15. Celeste
Thursday Evening
By the time I pulled into my driveway, my hands ached from gripping the steering wheel.
Josiah’s truck eased against the curb behind me, his headlights washing over my garage before he cut the engine.
He stayed inside for a moment with one hand on the wheel, his head turned toward my SUV, waiting instead of rushing.
No eager leap from the driver’s seat. No overfamiliar stroll toward my porch like an invitation had given him ownership of anything.
He gave me room to gather myself, which should’ve soothed my nerves.
It didn’t.
Skye unbuckled before I could fuss, Zuri leaned toward the window and studied my hibiscus plant like it needed a government name, Maya had one earbud in as if I hadn’t given birth to both of her ears, and Kayden hadn’t said a word since we left the salon.
His silence sat behind me with crossed arms and a hard jaw, wearing my baby’s face while grief cleared its throat through him.
JJ pulled into the driveway a few seconds later and parked beside the garage.
He climbed out with his keys in one hand and his backpack hanging from one shoulder, grown enough to move like he had bills but young enough to search my face before looking anywhere else.
Every time I saw him that way, broad-shouldered and responsible, my chest lifted and pinched at once.
My first baby was a man now. Sweet when he wanted to be.
Sarcastic when his siblings earned it. But sometimes, when the evening light touched his profile just right, I saw the little boy who used to fall asleep against my leg while Jamal watched SportsCenter too loud.
I got out before memory could pull up a chair.
“Everybody, grab your stuff. And don’t leave anything in my car unless you plan on explaining to Jesus why your mama had to find old fries under the seat.”
Zuri gasped from the back seat. “That was one time.”
Maya shut her door and slid her sketchbook under her arm. “It was three times.”
Skye hugged her spelling test to her chest, offended on behalf of fresh potatoes everywhere. “My fries are always fresh.”
JJ walked past her with a grin. “Because you eat them before we leave the parking lot.”
Skye pointed her paper bag at him. “That’s called wisdom.”
Kayden headed for the porch without looking back.
My smile thinned.
Josiah came around the front of his truck with his sleeves pushed up, his braids falling down his back, and his expression calm enough to settle a room willing to be settled.
My house looked different with him standing in front of it.
Different enough for the porch light to seem brighter, for the flowerpots to look freshly judged, for every curtain in the front window to remind me my children were watching.
He stopped near the edge of the driveway. “You need me to bring anything in?”
My first instinct was to say no.
Most mothers needed help. We just learned to disguise it as efficiency, grocery lists, and statements ending with, “I got it.” Letting a man carry something into my house felt heavier than a bag. It felt like permission. It felt like another step. It felt like five children watching.
Before I could answer, Skye held out her paper bag. “You can carry my spelling test because it’s important.”
Josiah accepted it with a solemn nod. “Then I’ll guard it with my life.”
Zuri tilted her head, curiosity lighting her whole face. “Do you have a safe in your truck?”
“No.”
“You should get one,” she announced, already convinced she’d improved his entire future.
“I’ll consider it.”
“For papers and snacks,” Skye added, eyes wide with optimism.
Josiah glanced at me, then back at them. “That’s a strong business model.”
Skye beamed like she’d personally upgraded his whole life.
A smile tugged at me before I could stop it.
Kayden glanced back from the porch. “Y’all coming, or we doing a driveway meet-and-greet?”
JJ’s head turned slowly toward him. His mouth opened, then closed, and his jaw shifted like he’d bitten down on the first response trying to escape. He swept one hand over his face and looked toward the garage, nostrils flaring once.
I gave Kayden a look. “Watch your tone.”
He shrugged, but his shoulders stayed too high. “I asked a question.”
“You asked it ugly.”
His eyes moved to Josiah, then away.
I unlocked the front door and stepped in first. Some things, I wasn’t ready to let Josiah see unless I led the way.
My house smelled like lemon cleaner, garlic butter, and the faint vanilla candle Maya had lit that morning, even though I kept telling her fire wasn’t a decorative suggestion.
The entry table held a bowl for keys, a leaning stack of mail I’d sworn I was going to sort, and a framed picture of all seven of us at a church picnic three years before Jamal died.
His arm was around my waist in the photo. JJ was mid-blink. Kayden was trying to look tough with baby teeth. Maya’s hairbow leaned to the side. Zuri was eating watermelon. Skye slept against my hip with one shoe missing.
I hadn’t moved that picture.
I’d moved plenty after the funeral. Clothes.
