle. Let the apartment go quiet. Sarai was still sleeping. Rita had closed her eyes in the chair. And the lightness faded because I knew what was coming next.
The last time Kayla and I talked it went better than I had any right to expect.
She asked me surface questions, safe ones, testing the water before she waded in.
How old was I? Where did I live? What was my favorite color?
Twelve-year-old questions from a twelve-year-old girl who was trying to figure out how to talk to a stranger who shared her DNA.
I answered every single one and didn’t push for more because she was setting the pace and I owed her that.
But at the end of the call she said something that stayed with me long after we hung up. “Next time I want to see you. Like FaceTime. I want to see your face when we talk.”
Next time was tonight. We’d agreed on eight o’clock. It was 7:56.
I picked up my phone and stared at it and felt my heartbeat in my throat.
She was about to see her birth mother for the first time and I was sitting on a couch in an ankle monitor with postpartum bags under my eyes.
I looked nothing like the version of myself I’d imagined for this moment.
I was supposed to be put together. I was supposed to be someone worth finding.
I opened FaceTime and pressed her name and waited.
One ring. Two.
The screen connected, Kayla’s face appeared, and the air left my body. She was sitting on her bed with her braids pulled back and a volleyball hoodie on and the door closed behind her and she was looking right at me with eyes that I recognized because they were mine.
“Hi,” she said softly.
“How are you?” I asked.
“I’m fine,” she replied as I studied her. I saw where her father and I converged. We had the same eyes and nose but she had his mouth. Instantly, I regretted that he was her father.
I know that men groom young girls, but somehow I felt like I was the stupid one for falling for my teacher. Yet it resulted in this gorgeous young girl.
For the rest of the evening, we talked a little bit about everything. I mostly tried to keep the focus on her. I wondered about her goals and hobbies. What life was like. Her parents were doing an amazing job. Better than my 16-year-old self could have done.
I’d spend the rest of my life making it up to her… and Sarai.