time.
Ma looks at her like for real, Bris?
Not that Bristol hasn’t improved in the kitchen. She definitely has, but my mama doesn’t eat everybody’s food, and if she’s able to cook, she prefers to eat her own.
“I’ll manage, baby,” Ma says dryly. “Let’s save the chef for a special night. Now we got wings from the grill and potato salad and sweet tea for lunch.”
“I’m just in time,” Amir says, stepping through the French doors leading into the living room. “I could eat a—”
“You ain’t eating nothing.” Ma sucks her teeth. “March your raggedy self right back in that house and eat you some Corn Flakes or somethin’. I don’t know what to tell you, but you ain’t eating my food.”
“He beat you in spades again, huh?” Bristol laughs, scooping food onto the kids’ plates.
“You ain’t gotta eat either, Bristol,” Ma snaps, fighting a grin. “Me and these babies’ll be the only ones eating, ya’ll keep it up.”
“I told you we shoulda thrown the game,” Shondra mutters, walking onto the patio in a floral maxi dress. “But nooooo. You just had to win again.”
“Shondra, sit down and eat,” Ma orders, filling frosted glasses with tea. “You’ll need all your strength for that re-match tonight.”
Shondra’s eyes stretch and then narrow when they meet Amir’s as he sits down at the table beside her. “I tried to tell your ass,” she hisses at him.
“Y’all hating on all this Black excellence.” Amir shrugs, loading his plate with wings and potato salad. “I think I need something stronger than tea. Shondra, there was some beer in the fridge.”
“I’m drinking tea,” she says. “You can take that Black excellence right in the kitchen and get your own beer.”
We’re still laughing at that when I notice two empty seats at the table. “Where’s Kenya and Jade?”
“Down in that studio.” Ma tsks, finally preparing a plate for herself.
“They’re so cute together,” Shondra says.
“Don’t let either of them hear you call them cute,” I say.
“It’s just nice to see Jade happy,” Ma says. “I mean, making her music and in love and at peace with herself.”
And with me.
Ma doesn’t say it, but when our eyes meet across the table, I read the same pleasure I feel that Jade and I are closer than we’ve ever been. And happier than we’ve ever been. Now if I could just translate that to my music.
“When’s Aria coming?” Nina asks, potato salad smeared on her little chin.
“Uncle Rhyson’s finishing up some work.” Bristol passes her a napkin. “But they’ll be here in a couple of days. Maybe even tomorrow night.”
Nina claps and rolls her shoulders, some little move she and Aria made up. The cousins are thick as thieves already. Aria’s at our house as much as Nina is at Rhys and Kai’s.
“What’s that you’re drawing, Martin?” Shondra asks. We’re finished with lunch, and she and Amir volunteered to clear away and wash the few dishes.
“It’s us!” Martin grins, showing off his little square teeth.
“Lemme see.” I reach for the paper. Bristol walks up beside me and peers down at the drawing in my hand.
It’s a brown man/stick figure with something close to afro-shaped hair, obviously me in need of a haircut. A shorter woman/stick he’s colored peach and who has brown lines drawn around her shoulders for hair. Martin made Bristol’s stomach a circle and there’s two pink round things inside.
“Grapefruit,” Martin says. “You said the babies are like grapefruits now.”
“Ahhhh.” Bristol purses her lips against a smile. “You got them exactly right, baby.”
In his drawing, Bristol and I are sandwiched between the kids, Nina holding my hand and Martin holding Bristol’s. They’re both brown stick/kids with zigzags for hair.
I tilt my head, staring at what Martin’s holding in the drawing. “What’s that purple thing in your hand, son?”
“It’s Zoe!” He says, his smile wide and proud. “It’s the feather in her box.”
Zoe’s name, offered so unexpectedly, causes the adults on the patio to collectively draw and hold a startled breath. Bristol goes perfectly still beside me, and her hand goes instinctively to her stomach. She’s carried two pregnancies to term with typical deliveries since Zoe, but that fear niggles in the back of both our minds. We didn’t really talk about the relief we felt when there were no indications of anencephaly, or any other birth defect at this point. We’ll love our babies regardless. That’s not just a platitude for us. It’s been tested in fire, honed in sorrow. As much as losing Zoe hurt, we talk openly about