CHAPTER 6
Three Cups on the Table
For a while, three cups on a table felt like family.
Safiya, Solomon, and Zahra had gotten good at being together.
Too good, maybe.
There were evenings when Zahra's daughter, Layla, sat at the kitchen table coloring while Safiya cooked and Solomon leaned against the counter pretending he wasn't hungry enough to keep lifting the lid off every pot.
"Stop touching it," Safiya said.
"I didn't touch nothing."
"You literally have the spoon in your hand."
Solomon looked down at it as if the spoon had appeared there without his permission.
Zahra laughed from the table. "He checking for poison."
Safiya turned slowly. "You want to eat too?"
"I didn't say nothing."
"You laughed."
"That's free."
Layla looked up from her paper. "I'm hungry."
Safiya pointed toward her. "See? That's the only person in here with sense."
Solomon took a piece of chicken.
Safiya slapped the back of his hand with the dish towel.
"Ow."
"You survived."
"Our house gonna be abusive."
"Our house?"
The words came out before Safiya could decide what to do with them.
Solomon didn't flinch.
"Our house," he repeated, quieter.
For half a second, the kitchen changed.
Safiya felt it.
Zahra felt it too; Safiya knew because her friend's eyes lifted, then politely returned to Layla's drawing.
Then Layla announced that the purple marker was dry, and life moved on.
That was what their closeness had become: ordinary enough to forget how unusual it might look from outside.
There had been a time when the three of them had discussed possibilities that were no longer possibilities. Safiya had spoken to Zahra honestly. Zahra had said no. Safiya and Solomon had revisited it later and agreed that whatever they once imagined did not belong in the life they were building now.
The answer was settled.
The friendship remained.
What none of them had settled was the shape of the friendship afterward.
They kept sharing food.
Kept helping.
Kept calling.
Kept laughing.
There was no secret relationship hiding beneath it. No affair. No private agreement everybody else was too foolish to notice.
But there was also no clear line around what belonged to Safiya and Solomon alone.
At first, that did not matter.
Until it did.
* * *
After dinner, Solomon left to pick up his sons.
Zahra stayed behind while Layla finished a movie in the living room.
Safiya stood at the sink rinsing plates.
"You got quiet," Zahra said.
"I'm washing dishes."
"You can wash dishes loud."
Safiya looked over her shoulder. "What does that even mean?"
"It means you usually got something to say."
"I always got something to say."
"Exactly."
Safiya turned back to the sink.
Zahra came beside her and began drying without being asked.
That was another thing about them. They knew each other's kitchens. Knew where the towels were. Knew which cabinet held the cups. Knew what kind of silence meant leave me alone and what kind meant ask again.
Zahra waited.
Safiya hated patient people when she was trying not to talk.
Finally she said, "Do you ever feel like we got too used to all being together?"
Zahra's hands slowed.
"Too used to it how?"
"I don't know."
"That's not an answer."
Safiya smiled despite herself. "You sound like Solomon."
"Don't insult me."
That got a laugh.
Then Safiya leaned against the counter.
"I don't think anything is happening."
"Okay."
"I don't think you want him."
"Good, because I don't."
"I know."
"And I don't think he wants me."
"I know."
Zahra folded the towel once. "Then what are we talking about?"
Safiya looked toward the living room. Layla was singing along badly to something on television.
"I think I got used to everybody needing everybody."
Zahra waited.
"And now sometimes I don't know when I'm allowed to say I want my man without feeling like I'm taking him away from somebody who needs him more."
Zahra stared at her.
"Safiya."
"I know how it sounds."
"It sounds like you need to ask for your man."
"It's not that simple."
"It is a little bit that simple."
Safiya folded her arms.
Zahra continued before she could argue.
"You do this thing where you say yes first."
Safiya frowned.
"You'll say, 'Yeah, Solomon can help.' 'Yeah, send it to him.' 'Yeah, we can all go.' Then later you be irritated because nobody knew that yes had an expiration date."
Safiya opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Zahra's eyebrows lifted.
"Don't look happy."
"I'm not."
"You are."
"I'm a little happy."
Safiya rolled her eyes.
Zahra softened.
"I'm not trying to be in the middle of y'all."
"I know."
"I'm serious."
"I know."
"If you need space with him, take space with him."
Safiya looked down.
"I don't want you feeling pushed out."
"Safiya, I have a whole child. A life. Problems. Plans. I am not sitting at home waiting for y'all to invite me into your relationship."
That made Safiya laugh.
"That sounded rude."
"It was supposed to."
They stood there smiling.
Then Zahra bumped her shoulder.
"You my girl. That doesn't mean I need access to everything that's yours."
Something in Safiya loosened.
Not because the problem was solved.
Because for the first time, the boundary did not sound like rejection.
It sounded like room.
