“You didn’t have to imply anything, Si.” She tugs, freeing her elbow from my grip and looking down. “You obviously see our son’s emotional well-being as something worth fighting for, worth going to therapy for. I think it’s awesome.”
Except it sounds like she may as well have said “I think you’re an asshole.”
“So we’re good?” I ask, even though the tightness in the air, the tightness of her expression, tells me we’re not.
She holds my stare over her shoulder, one hand on the door, and I’m not sure if it’s disgust or disappointment that darkens her eyes, but it makes me feel slimy.
“Yeah.” She opens the door. “We’re good.”
Chapter Eleven
Yasmen
You sure you’re okay taking Deja, Hen?” I remove bottles of Gatorade from the plastic rings and load them into a cooler packed with ice. “We drove all over the city yesterday, and couldn’t find this hair she wants anywhere.”
“Oh, I already know this place off Candler Road has it.” Seated at my kitchen counter, Hendrix sips her coffee. “Several of my clients get their hair there on the low. When you see it on TV, you’d never know it comes from a shop in the back of a grocery store.”
I pause, a bottle in each hand, to stare at her. “The shop is in a grocery store?”
“One of them one-stops you only find in the cut. Get your milk and eggs. Get your nails did. Get your taxes done. Hock a watch and grab four, five packs of hair before you go.”
She clasps the long ponytail hanging over her shoulder, lifting it and letting it fall. “That’s where I got this silky silky.”
“Well, thank you. I can’t miss Kassim’s soccer match, and Josiah is speaking at this entrepreneurs conference so he couldn’t step in.” I hold up a bottle of Glacier Freeze and a pack of Go-Gurts. “Forgot I’m snack mom today, so I’m scrambling to get it all together.”
I pull a bottle of orange juice from the fridge for Kassim.
“Anyway,” I continue, “Kassim’s first session with this child psychologist is after the game. Josiah and I did an initial meeting with him and Kassim last week, just to kind of info-gather and for us to meet him, but today will be their first session one-on-one. It was the only slot Dr. Cabbot had available so I don’t have time to drive all over, looking for this hair. You’re really coming through for me.”
“Is Kassim nervous?”
“AmInervous is probably a better question.” I pause to lean a hip against the counter. “How did I not know he was so hyperfocused on death? And on losing his family? I’m with him every day, and he’s never mentioned anything like what his teacher said is in his journal.”
“It’s not surprising when you think about it. Do kids really go around confessing their deepest fears to their parents unprompted?” Hendrix shrugs. “Maybe some do, but I didn’t when I was a kid. Pat yourself on the back for doing this now instead of condemning yourself for not knowing sooner that he needed it.”
“You’re right. It’s made such a huge difference for me, and I’m really glad Kassim’s experiencing it so young. Maybe if he needs it when he’s older, it won’t hold the stigma it does for so many men.”
“Especially Black men. My cousin Bilail has been through so much crap all his life. Divorced parents. Molested by his uncle. Mom was an addict, but you think he’s talking to someone about his feelings?” Hendrix shakes her head and turns matte red lips down at the corners. “No, ma’am. That man’s twisted tight as a can of biscuits and can’t figure out for the life of him why all his relationships have an expiration date before they even start.”
“Speaking of Black men and therapy,” I say, loading more bottles into the cooler. “Did I mention Kassim is going because Josiah said he would?”
Hendrix’s mug of coffee hovers at her lips and her brows fly high. “Wasn’t he dead set against it when you guys were together?”
“Yeah.” I bend to stuff the last of the sports drinks into the cooler. “He always said it wouldn’t do him any good, but he apparently thought him going would convince Kassim, so he will. Just makes you wonder.”
“Wonder what?” Hendrix asks.
I glance up, meeting her probing stare for a millisecond before turning my back on her to pull the last of the yogurt from the fridge. “Nothing. So this hair is apparently called Kinky Curly or something like that. Deja—”
“Wonder what, Yas? Why Josiah wouldn’t go for you?”
My hand’s still halfway between the refrigerator and the cooler, and I have trouble meeting her eyes again when I turn back, but I do.
“Maybe. Not even for me, but for himself when I suggested it. He wouldn’t even entertain it, but he volunteered when this came up with Kassim. And I guess I wonder what changed.”
I huff out a laugh and close the cooler. “Not that he expects to get anything out of it. He still thinks it’s useless, but at least he’s willing.”
“Therapy can be intimidating, and folks aren’t always ready whenwewant them to be. They’re ready when they’re ready. Josiah thinks he’s going because of Kassim, but maybe it’s that deep down he’s just finally ready. It might surprise him. He may get in there and learn a lot about himself. The right therapist can change everything.”