5. Celeste
Calista looked around with approval. “See? Civilization.”
“I was civilized at my shop.”
“You were held hostage by responsibility.”
Leilani rested one hand beneath her belly. “And hunger.”
Cassia smiled. “Can we please order before y’all start arguing in the parking lot?”
For other people, a restaurant was just a restaurant.
After Big J died, places like this offended me. People still ordered appetizers and flirted across tables as if death hadn’t just rearranged my whole world.
Tonight, I didn’t resent it.
I envied it. Brick & Ember glowed amber against the evening, the scent of smoked wings, honey butter, and charred lemon greeting us. Music rolled beneath the clatter of plates and laughter, the restaurant alive with people determined to enjoy their Friday, despite whatever waited for them tomorrow.
A waiter approached before we reached the hostess stand. He was young enough to believe confidence could save any sentence and handsome enough for some women to let him try. His smile found me first.
“Good evening, ladies. Welcome to Brick & Ember. I can get y’all seated. Table or booth for four?”
Calista’s eyes slid to me.
Leilani’s did too.
I ignored both of them. “Yes, a booth please.”
The waiter grabbed menus. “Right this way. And I gotta say, your hair is beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
“I mean it. It frames your face real nice. You got one of those smiles that make people forget what they came in mad about.”
Calista made a strangled sound.
Leilani pressed her lips together.
Cassia became deeply interested in a wall mural.
I gave the waiter the same soft smile I gave clients who thought kindness meant invitation. “That’s sweet. Thank you.”
He pulled out the chair near the booth. “Anything for you.”
Leilani muttered, “Lord, he bold with benefits.”
I looked at her. “He works in customer service.”
Calista coughed. “He pulled your chair out like he was applying for a position.”
“He pulled out a chair, Calista. He’s just trying to get a tip.”
Leilani leaned close and whispered lowly, “Oh, he wants to show you the tip of something, alright.”
Calista choked so hard Cassia had to pat her back.
“Leilani,” I hissed.
“What?” Leilani asked innocently. “I’m pregnant—not blind.”
The waiter returned with waters, still smiling at me. “Can I start you ladies with drinks?”
Leilani answered, “Water with lemon. And don’t look at me like that. I’m pregnant and under supervision.”
Calista said, “Strawberry margarita. Sugar rim. Heavy on whatever makes me forget my siblings.”
Cassia smiled. “Peach tea, please.”
The waiter looked at me. “And for you?”
“Sweet tea.”
His smile widened. “Got it.”
“Thank you.”
When he left, all three of them looked at me.
“What?”
Calista fanned herself with the menu. “Cessy, that man was flirting like he was trying to get added to your emergency contact list.”
“He probably says that to everybody.”
Leilani pointed one finger at me. “There go that widow firewall. Everything nice must be customer service, ministry, or deception.”
Cassia smiled gently. “He was flirting.”
“He was twenty-five.”
Calista lifted her empty margarita hand. “And ambitious.”
I shook my head. “Can we please order wings without turning this into a case study?”
Leilani didn’t blink. “No.”
We ordered lemon pepper, honey hot, and garlic parmesan wings, loaded fries, fried pickles, and a side salad nobody truly wanted but everybody pretended made the table responsible.
Conversation shifted to Skye’s birthday party because balloon arches and cupcake flavors felt safer than discussing men with dimples or electricians with steady hands.
Calista wanted a spa party for the girls and a game truck for the older kids.
Cassia suggested a painting station. Leilani suggested we hire somebody so I wouldn’t be up until two in the morning trying to twist streamers around grief.
I gave her a look.
She gave it back.
Calista sipped her drink when it arrived. “We’re serious, Celly. You do too much.”
“I’m her mother.”
“You’re also human,” Cassia said.
Leilani added, “And you’re running like if you stop, everything will catch you.”
The table went still.
I traced the rim of my glass with one finger. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
Calista’s face softened. “Barely. But yes.”
Calista’s phone buzzed against the table. She looked down and groaned. “Mama.”
Leilani waved her off. “Go answer before Cordelia calls all ten of y’all and starts a prayer chain with accusations.”
Calista pointed at me. “Don’t let her have a breakthrough without me.”
“I’m not having a breakthrough.”
“Yet,” Leilani replied.
Cassia laughed as she gathered her purse.
“Come on. Your mama’s liable to ask what everybody ordered before she gets to the reason she called.”
Calista shook her head. “Exactly. I need a witness.”
The two of them headed toward the front of the restaurant, leaving Leilani and me alone in the booth.
She waited until they were out of earshot before looking at me.
“You thought he was cute.”
I rolled my eyes, but even I knew it lacked strength. “Leilani.”
“I’m not trying to be messy.” She reached for her water and settled back like she had no intention of letting me escape. “I’m trying to be your friend. You’ve been living like you got a life sentence.”
I tore a napkin into tiny pieces because that was easier than picking at my own heart. “He’s just an electrician.”
“He’s a man. A fine man. And you’re a woman who’s still alive. That matters.”
Her words pressed down on my chest, right where grief kept its weight.
“I can’t do that,” I whispered.
Leilani’s face changed. The jokes left her eyes, but the love stayed. “Can’t do what?”
“Date. Try again. Let somebody in.”
“Why not, Celeste?”
My throat tightened as if my body had decided to protect me from my own truth.
A laugh slipped out, sharp and small. “Because love took my husband.”
Leilani didn’t flinch. She didn’t rush to fix it. She nodded as if the sentence deserved room to stand.