* * *
The next morning Safiya woke before her alarm.
She almost reached for her phone.
Instead she made wudu.
Fajr had become one of the few places in her life where nobody could ask her to be useful.
No work email.
No family update.
No Solomon.
No Zahra.
No emergency.
Just Allah.
She prayed slowly.
Afterward, she remained on the rug and thought about how easily she confused being needed with being loved.
Not only with Solomon.
Everywhere.
At work, she became the person who knew how to fix the thing.
In her family, she became the person who researched.
With Zahra, she became the person who helped.
With Solomon, she wanted to be the person who made his life lighter.
None of those things were bad.
But lately, Safiya had begun to notice how quickly service could become identity.
She picked up her phone.
Solomon had texted twenty minutes earlier.
Morning.
Safiya smiled.
Morning.
A few seconds later:
You up?
Just prayed.
Good.
She waited for him to say more.
He did not.
Old Safiya might have created a reason to keep the conversation alive.
Instead she put the phone down and made breakfast.
Nothing was wrong.
That realization felt almost suspicious.
* * *
Two days later, Safiya was in the grocery store when Solomon called.
"You busy?"
"I'm standing in front of six kinds of rice trying to understand why rice needs this many personalities."
"Get jasmine."
"That's not what I came for."
"What you come for?"
"I don't remember."
Solomon laughed.
Safiya pushed the cart.
"What you doing?"
"Waiting on the boys."
"Practice?"
"Yeah."
A pause.
Then Safiya said, "I want Friday."
"What about it?"
"You."
Solomon was quiet for a beat.
Safiya nearly filled the silence with explanation.
I know you have the boys. I know work is crazy. I know if something happens—
She stopped herself.
"I want Friday night with you," she said. "Just us."
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"Yeah."
"That's it?"
"What you want, a contract?"
Safiya smiled.
"No."
"Friday."
"Friday."
She turned into the next aisle feeling ridiculous for how difficult that had been.
Nobody had punished her.
Nobody had called her selfish.
The world had not collapsed because she asked plainly.
She put two bags of jasmine rice into the cart.
Then took one back out because Solomon did not need to be right twice in the same conversation.
* * *
Friday almost survived.
That was the irritating part.
Safiya finished work on time. She went home, showered, changed twice, then changed back into the first outfit.
Solomon texted at six.
Leaving soon.
Safiya put on lip gloss.
At 6:22, his name appeared again.
Call me.
Her stomach tightened before she answered.
"What happened?"
"Why something gotta happen?"
"Because you texted call me instead of I'm outside."
Solomon exhaled.
One of his sons had an issue that needed him.
Not dramatic.
Not optional either.
Safiya sat on the edge of the bed.
"Go."
"You sure?"
She almost said yes automatically.
Then she looked at herself in the mirror.
"No."
Solomon went quiet.
Safiya continued.
"I'm not mad that you're going. I'm disappointed."
"Okay."
"And I don't want to pretend I'm not."
"I hear you."
She breathed.
"Handle your baby."
"I'll call you when I know what's going on."
"Okay."
This time okay did not have a knife.
After they hung up, Safiya sat there another minute.
She was disappointed.
That was allowed.
She did not have to turn disappointment into suspicion.
She did not have to turn his fatherhood into evidence that she came last.
She also did not have to lie and say she felt nothing.
She changed into sweats.
Then she called Zahra.
"Don't ask me to do anything."
Zahra laughed. "Hello to you too."
"My date got canceled."
"Kids?"
"Yeah."
"You want me to come over?"
Safiya thought about it.
"No."
Zahra paused.
"No?"
"I think I'm gonna stay home."
"You okay?"
"Yeah. I just don't want to replace every empty space immediately."
Zahra was quiet.
Then: "Look at you being emotionally responsible."
"Don't make me regret calling."
They talked for ten minutes about absolutely nothing important.
Then Safiya got off the phone.
She ordered food for herself.
She watched half a movie.
She wrote in her notebook.
At 9:41 Solomon called.
The situation with his son was handled.
"You still up?"
"Yes."
"You eat?"
"Yes."
"What?"
"Food."
"Safiya."
She laughed.
They talked for fifteen minutes.
He did not come over.
She did not ask him to.
Before they hung up he said, "I still owe you Friday."
Safiya looked down at her notebook.
"No. Friday happened."
"What?"
"It just didn't go how we planned."
Solomon was quiet.
"Give me another day," she said.
"Sunday afternoon."
"Okay."
"I'll plan it."
"You?"
"Why you sound scared?"
"Because I know you."
"Sunday."
Safiya smiled.
"Sunday."
* * *
Sunday, Solomon arrived eleven minutes early.
Safiya opened the door and stared at him.
"What?"
"Who are you?"
"Get your shoes."
"Where are we going?"
"You ask too many questions."