A Few Weeks Later #2
Juice walked by with Lyric on his shoulders and a rib already in his hand. “That, and because he lets us come over and eat rich-people barbecue.”
Josiah looked at him. “You weren’t invited for the ribs. You were invited because Melody makes you socially acceptable.”
Melody, walking behind him with a tray of lemonade, nodded. “Accurate.”
Lyric leaned over Juice’s head, both hands full of glitter bracelets. “Uncle Siah, I made Miss Celeste one!”
Josiah bent so she could reach him. “Don’t poke my eye out, baby girl.”
“It’s fashion.”
“It’s dangerous.”
“It’s both.”
Skye, Zuri, and Jaya heard that and immediately adopted her as their president.
Within fifteen minutes, the girls had formed a chaotic coalition.
The Coleman girls, Jaya, and Lyric became the C-Blacks, which made no sense until Zuri explained that it stood for Coleman-Black collaboration, and Skye added that Lyric was an honorary founding member because she brought glitter and leadership.
Maya looked at the group and shook her head. “This organization lacks bylaws.”
Lyric nodded seriously. “We can draw some.”
Zuri pointed at Maya. “Secretary.”
Skye raised her hand. “I’m treasurer.”
Kayden snorted. “You don’t have money.”
“I have vision.”
Aunt Hilary walked past with a pan of macaroni and cheese. “Vision don’t pay invoices, baby.”
I laughed so hard I had to sit down.
Josiah’s mother, Yolanda, came to me with open arms. She smelled like soft perfume and peppermints, and when she hugged me, she held me like she had already prayed over me before meeting me properly.
“I’m glad you’re here, Celeste.”
“Thank you for having us.”
Yolanda waved a hand toward the yard.
“Baby, look around. This many people, and I haven’t sat down once. At this point, the Lord is hosting. I’m just refilling ice.”
Uncle Zeke stood under the patio fan with Onyx, pretending they weren’t arguing about the grill.
Uncle Zeke pointed the tongs like a courtroom exhibit.
“I’m telling you. You don’t keep lifting the lid. You’re disturbing the atmosphere.”
Onyx crossed his arms. “It’s meat, Unc, not a prayer service.”
Uncle Zeke lifted his chin. “Anything that takes patience, fire, and faith is church-adjacent, mayne.”
Juice nodded with a rib in his mouth. “Amen.”
Aunt Hilary turned from the food table. “Justice, if you eat one more rib before the children get plates, I’m embarrassing you in front of your wife.”
Melody didn’t look up from pouring tea. “He’s already embarrassed me spiritually.”
Juice paused mid-chew. “Now why am I in it?”
Aunt Hilary pointed at him. “Because you’re always in something.”
Kayden laughed so hard he had to turn away.
Josiah saw it and walked over with two bottled waters. He tossed one to Kayden, who caught it against his chest.
“You ready to get beat in cornhole?”
Kayden twisted the cap off. “By who?”
“Me.”
“Respectfully, Mr. Josiah, you’re old.”
JJ choked on his drink.
Josiah stared at Kayden. “Old?”
“You got homeowner knees.”
Onyx dropped his head.
Leilani screamed.
I covered my mouth, but it was too late. My laugh got out.
Josiah handed me his water like he needed both hands for the offense he had just received. “Homeowner knees?”
Kayden shrugged. “You walk like you got equity.”
Juice bent over, wheezing. “He said you walk like you got equity.”
Josiah pointed at Kayden. “Cornhole. Now.”
Kayden grinned. “You’re about to pull a muscle in front of your company.”
Fifteen minutes later, Kayden was losing.
Badly.
Josiah stood beside the cornhole board with the calm arrogance of a man letting the scoreboard testify.
Kayden threw his beanbag and missed.
JJ winced. “That was ugly.”
Kayden pointed at him. “You’re not helping.”
Josiah picked up his last bag. “Homeowner knees, huh?”
“Don’t start.”
Josiah tossed it.
It slid straight into the hole.
The entire yard erupted.
Skye ran in a circle screaming, “Equity wins!”
Zuri held up an invisible microphone. “Mr. Josiah, how does it feel to defeat a minor?”
Josiah folded his arms. “I moved with wisdom, patience, and properly functioning joints.”
Kayden laughed, real and loud, head tilted back, shoulders loose.
I stood near the patio with my hand over my chest.
That laugh.
My baby’s laugh.
It had been coming back in pieces, but standing there, watching him laugh with Josiah instead of bracing against him, something inside me unclenched.
Maya sat beneath the tree, sketching the scene with a purple pencil Lyric had given her. Josiah walked over after his victory tour and crouched beside her.
“You drawing my good side?”
Maya glanced up. “I’m drawing the chaos.”
“That includes my good side.”
She smiled. “You’re in the corner, holding the beanbag like a villain.”
