15. Celeste #4
I dried my hands on a towel already damp from my own nervous twisting.
The kitchen had been wiped down, the plates stacked, the girls settled in the living room with cake, and still, my body moved like the house had smoke in it.
JJ’s footsteps shifted near the dishwasher.
Kayden’s floor creaked overhead. Josiah stood at the sink, rinsing a spoon he’d already cleaned.
I folded the towel once.
Then again.
The words came out rough around the edges. “Can we step outside for a minute?”
Josiah turned off the faucet. Water clung to his hands before he reached for a paper towel. His eyes moved over my face, slow and searching, and something in my chest backed away before my feet could.
“Yes.”
We went through the back door to the patio.
Evening had settled over the yard in layers: cut grass, warm brick, charcoal smoke drifting from somebody’s grill, the sweet bite of rosemary leaning from the planter near the rail.
The porch light flickered once, throwing a weak gold pulse over the concrete.
Josiah looked up. “That one’s the bulb.”
A laugh tried to rise.
It broke before it became sound.
I wrapped my arms around myself and stared at the patio Jamal had pressure-washed every spring.
Two chairs sat near the railing. One leaned slightly to the left because he’d sworn he was going to tighten the leg and never did.
The girls’ chalk drawings stained the concrete in faded pinks and blues, crooked hearts, and hopscotch squares ghosted beneath our feet.
My house looked peaceful.
That almost made me angry.
Josiah stayed a few steps away. Close enough to catch me if I cracked. Far enough to make sure I knew catching me was my choice.
That man kept choosing the right distance, and I hated how badly I wanted to close it.
“I’m sorry about Kayden.”
Josiah’s hands rested at his sides. “He’s hurting.”
“He was rude.”
“Yes.”
The answer landed clean because he didn’t soften it.
My eyes burned. “He shouldn’t have talked to you like that.”
“No, he shouldn’t have.”
I nodded, but the motion felt brittle. Somewhere inside the house, one of the girls laughed at the television. The sound floated through the back door and faded before it reached the yard.
Josiah’s voice lowered. “I wasn’t embarrassed by him, Celeste. I was worried about him.”
My shoulders pulled back.
One sentence, and he’d reached the bruise.
Worried about him.
About Kayden.
About my son with his hard jaw, wet eyes, and grief sitting in his chest like a loaded gun.
About the boy I’d been trying to keep together with school schedules, forced check-ins, therapy brochures he refused to touch, and prayers whispered in the laundry room because towels could catch tears without asking what happened.
Josiah saw me retreat.
He started to speak, then stopped abruptly, the words dying behind his teeth.
I shook my head. “Don’t.”
His brow furrowed. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I was about to ask where you went.”
A thin laugh slipped out and embarrassed me. “See? That’s the problem.”
“What is?”
“You notice too much.”
He held my gaze, and the silence between us filled with everything I wasn’t ready to name.
I shifted from one foot to the other. My arms tightened across my stomach. “This is too much.”
His face barely moved, but his eyes took the hit. “Dinner?”
“Me.”
“Celeste.”
“My life.” The words scraped coming out. “My children. My grief. This house with rules nobody explains until somebody trips over one. My son acting like loving me is an offense he has to investigate. My daughter hiding sparks from me because she thinks I’m already carrying enough.”
Josiah stepped closer.
I stepped back.
The hurt flashed across his face before he lowered his gaze to the concrete and gave me the space I’d just demanded.
“I’m not afraid of your life.”
“I am.”
The admission left me with no cover.
His jaw tightened once.
I wanted his arms around me so badly my ribs ached from resisting it. I wanted him to ignore my fear, to reach for me anyway, to make the decision I was too tired to make. Then I would’ve blamed him for pushing. I knew that. Maybe he knew it too, because his hands stayed open at his sides.
“I can’t do this,” I whispered.
The yard sharpened around us. Crickets in the grass. A car passing beyond the fence. The neighbor’s air unit humming like the whole world hadn’t just tilted.
Josiah looked down first, gathering himself from the patio stones, then let his gaze drift back up to my face. “Tell me what this is.”
“Us.”
His mouth parted.
For one second, the patience left him bare. He looked baffled by pain he’d probably seen coming and still couldn’t dodge. Then he pulled it back, piece by piece, until only restraint remained.
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do.”
“No, Red. You’re scared.”
“Don’t call me that right now.”
He went completely still.
The nickname disappeared between us like a door closing.
