Chapter 2
FIND YOUR WAY HOME
JAHLANI
Jahlani is not a superstitious person by any means. To her, everything is a numbers game. It’s logical. The Three Fates? Bullshit. Coincidences? That’s just the human brain applying a perceived pattern to random events. A weak attempt to make something out of nothing.
And things happening in threes? One could say that’s just paranoia, because from a mathematician’s standpoint, a cluster of three is inevitable, given enough time.
But a believer would say that Micah ending things with her was the catalyst.
It’s dark by the time she gets back to the apartment.
She jumps in the shower, determined to wash Micah’s words from her.
After changing, she stands in the kitchen waiting for her chamomile tea to cool down.
Taking out her phone, she sends a quick message to Imani, the only friend she held onto from high school.
Jahlani always had a tough time connecting with people. Her life differed from everyone she went to school with. She studied, kept her head down, and worked to keep herself busy. She didn’t have the energy to explain that her mom probably wouldn’t notice if she left and that her dad already had.
Jahlani
Micah cheated. Don’t call. I’m fine.
Imani
Flights already booked. Does TSA still not allow weapons?
Jahlani
Ha. I promise I’m fine.
Imani
He didn’t deserve you, Lani Banani.
Jahlani lets out a weak chuckle, setting her phone on the counter before dragging the stool from underneath the island.
What does that mean anyway? To deserve somebody?
The apartment is eerily quiet, only the low thrum of the A/C circulating and the dull pitter of the rain against the windows is heard.
Summers in New York are her favorite. The breezes are kinder, and the people are softer.
It’s also the slow season for the company she’s interning with.
As she picks up her mug and takes a sip, the grassy undertones mix with the sweet, floral flavors, warming her throat.
Her laptop is still open from earlier that morning, and she clicks through the graduate student portal looking for her appointment link to register for her last semester.
But a red exclamation mark next to one email makes her catch her breath.
“No,” she whispers, her voice echoing through the still apartment. She sets her cup down too fast, causing the liquid to spill onto her hand, but the sting is nothing compared to the burn in her chest as she reads the words regret, unable, and financial support.
The second email she sees sends her hands trembling. Standing from the chair, she paces the kitchen, twirling her necklace between her thumb and index finger. She moves back to the laptop, blinking, certain that she’s read it wrong, but no. The words remain the same:
Due to under-enrollment, course number ISTX0200 will no longer be offered.
Jahlani lowers herself once more, her head spinning as she wonders how everything could get so screwed up so quickly.
No financial aid, and the last class she needs to graduate with her master’s—gone.
For several minutes, she tries to just exist. To just be. She takes several deep breaths, trying to focus on steadying her heart.
When her phone blares, she doesn’t bother looking at the contact and taps Accept.
“Hello,” she says, her voice hoarse as she cradles it between her ear and shoulder. Static and heavy breathing greet her. “Hello?” she says again before pulling it down to look at the screen. Her eyebrows crease at the unknown number. She hears something and draws it back to her.
“Jahlani,” the voice says, slurring. “Jahlani—”
Her eyes close as his voice carries through the phone.
“Why are you calling me, Micah? Whose number is this?” she asks, her voice constricting as she thinks of their last few moments together. Loud music and conversation spill through, and she rubs her chest, regretting picking up.
“Jahlani, please. Don’t hang up. I just need a minute.”
She glances at the time on her laptop, and she stands to look for a paper towel to clean the spilled tea. “Fifty-six seconds and counting.”
He lets out a strained laugh. “Jesus, Jahlani. I didn’t mean literally—”
“Fifty and counting.”
“Okay, okay. I just called … to tell you that I’m sorry about everything. Everything got so … so—fuck,” he says, laughing into the phone.
Jahlani breathes, clenching her fist before transitioning the phone to her other ear. “Are you drunk?”
He laughs again, as she rips a paper towel free, wiping the spill with more force than needed.
“I don’t have time for this,” she hisses, ending the call. She tosses her phone back onto the counter and lets it vibrate as she buries her head in her hands, unsure of what to do.
A weight of uncertainty settles upon her as she looks around. Except for a few things, nothing is hers. There’s nothing to tether her to the space. Not anymore. She wonders if there ever was.
She moves slowly, each step drawing her closer to her past life.
As she opens the door to the bedroom, it groans as it swings open, like it’s in pain too.