He looked at the page, then at her. “Accurate.”
She angled the sketchbook so he could see.
It was beautiful, all movement and family and little details most people would miss.
Jamilah with the bubbles. Onyx pretending not to cry.
Aunt Hilary guarding the macaroni. Kayden mid-laugh.
Me near the patio, watching everything like I was afraid to blink.
Josiah’s expression softened. “You see people well, Maya.”
Her smile faltered under the compliment, not because she disliked it, but because she felt it. “Thank you.”
“Don’t ever let nobody make you think noticing things is the same as being dramatic.”
Her eyes lifted to his.
My throat tightened again.
“You remember that?” she asked.
“I remember what matters.”
Maya looked back at her sketchbook, blinking quickly. “Okay.”
Later, while the adults ate under the patio, and the kids spread across blankets in the grass, Josiah sat beside Jamilah near the bubble machine.
She had abandoned the louder group for a calmer corner, and he had gone with her without making it obvious.
He didn’t hover. He simply sat close enough to be safe and far enough to give her room.
Jamilah tapped her sensory toy against her knee three times.
Josiah tapped the same rhythm against his own knee.
She did it again.
He followed.
Her face lit.
Onyx walked over after a while and handed him a plate.
“You ain’t ate, man.”
Josiah took it. “I’m good.”
“No, you’re not. You’ve been hosting, grilling, counseling, beating children at cornhole, and apparently joining the percussion ministry. Eat.”
Jamilah reached for one of Josiah’s fries.
Josiah looked at her. “You taxing me, Boss Lady?”
She smiled around the fry.
Onyx shook his head. “She don’t share either.”
Josiah slid the plate closer to her. “She can have some.”
Leilani pointed from her chair. “Don’t spoil my child.”
Josiah looked at Jamilah, then at Leilani. “Too late.”
“See? This why I can’t leave y’all unattended.”
Yolanda sat beside me and watched her son with a smile that made her whole face glow.
“He’s always been like that.”
I looked at her. “Patient?”
Yolanda’s eyes stayed on him.
“With children who need the world to slow down. When he was little, his cousin had speech delays. Everybody would talk over that baby, finish sentences, hurry him up. Josiah would sit right there and wait. Didn’t matter how long it took. He’d say, ‘He got something to say; let him say it.’”
My heart turned over.
Yolanda’s eyes stayed on her son, but her voice softened like the memory had reached for her hand.
“Love is patient ain’t just pretty scripture when it’s real.
It’s not passive, and it’s not weak. It’s discipline.
It’s choosing not to rush somebody just because you already know what you want from them.
Sometimes, patience looks like sitting long enough for somebody to find their words.
Sometimes, it looks like hearing what they can’t say yet.
Sometimes, it looks like making room before you’re ever asked, because love shouldn’t have to beg for space to breathe. ”
Across the yard, Josiah looked up like he felt me thinking about him. Our eyes met, and his smile came slow, private, and full of a certainty that made my chest ache.
It felt certain.
Like God had hidden a seed beneath all that sorrow, and love had finally pushed through the soil with enough courage to bloom.
I looked away first, mostly because I was already too tender, and the evening kept moving around us in the loud, beautiful way family did.
Laughter rose from the patio. Plates passed from hand to hand.
Children ran through bubbles and string lights while the people we loved filled Josiah’s yard with noise, food, and the joy that didn’t ask grief to leave before it sat down.
Aunt Hilary accused Juice of “plate fraud” because he kept circling the dessert table with different napkins like that made him a new person.
Uncle Zeke told Kayden he had natural footwork and terrible trash talk.
JJ and Onyx ended up in a debate about old-school R&B that nearly split the patio by generation.
Melody and Leilani exchanged teacher-mama looks every time the children got too silent, which was how we discovered the C-Blacks had created a “family survey.”
Zuri cleared her throat and stood on the patio step with a notebook. “Question one. Do you believe blended families should have matching shirts?”
Kayden answered immediately. “No.”
Skye answered at the same time. “Yes.”
Jaya raised one hand. “Only if the shirts are cute.”
Lyric raised both hands. “With glitter.”
Maya wrote that down.
JJ leaned back in his chair. “Absolutely not.”
Onyx nodded. “I agree with JJ.”
Leilani side-eyed him. “You wear motorcycle club shirts with skulls on them.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“It has meaning.”
Skye pointed at him. “So does glitter.”
Juice lifted his cup. “The baby got a point.”
Aunt Hilary fanned herself with a paper plate. “This family getting loud, and nobody even married yet.”
The whole patio went silent for half a second.
Then everybody looked at me.
I looked at my plate.
Celeste Coleman, lover of words and woman of reasonable vocabulary, suddenly found baked beans fascinating.
Josiah, disrespectfully calm, took a sip of tea.
Leilani leaned toward me. “You blushing?”
“I’m warm.”