I wished he hadn’t listened. I wished he’d pushed so I could get mad and build a wall from it. Anger would’ve been easier than this man standing in front of me with hurt in his eyes and discipline in his hands.
I looked down at my fingers twisting against my sleeve. “Kayden isn’t ready.”
“Kayden doesn’t have to be ready tonight.”
“My kids come before me.”
“They should.”
“My peace comes before whatever this is becoming.”
“It should.”
I looked up at him, frustration cutting through the tears. “You’re making this harder.”
“I’m telling the truth.”
“The truth is I can’t have you sitting at my table, being disrespected by my child, while I act like I know how to make this work.”
“You corrected him.”
“And it wasn’t enough.”
“For tonight, maybe it was.”
“No.” His eyes held mine. A hot wedge of anger and tears filled my throat, and I hated how much of it belonged to fear. “I think we need to stop.”
Josiah didn’t move.
His eyes lowered first. Then his chin. His hand flexed at his side, fingers opening and closing once before he made them still. For a few seconds, he looked toward the yard like he needed to put his hurt somewhere besides on me.
When he looked back, his eyes were red around the edges.
His voice stayed low. “Okay.”
That one word almost took my knees.
He nodded once, but it wasn’t agreement. It was him forcing respect to stand in front of whatever else he felt.
“I’m going to leave if you want me to leave, Celeste. I need you to know that.” My arms tightened around my stomach. He saw it. He didn’t come closer. “But before I go, I need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest with yourself, even if you don’t answer me out loud.”
My throat closed.
Josiah’s eyes held mine. “What did I do tonight that made you feel unsafe?”
I blinked.
The question sat between us.
He waited.
The porch light flickered above him. Somewhere inside, one of the girls laughed at the television, and the sound made this hurt worse because life kept moving while mine stood on the edge of something I was about to ruin.
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came.
Josiah nodded slowly, pain tightening his jaw. “Did I disrespect your husband?” My eyes burned. “Did I sit in his chair after your son told me not to?”
“No,” I whispered.
“Did I talk down to your children?” I swallowed.
“Did I embarrass Kayden after he embarrassed himself?” A tear slid down my cheek.
“Did I put my hands on anything in your house without being invited? Did I go upstairs without you asking me? Did I make Maya feel ashamed for those outlets? Did I make you choose between me and your babies?”
Each question hit me softer than an accusation and harder than a shout.
I shook my head because my voice wouldn’t work.
Josiah stepped back, like even my tears needed space from him.
“Then I need you to see what you’re doing.” My breath caught. His voice roughened. “I’m not saying that to hurt you. I’m saying it because I care about you, and I’m not going to stand here and let fear use your love for your children to lie to you.”
The tears came faster.
His voice softened, but his eyes stayed steady. “You told Maya nothing is ever more when it comes to y’all. And you meant it. I watched you mean it. You reached across that table and put that child back in her place as your daughter. You reminded her she wasn’t a burden. You reminded all of them.”
My hand went to my chest.
Josiah’s voice roughened again. “You just looked every child in that house in the face and told them they could never be too much for you. Then you brought me out here and tried to convince me you’re too much for everybody else.”
A sound broke out of me before I could stop it.
Josiah’s mouth tightened.
He felt it.
He still kept going.
“And I need you to hear how unfair that is to you, to them, and to the God you keep trusting with everybody’s heart except your own.”
I covered my mouth.
His jaw shifted once. He looked down, breathed through his nose, then lifted his eyes back to mine.
“You know the Word, Celeste. God hasn’t given us a spirit of fear.
You know that. But sometimes fear doesn’t sound like fear when it comes out of a responsible woman’s mouth.
Sometimes, it sounds like, ‘My kids come first.’ Sometimes, it sounds like, ‘I need peace.’ Sometimes, it sounds like, ‘It’s too much right now. ’”
He shook his head once.
“But peace and panic don’t move the same way. Peace doesn’t have you shaking on your own patio. Peace doesn’t make you cry before the man even leaves. Peace doesn’t punish somebody for treating you well.”
My fingers trembled against my lips.
“Kayden was wrong tonight. He’s hurting, and he was still wrong. Both can be true. Loving him doesn’t mean letting his grief run this house. Covering him doesn’t mean letting him uncover you.”
My chest tightened so hard I could barely breathe.
“And Maya hiding those outlets from you should’ve opened something in you, not shut something down. That baby thought her need was too much for you. Now you’re about to teach every child in that house your need is too much too.”
“Josiah,” I mumbled, voice breathy.