My Life, My Truth
The second the door closes behind Calil and Zaria; I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
My life has officially left the realm of simple.
I’m still replaying the kiss, the laughter, the love, when the front door opens again without warning.
Ajaih.
Of course she walks in at the exact moment we’re engaged in a lip lock that makes me want them both buried deep inside me.
I chuckle as I remember Ajaih stops mid-step. Her eyes widened with a pleasant shock. Then a slow grin spreads across her face. Now a smile is splayed across mine before her voice snaps me out of my thoughts.
“Ohhh,” she sings, looking at me goofily. “I see y’all finally stopped playing games, huh.”
I freeze.
“Ajaih,” I start, already feeling my pulse in my throat.
She waves a hand dismissively. “Girl please. You think I haven’t seen the way y’all been looking at each other for months?”
That does nothing to calm me.
With everyone else gone, Ajaih settles onto the couch across from me, crossing her legs like she’s here for a full debrief.
“Well?” she prompts.
I tuck my legs beneath me. I’m suddenly nervous in a way that feels ridiculous considering everything else I’ve survived. “I’m scared.”
Her brows lift. “Of what.”
“Of telling Mama. Of telling my dad.”
She leans back, studying me. “Why.”
“You know why,” I mutter. “There’s always been pressure on me to be perfect. To be an example of perfection. The preacher’s daughter who doesn’t color outside the lines.”
Ajaih rolls her eyes. “Lena.”
“I’m serious,” I insist. “You’ve always had this freedom about you. Even when you shocked them with Mav and Knox. You owned it. I’ve always felt like if I step too far outside of expectations not mine it’ll be failure. Not just me failing but also embarrassing them.”
Ajaih’s expression softens, but not in pity. In understanding.
“I think you’d be surprised,” she says before continuing, “they accepted me, Maverick, and Knox with open arms. Sr. spends Sundays after church at my house for Man Cave Sundays like he didn’t preach fire and brimstone for twenty years.”
I huff a reluctant laugh.
“And second,” she continues, leaning forward, “what exactly is failing about healthy love.”
I hesitate.
“Because it’s not conventional?” she presses.
I don’t answer.
She tilts her head. “You love Zaria?”
“Yes.”
“You love Calil?”
“Yes.”
“They love you?”
“Yes.”
“And nobody is sneaking around. Nobody is being harmed. Nobody is lying.”
I stare at my hands.
Ajaih reaches over and nudges my knee. “You think Mama and Sr. want you miserable just so you can check a box.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It is that simple,” she counters. “You are not responsible for maintaining an image they built in their own heads.”
Her words touch something tender.
“I just don’t want to feel like more of a burden,” I admit quietly.
Ajaih’s voice more gently. “Sis, failing would be choosing a life that suffocates you just to make somebody else comfortable.”
That lands.
Hard.
She stands and moves to sit beside me, pulling me into one of her infamous big sister hugs like she’s always done since the day we connected.
“Lean Bean,” I look up at the sound of my favorite nickname from Ajaih.
“I think that you put more pressure on yourself than Mama and Sr. ever have and every will. I believe that you want to be as perfect as possible because you feel your body has been your greatest flaw all your life because of sickle cell.”
I blinked back tears as she continued to expose my thought process.
“You survive a body that tries to betray you,” she murmurs into my hair. “You built a career. You love deeply. You fight for joy. That is not failure.”
Tears finally spill before I can stop them.
“You deserve to be loved out loud,” she adds. “And if Mama and Sr. have truly grown the way they say they have—then give them the chance to show up for you the way they showed up for me.”
I lean back and wipe my cheeks, breathing through the swirl of relief and fear.
“You really think they’ll be okay.”
Ajaih smirks. “If your dad can survive Knox explaining polyamory to him over ribs and sweet tea, he can survive this.”
I laugh despite myself.
“Stop underestimating them,” she says. “And stop underestimating yourself.”
I nod slowly.
My fears were felling smaller than the love.
And that feels like something worth stepping toward.
Ajaih shifts on the couch like she’s about to drop another bomb, and I already know it’s coming.
“So,” she says casually, like she didn’t just rearrange my entire emotional landscape five minutes ago, “I actually spoke to Mama and Sr.”
I groan. “You did not.”
“Oh, I absolutely did.”
I bury my face in my hands. “Jaja.” She laughs. “Relax. They asked me to tell you something.”
I peek through my fingers. “What?”
She straightens her posture, mimicking Daddy’s sermon voice. “Tell my baby girl to stop hiding in a closet that doesn’t have any doors.”