Work boots. His favorite mug, though only from the counter to the cabinet because throwing it away felt like betrayal with a handle.
I’d changed our sheets, changed the porch light he never got around to fixing, changed the side of the bed I slept on because the old side kept making my hand reach across cold sheets.
But that picture stayed.
Josiah stepped inside and saw it.
He took in the frame without staring too long or looking away too fast. His eyes touched the picture, then returned to me with something gentle enough to tighten my throat.
“Beautiful family.”
Two words.
No pity.
“Thank you.”
Kayden dropped his backpack near the stairs hard enough for the sound to pop against the wall.
I looked at him. “Pick that up.”
He picked it up.
Obedience pulled his hand back before pride could make him reckless.
Josiah acted like he hadn’t noticed, which made me notice it more.
Having someone new in your house made every familiar thing stand under brighter light.
The shoe pile by the stairs. The little dent in the hallway from when Skye tried to cartwheel indoors.
The empty hook where Jamal’s work jacket used to hang.
The way my children moved around my mood because all of us had learned how to listen for loss before it spoke.
“Kitchen. Everybody, wash your hands. Maya, both earbuds out. Zuri, don’t touch the thermostat. Skye, spelling test on the counter. Kayden, backpack upstairs. JJ, can you get the pitcher out the fridge?”
JJ kissed my cheek as he passed. “Yes, Mama Cee.”
That name always found the softest part of me.
He’d started calling me Mama Cee when he was eight, right around the time he decided “Mommy” was for babies, but “Mom” sounded too plain for me. Jamal had teased him once, saying our son had given me a stage name. JJ had looked his daddy dead in the face and said I deserved one.
Now all my babies used it when they wanted something.
Josiah followed us into the kitchen and stopped near the island with sense. He didn’t open cabinets. He didn’t assume his hands belonged anywhere. He waited until I turned to him.
I pointed toward the grocery bag on the counter. “You can wash the lettuce, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind.”
Kayden came back faster than I expected, backpack gone, attitude very much present. He leaned against the doorframe while Josiah washed his hands at the sink, his eyes moving from Josiah’s hands to the counter to the knife block like he was inspecting a crime scene.
“You cook too?” Kayden asked.
I cut my eyes at him. “Kayden.”
Josiah dried his hands with a paper towel. “Enough to keep myself alive.”
Kayden’s mouth barely moved. “So no.”
JJ pulled himself upright from the refrigerator, the pitcher hanging from his hand while his brow furrowed at Kayden. “Kay.”
Kayden lifted one shoulder, his face flat with fake innocence. “What? I asked.”
JJ started to speak, then huffed out a breath first, his thumb dragging along the pitcher handle like he was trying to rub patience into his skin.
“Nah, you staged it.”
Maya slid onto the island stool and opened her sketchbook, but her pencil never touched the paper. Her eyes stayed on Kayden beneath a slight frown.
“Cross-examination before dinner is wild.”
Zuri climbed onto the stool beside her, beads clicking as she shifted from one footrest to the other.
“And rude. Deeply rude.”
Skye glanced from Kayden to Josiah, then leaned closer to Josiah with all the seriousness her little face could hold. “Kayden gets cranky when he’s hungry and emotionally unavailable.”
Kayden’s head snapped toward her. “I can hear you.”
Skye blinked up at him. “Then receive it.”
I pressed my lips together and reached for the cutting board because laughing would’ve made Kayden worse. Josiah didn’t laugh either, but the corner of his mouth fought for its life. That man looked down at the lettuce like romaine required a degree and two references.
I needed him to stop being charming.
The problem was, he didn’t seem to know how.
Dinner came together with too many hands, too much movement, and one teenage boy’s mood darkening the edge of everything.
JJ set the table without being asked twice.
Maya filled glasses while pretending helpfulness offended her.
Zuri and Skye argued over napkins, then put them down crooked.
Josiah washed lettuce, sliced tomatoes, and moved around my kitchen with careful awareness, stepping back when I reached across him, handing me the salt before I asked, saying “yes, ma’am” when I pointed toward the cabinet with serving bowls.
Kayden caught that too.
His eyes narrowed at the yes, ma’am as if manners had personally threatened him.
Josiah grabbed the wrong bowl.
I looked over my shoulder. “No, sir. That’s my holiday bowl. If you put salad in that, my grandmother is coming back to ask questions.”
Josiah held the bowl away from himself. “I respect the ancestors.”