Page 111 of Omar

Ray was crying. Tears running down his face, his shoulders curling inward, his whole body folding under the weight of what I was saying. Part of me wanted to stop. The part that remembered him carrying me on his shoulders at Coney Island, teaching me to ride a bike in the park, sitting by my bed when I had the flu and reading me stories until I fell asleep. That part of me wanted to stop talking and let him cry and tell him it was okay.

But it wasn't okay. It was never going to be okay.

"And then you told me Omar had moved on." My voice dropped. "You called me in Atlanta and told me he'd found someone else. That he wasn't waiting anymore. You lied to me about the one person in the world who might have come for me, and you did it to keep me in place. To make sure I didn't run."

"I was trying to protect you."

"Protect me?" I laughed and it came out ugly, raw. "From what? From the man who actually loved me? From the one person who would have walked into Supreme's apartment and carried me out?"

"If you'd run, Supreme would have come after you. After your sisters. He told me what would happen if..."

"So you kept me there to protect my sisters. That's what you're going with." I stepped closer until I was standing right in front of him. He was taller than me but he was shrinking, his body curving away from my words. "You sacrificed one daughter to save the others. Is that supposed to make me forgive you?"

"I don't expect you to forgive me." His voice was barely audible. "I just needed to see you. To know you were alive."

"I'm alive. Are we done?"

"Asha, please..."

"Are we done, Ray?"

He reached for me. His hand came toward my arm and I stepped backward so fast I knocked into the side table. A picture frame fell off it and hit the floor. Ray's hand hung in the air between us.

"Don't touch me." My voice was quiet now but the quiet was worse than the shouting. "You don't get to touch me. You don't get to hug me and cry on my shoulder and feel better about what you did. You don't get that comfort."

Portia appeared in the hallway doorway. She'd been listening from the kitchen, staying out of it, letting me have my say. But something in my face or my voice or the picture frame on the floor brought her through.

"That's enough," Portia said. Her voice was calm, firm, the voice of a woman who'd run a household through worse than this. She put herself between me and Ray, not touching either of us, just standing there with her body as a wall. "You've said what you came to say. She's heard it. Now it's time for you to go."

"I just want her to know..."

"She knows." Portia looked at Ray with an expression that wasn't anger or pity. It was something colder. Understanding. She understood exactly what he'd done because she'd lived in the same world long enough to know what men did to their families when the pressure got too high. "Your daughter is safe here. She's fed, she's loved, and she's surrounded by people who'll take care of her. That's more than you gave her for three years. Now go home."

Ray stood there for another second. His eyes went to me over Portia's shoulder. I looked back at him and I didn't give him what he was looking for. I didn't soften. I didn't cry. I didn't reach for him.

He nodded once, turned toward the door, and left. Portia closed it behind him and locked it.

My legs went. I made it to the couch before they gave out completely, sitting down hard with my hands on my knees, my breathing coming in short sharp bursts. Portia sat next to me without speaking. She put her hand on my back and left it there while I shook.

"I broke your mug," I managed.

"I got more mugs." Her hand moved in slow circles between my shoulder blades. "You okay?"

"No."

"That's alright. You don't have to be okay right now."

I leaned into her. She put her arm around my shoulders and held me against her side, solid, warm, unmovable. She didn't say anything about Ray. She didn't offer wisdom or perspective or advice. She just held me while the shaking slowed and my breathing came back to something that resembled normal.

Shanay arrived in the afternoon. She came into the kitchen with her bag over her shoulder, kissed Portia on the cheek, and looked at me.

"You eaten?"

"Portia fed me."

"Portia always feeds you. I'm asking if you ate."

"I ate."