Me:Anchovies.
Josiah:Never mind.
Me:Sorry! see you soon.
Seated on the bed, I tug the sneaker from my foot, holding and turning it in my hands before rising to scoop up the one I lost. Like a thief, I walk swiftly to the closet and return them to the empty bottom drawer. He’ll be here soon, and we’ll talk to Kassim about seeing the therapist. I need to be focused on this conversation, not getting lost in the past.
After a day in skinny jeans, nothing feels better than soft cotton lounge pants that skim my tired body and don’t constrain. I leave on the fitted T-shirt that stops just short of my waist. A slick of lip gloss, a quick fluff of my hair. Deja’s new leave-in conditioner made this twist out look fantastic. I grudgingly admit the girl knows hair, but she cannot make a living on Instagram posts about detangling.
One child at a time. Deal with Kassim tonight, and figure out how to interest my daughter in a viable career later. When I enter the kitchen, both my children are seated at the counter, on their phones and eating their pizza.
“Is it good?” I ask, opening a glass cabinet door to grab a plate. “Thought I’d try that new place called Guido’s on the square.”
“Yup.” Kassim grins, showing all his front teeth. “It’s even better than the other place.”
I plate a slice, carefully picking off the anchovies. I’m not sure where Deja and Kassim got their love of the topping, since Josiah and I both abhor them.
Aunt Byrd.
I go still for a second, entertaining the memory of Byrd baking pizza and introducing the kids to anchovies. It was love at first bite. For a moment, the pain of missing her is almost too much. When you lose someone that close, the enormity, the finality of it, sometimes hits you full force when you least expect it. When you are least prepared. And your heartbeat stutters and your knees nearly buckle, just like when you first heard they were gone. When you lose someone like Byrd, you never banish the grief completely. I’ve learned to tame grief, though, so it doesn’t run wild and ruin my life. It’s in these unguarded moments that the pain hisses and growls, a rabid beast with its face pressed to the bars.
But I hold the whip and chair. I keep the lock and key.
“Your dad’s on his way over,” I tell them, not looking up from my plate.
Peripherally, I see them both stop chewing and exchange a glance. Josiah is here all the time, but it’s always for a reason. He’s picking them up and taking them out. He’s dropping them off. He’s helping with homework. For me to announce Josiah is coming over tips my hand.
“Why?” Deja asks, her eyes narrowed on my face.
“Just to talk.” I open the refrigerator and grab a LaCroix.
“Like a family meeting?” Deja presses.
Before I can answer, the doorbell rings. Definitely saved by the bell.
Deja jumps up and leaves the kitchen to answer.
“Is everything okay?” Kassim asks, tearing the crust of his pizza.
“Yes, fine.” I lean across the counter to kiss his forehead. “Just talking, baby.”
Otis bounds into the kitchen and nuzzles my leg.
“Hey, friend.” I smile down and rub his head, silently thanking Byrd again for leaving him with us. Despite my best efforts not to, I do worry about Josiah sometimes. The night Otis made it painstakingly clear he wanted to live with my ex, as irrational as it sounds, I was glad. Not because the dog wouldn’t be here as much, but because hewouldbe with Josiah. Small comfort, I know, but there it is. Otis lumbers over to the bed we’ve always kept in the corner for him and lies down, seemingly content. I’ve often felt Aunt Byrd left him as her very own guardian angel to watch over us. The kind who might piss on your good rug if you forget to take him out.
Deja and Josiah follow closely behind, laughing over something. Occasionally I envy their effortless rapport. I still can’t figure out what Josiah did to escape Deja’s vitriol, but I wish he’d share the secret. With me, she’s a teen wolf and every day is a full moon. With Daddy? It’s all smiles andyessirs.
“Pizza?” I ask Josiah, pointing to my plate. “I picked the anchovies off.”
“Nah. I have food from the restaurant. I’ll eat when I get home.” He sits on one of the high stools and looks at me meaningfully, a silentSo what’s the plan?in the brows he lifts.
“Deja,” I say, “we want to talk with Kassim for a few minutes. Maybe take your pizza in the dining room for a bit?”
“What’s wrong?” Kassim asks, low-grade panic spiking his level tone.
“Nothing’s wrong, son,” Josiah answers. “We just want to talk with you.”
“I want to stay,” Deja says, the line of her jaw set. “If you want me to stay, Seem, I will.”