I swallowed and kept going because stopping would’ve left the rest of it stuck in my chest. “Because if I get attached, I’ll lose again. Because I got five kids who need me steady. They need me upright. They need me not falling apart over feelings I don’t even trust.”
I looked down at my hands. My fingers trembled, and I hated it. I was supposed to be the keep-going woman, the show-up woman, the one who cried in the shower and came out with fresh lip gloss like nothing had happened.
But Leilani looked at me like she saw the shower tears too.
“And because I don’t believe a good man would want a woman like me,” I admitted.
Leilani’s eyebrows lifted. “Like you?”
I nodded, shame and grief twisted so tight I could barely tell one from the other. “A widow with baggage. A widow with babies. A widow with a heart that still talks to somebody who isn’t here.”
The words came out raw, pulled from a place I usually kept locked.
“I still say his name in my head,” I whispered.
“I still turn to tell him stuff. Little stuff. Big stuff. Some days, I still reach for my phone before I remember there’s nobody to call.
For half a second, my mind puts him at work, running late, somewhere close enough to come home.
Then the truth comes back, and I’m standing there with five babies and a funeral program. ”
My eyes burned. I stared at the table because if I looked up, I was going to break in public.
Leilani’s voice came out soft, but there was steel beneath it. “Look at me.”
I didn’t.
Leilani said, “Celeste, look at me.” My name came soft enough not to bruise me but firm enough to reach me.
I lifted my eyes. Leilani reached across the table and took my hand.
“Baby, Big J loved you. You know he did. That man loved you loud. Loved you on purpose. He loved you like Christ loved the church, and everybody saw it.”
My breath shuddered. My voice shrank. “Happy feels like betrayal.”
Her eyes sharpened. “No, ma’am. Betrayal is what happened to him.
Betrayal is that aneurysm taking him when he was supposed to grow old with you.
But you smiling again? You laughing again?
You letting somebody take you on a date one day if your heart gets there?
That ain’t betrayal. That’s God keeping you. ”
I wiped my face with the back of my hand like that could fix anything.
Leilani let me, then spoke softer. “You think Big J is in Heaven mad because you got your nails done? You think he watching you like, dang, I can’t believe she ate today?”
A laugh slipped out through a sob because she was ridiculous, even when she was right.
Leilani smiled, tears in her own eyes. “That man is proud of you. But he wouldn’t want you to turn grief into a prison.”
“I’m scared.”
“I know.
“I don’t want to lose again,” I whispered.
“You might,” she admitted. “But you might receive something beautiful too. You can’t refuse every blessing because you’re afraid of the cost.”
“I don’t even know how to date anymore,” I admitted with a weak laugh. “I was with Jamal for so long. I don’t know what people even do now.”
Leilani smiled. “You don’t have to know today.”
“I wouldn’t know what to say.”
“You’ll figure it out if the day ever comes.”
I looked down at my hands. “That feels like learning a new language I forgot I ever knew.”
“It’ll come back,” she said. “And if it doesn’t, your sisters and I will be right there, giving unsolicited advice you didn’t ask for.”
A laugh escaped me. “I know y’all will.” My throat tightened. “I miss him.”
“I know you do.”
“I miss him so much. I miss him walking in the shop. I miss him calling me baby. I miss him bringing the kids. I miss his hands. I miss his laugh. I miss having somebody to lean on. I’m tired, Leilani. I’m so tired.”
Leilani’s eyes filled again. “Then say that. Don’t hold it in like strength means silence. The Lord is close to the brokenhearted. He can handle the truth.”
“I’m scared to hope.”
“Then don’t hope big. Hope small.”
I blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Hope small, like maybe you let the electrician fix the panel without acting like his presence is a sin.”
I laughed wetly. “Leilani.”
“Hope small, like maybe you let somebody be kind to you without paying for it with guilt. Hope small, like maybe you remember you’re still a woman, not just a widow.”
That one broke me open because it was true. I’d been living like widow was my only name.
Leilani watched me like she wasn’t letting me go back into denial. “So I’m gonna ask you again.” I already knew. Her head tilted. “Will you ever date again?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered.
For the first time in ages, I didn’t say no.
Leilani squeezed my hand. “That’s enough for tonight.”
Calista returned right after that with Cassia beside her, both of them carrying enough ranch, napkins, and suspicious concern to embarrass me into composure.
Calista froze when she saw my face. “Do I need to fight grief, the waiter, or the electrician?”
A laugh broke out of me, small and wet and unexpected.
Cassia slid into the booth beside me and placed a stack of napkins near my hand without making a production of it. “You don’t have to answer that.”
Leilani wiped beneath her eyes and reached for a fried pickle like she hadn’t just cracked my whole chest open in a restaurant booth. “She’s okay.”
“I am not okay,” I said.
Leilani nodded. “That’s a better answer than fine.”
Calista lifted her glass. “To better answers.”
Cassia lifted her tea. “To small hope.”
Leilani raised her water with lemon. “To letting God love us past what hurt us.”
They all looked at me.
My hand trembled when I lifted my sweet tea, but I lifted it anyway.
“To maybe,” I whispered.
Calista’s face softened. “To maybe.”
Our glasses touched in the middle of the table.
Maybe wasn’t healing. It wasn’t forgetting Jamal. It wasn’t pretending grief was finished with me. It was simply the first answer I’d given that wasn’t no. For tonight, . . . that was enough.