Page 185 of When Love Takes Root

Aunt Hilary swatted his arm. “Zeke.”

“What? He found the road.”

I leaned back and looked toward the sky. Clouds moved across all that blue, unbothered by human complications. I thought about Celeste’s patio, her arms wrapped around herself, her tears falling before I even left. I thought about her children, each of them guarding a different piece of the same loss. I thought about Jamal, a man I never met, whose absence still had a seat, a voice, a pull.

I could respect that.

I could respect him.

But I believed God had enough room in one family’s story to write more love without dishonoring the chapter before it.

Before we went back inside, I stayed seated a little longer. Mama didn’t rush me. Uncle Zeke and Aunt Hilary didn’t fill the silence. They let me bow my head with the afternoon sun warm against my shoulders and the ache in my chest honest enough to pray.

“Lord, I need Your wisdom. Not my pride dressed up like protection. Not my fear dressed up like patience. Your wisdom. Teach me how to move with Celeste. Teach me when to speak, when to wait, and when to stand still without disappearing. Cover her heart. Cover those babies. Help me honor Jamal’s memory without shrinking from the love You placed in me. And if this is mine to build, show me how to build it with clean hands.”

My voice thinned, but I didn’t stop.

“Don’t let me wound her trying to reach her. Don’t let me abandon myself trying to understand her. Make me steady. Make me humble. Make me honest. Amen.”

“Amen,” Mama said.

“Amen,” Aunt Hilary echoed.

Uncle Zeke’s voice came gruff. “Amen.”

Mama stood and kissed the top of my head like I was still small enough to fit beneath her prayers.

“Eat before you leave.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Uncle Zeke grinned. “And fix your face. You look like a gospel song in a minor key.”

I laughed for real that time.

Aunt Hilary smiled. “That sound more like you, baby.”

My chest still hurt.

Loving Celeste still felt like standing near stained glass after a storm, beautiful and fragile, with light trying to come through broken colors.

But I wasn’t hopeless anymore.

I had space to give.

A conversation to pray toward.

And a woman worth waiting for without abandoning myself in the process.

Monday Evening

By the time I swept the last curl of synthetic hair into the dustpan, my body had started moving like a woman with too many tabs open in her spirit.

Celestial Crowns was closed. The dryers were off. The gospel playlist had faded into some instrumental worship song that sounded like conviction had learned piano. I stood near my station with a broom in my hand and stared at the same spot on the floor long enough for Leilani to stop pretending she wasn’t watching me.

She sat in my styling chair with one leg crossed over the other, eating grapes out of a plastic bowl like she was on break from supervising my business and my bad decisions. Calista leaned against the counter with her arms folded, and Cassia sat beneath the hooded dryer, even though it wasn’t on. My sisters were twins, but they judged differently. Calista’s judgment came with eyebrows. Cassia’s came with patience. Both were lethal.

Leilani popped another grape into her mouth. “You been sweeping that same patch of floor for eight minutes.”