Page 79 of Butterfly 6, Phase 1

Khadeen sighed. “I’m where I’m needed.” Her concerned stare focused on Yara.

“Is she okay?” Khadeen asked. “I would ask her, but I don’t know sign language.”

Messiah showed her the signs. “You beautiful girl, you,” Khadeen admired, reaching over and rubbing her back gently. Yara lifted her head, and Khadeen signed to her.

“Are you okay?”

Yara nodded her head and rubbed her eyes before wrapping her arms around Messiah’s neck tightly, turning her face away from Khadeen like she was trying to hide inside Messiah.

“She’s never this nice to a nigga. That’s how I know she’s sick. She’s settling for me. I’ve never wanted to be bullied by somebody more in my life. A mean Yara is a healthy Yara.”

“She’s not settling,” Khadeen said softly, as she stared at the pair. “She’s bonding. It doesn’t matter how much you missed in those first few years. Children have an instinctual affinity for those who made them, especially when they’re sick.”

“This is hell,” he whispered.

“I know,” she replied, moving her hand from Yara’s back to place it on top of his. He stopped soothing Yara and stared at Khadeen.

He took her hand, and he felt her resistance as she kept her fingers straight, stiff, for a few seconds, as their eyes met. He saw her breath hitch as she decided, right then and there. Connection and humanity overrode boundaries in this moment. She could pull her hand back, or she could be a friend to Messiah when he needed it most. Just this one time, she could remove the clinical veil she viewed him through, and simply be a person. Messiah felt a comfort wash over his body when she closed her fingers, intertwining them. It was a vulnerability, an aching, that made his eyes burn like a motherfucker. He wondered how she knew to rub her thumb across his hand the way she was doing. Was it a psychological method she had learned in her fancy schools, supported by her big textbooks, and her expensive degrees? He wondered if she knew how safe it felt, like she was someone he could run to get when the school bully was threatening to beat him up after school. No one had ever reached out a hand for him to hold when he was afraid. Messiah had always been the protector. Outside of Ethic, he had never been protected a day of his life. He certainly didn’t know anything about feeling safe with a woman. He came to their rescue, and he loved being a man to the damsels he deemed worthy. He thrived in that form of masculinity. He prided himself on fulfilling that role, especially for Morgan. He had even done it with Bleu. They made him feel like a man, like he was strong, like he was a savior of victims, so he could never be one. But sitting in this car in silence, he had to turn his head out towards the window, so that Khadeen wouldn’t see his eyes go wet. He felt like she was protecting him. That thumb moving back and forth across his hand as she squeezed his hand tightly felt more powerful than a gun.

“Let’s get Ms. Yolly some French fries,” Khadeen suggested. He missed the warmth of her hand as soon as she pulled it away. He climbed out of the car, carried Yara inside, and followed Khadeen.

“Table for three,” she told the hostess.

The diner was empty, and they were seated right away. The waitress left menus, and Messiah’s stomach growled. The food in the hospital was terrible. He couldn’t remember his last decent meal.

“You should eat too,” Khadeen said.

“You’re probably right,” Messiah agreed.

The waitress came back over, and Khadeen spoke up, “Can we have an order of French fries and an ice cream sundae for this little one, and he’ll take the salmon voodoo pasta,” she ordered.

“And for you?” the waitress asked.

“I’ll take a blackened chicken salad and iced tea,” Khadeen finished. “Do you want something to drink? Maybe apple juice for the baby?”

“Water is fine,” Messiah said.

When they were alone, Messiah scoffed at her assertion.

“You like salmon, right?” Khadeen asked, cringing as she realized that she hadn’t even asked.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Messiah chuckled. He found the look of relief that overcame her endearing.

“What were you doing at the hospital? Are you okay?”

Messiah’s question took her off guard, and she stumbled through a reply. “Oh, yeah, I was…I’m fine. I had a patient commit herself last night. I was just visiting.”

“You’re feeling better, then?” he asked.

“Yes, I am. Thank you,” Khadeen said, fidgeting in her seat as she tucked her hands between her thighs.

“Are you cold?” he asked. “You can have my jacket.”

“I’m fine. It’s my job to make sure you’re okay. You don’t have to worry about me. You have your hands full,” Khadeen insisted.

“We’re not in your office, and this isn’t an appointment,” Messiah replied. “And my hands can handle plenty.”

The waitress came back with their drinks and a coloring book for Yara.