She steps over a pile of Micah’s dirty laundry as she enters the cramped closet.
When she sees the white box tucked in the corner, she pulls it out, settling on the floor next to it.
The scent of old paper and lingering coffee fills the air as she works on unpacking the contents—a framed photo of her at graduation with Imani, a random souvenir from her first client during internship, her high school transcript, and finally, a crumpled photograph of her and her mother right before she left for college.
It’s faded and spotty, and neither of them is smiling, but it makes her throat sting, like someone’s clamping it shut.
She exhales, tracing her fingers over her mother’s jet black locs, her rounded figure and firm jaw. Jahlani isn’t sure how long she sits in the closet staring, but when her back pinches and her legs numb, she drags herself up.
And when she turns to leave the closet, she takes the box with her, having decided what to do.
She’s not surprised when Micah’s stay becomes extended. A few days turn into two weeks, and by the time his second call comes, it’s too late. She received the email a week earlier, letting her know of her acceptance into another graduate program.
In Florida.
The very place she had spent years trying to leave.
It didn’t take long for her to pack up her things, leaving everything behind. It’s become a tradition of hers.
With a grounding breath, Jahlani eases off the accelerator as she passes the sign welcoming her back into Florida.
She sighs, adjusting in her seat while reaching for the phone as his name flashes again. Normally, she hates driving long distances, but right now she welcomes it with open arms. It gives her a chance to breathe.
“What, Micah?” she says, sounding bored as she puts the phone on speaker.
“Jahlani,” he says, breathing heavily. “I’m in the apartment. All your stuff is gone. Where are you?”
“Why do you care?” she says, making a left turn. “You broke up with me.”
“Yes,” he says with a hiss. “Because you refuse to change.”
She drums her fingers on the steering wheel, pressing on the gas pedal. She savors the sight of the expansive highway stretching out before her, shimmering under the intense glare of the sun. Towering palm trees line the sides of the road, swaying in the warm breeze.
“No, Micah. Don’t do that. Don’t be that guy.”
“What guy?”
“That guy,” she says, hands tightening. “I didn’t make you cheat, you made a choice.”
He exhales, and she can hear him pacing. “Jahlani, just tell me where you are. I’m worried about you.”
She lets out a choked laugh. “You’re worried about me? Were you worried about me when you were screwing your coworker?”
“Jahlani,” he says, his voice cracking. “Please. I miss you. It was a mistake. I’m sorry about cheating and for the things I said—I miss you. I love you. I want to talk about this.”
Her skin flushes, and her foot presses on the accelerator even more. She watches as the speedometer moves up, wondering how far she’s willing to push.
“You don’t miss me, Micah,” she says, her voice small.
“And I’m already gone. I think I loved you because I needed someone to love.
Not because I can’t live without you, you know?
There’s a difference between loving someone because you need them and needing someone for love.
I think you cared about me in your own way.
I thought it was enough and that I could live that way, but I’m glad, Micah.
I think no matter what my issues are, I deserve to be loved fully.
So no, Micah. This is done. We’re done.”
Silence greets her on the other end as she takes in the widening stretch of the road, the lush fields, the rush of cars under the glazing warmth. A sense of calmness envelops her like a soothing wave washing over her skin.
She frowns, affronted by the sensation of tranquility that tames the anxiety brewing within. A juxtaposition to how she usually feels when thinking of her home because Florida is anything but calm for her.
Florida is years of neglect. It’s months of conflict and confrontations. It’s lost love, it’s fending for yourself, it’s getting out as fast as you can—and not looking back.
Run, run, run.
It is anything but calm.
“Jahlani,” he says, his voice low. “Do you think we can—I don’t know—be friends?”
She lets out a humorless laugh. The audacity, she thinks.
“Micah,” she says in a soft voice, like she’s talking to a small child, “you’re going to delete my number because I deserve better.
I hope that if you ever meet someone that you have a genuine connection with, you treat them better than you did me.
I hope you make them feel tall. I hope you encourage them to go after what they want.
I hope you love them unconditionally, because that’s what we all deserve. ”
He lets out a pained sound, like a wounded animal. “Jahlani, just, at least tell me where you are. Tell me where you’re going.”
Her eyes shift to the navigation on her phone, and her shoulders fall from her ears as her grip loosens on the wheel.
“I’m going home.”