For a second--I just stare at her.
Then we both break into a fit of giggles.
“That sounds exactly like his ass,” I say, shaking my head.
“Oh, it gets better,” she adds. “Mama said she’s tired of watching you and Zaria pretend to be ‘just friends’ when y’all practically vibrate when you’re in the same room.”
I freeze. “We do not.”
Ajaih gives me a look. “Lena. Please. The sexual and romantic tension is so loud it could have its own microphone.”
I choke on my own breath. “Oh my God.”
“She said she’s watched the two of you trying not to touch. Trying not to stare. Working overtime not to be too close. Sorry Bean, but it’s obnoxiously obvious.”
My face burns. “I thought we were subtle.”
“You were not.”
I groan again. Half out of embarrassment and, half out of relief.
“Before you spiral,” Ajaih continues gently, “they know Zaria is trans.”
I still.
“They’ve known,” she says softly. “And they’ve never felt a need to speak on it because it doesn’t negate her being a beautiful woman with a kind heart.”
My throat tightens.
“They love her,” Ajaih adds. “They see how she loves you.”
I swallow hard. “Zaria’s scared. She didn’t want me to tell them because she didn’t want it to drive a wedge between us. She was afraid I’d have to choose and that choice would leave her on the side of heartbreak.”
Ajaih nods slowly. “That fear makes sense. It’s very real for a lot of people in the queer community. It’s not unfounded.”
I stare at the floor for a moment before saying quietly, “What she doesn’t know is that I’m choosing her every time. In this life and the next. Over hate. Over bigotry. Over anything that invalidates her existence.”
Ajaih’s eyes fill with something that looks a lot like pride.
“You won’t have to make that decision,” she says gently. “Because Mama and Sr. are with you every step of the way. Just talk to them.”
The relief that floods me is overwhelming.
I laugh softly through the emotion. “I guess I will. I have to tell them about what’s going on with my health anyway.”
Her face shifts immediately. “You’re telling them tomorrow?” Her voice filled with recognition of the inevitable. Having a best friend as a doctor meant understanding more about my health than everyone else around us. She didn’t ask me any questions because she knew.
“Yeah. They’re coming by the dance academy to bring me lunch.”
Ajaih nods, satisfied. “Good.”
She stays.
We end up in my bed sprawled out under too many blankets—junk food wrappers scattered between us—some random movie playing in the background that neither of us is actually watching.
She keeps cracking jokes. I keep laughing. For a while, everything feels light again.
Until it doesn’t.
Because underneath the laughter and the relief about my parents, there’s something else sitting heavy on my spirit.
My body.
The word compromised echoes in my mind.
Ajaih notices when I go quiet. She doesn’t interrupt the silence. She just pulls me closer. I rest my head against her shoulder like I always do when life is taking a toll on and she lets me with no hesitation.
I don’t mean to cry.
It just happens.
Silent tears soak into her shirt while she rubs my back slowly and rhythmically. It’s like she’s comforting me and telling me it’s okay without saying it out loud.
Finality hangs in the air.
Not death. Not doom.
Just the awareness that my body has limits.
And I hate it.
I hate that even in the middle of love blooming and acceptance unfolding, there’s a reminder that time is never guaranteed.
Ajaih kisses the top of my head. “You’re not alone,” she whispers.
I nod against her.
And eventually—somewhere between the movie credits rolling and her steady breathing beside me—I fall asleep holding onto my big sister. I can rest because in this moment love is ringing louder than my fears.
I wake up to sunlight.
Soft. Tawny. Quiet.
For a moment, I don’t move. I just lie there listening to the silence of my apartment and trying to remember what day it is. Monday. Back to the grit and grind of adulthood.
Then I notice the other side of the bed is empty.
Ajaih is gone.
The junk food wrappers have been cleaned up. The movie isn’t paused anymore. My room smells faintly like the lavender oil she always carries in her bag.
And there’s a folded piece of paper on my nightstand.
My chest swells before I even open it. Ajaih loves leaving me notes. It’s our thing. Her handwriting is unmistakable, looping and confident.
Lean Bean,
The greatest joy of my life has been getting to connect with you and DJ.
I found you in this lifetime and I’ll find you in the next one if I have to.
You are the greatest gift, baby sis. You were sleeping so peacefully I didn’t want to wake you.
Knox had some meals delivered for you to take some stress off your mind and body.
It’s all your favorites. I love you, Bean, with everything in me.
I’ll call you later. Text me if you need me.
-JaJa
I don’t even make it to the end before my vision blurs.
The tears come fast.