I caught myself almost slipping into memory. The way that pixie cut fit her face when she first got it, right after Julise was born. She'd been nervous then, keeping her hand on it like she was making sure it was real. I'd told her it made her look lighter somehow. I shut that thought down quick.
Her head snapped around all of a sudden, mouth moving fast. I saw Julise's shadow flash past the hallway wall. I let out a slow breath through my nose. They was probably at it again. Mama had told me Julise had been disrespectful while I was gone, but this felt different. Heavier. Like the house itself was tired of holding shit in. I knew it wouldn't be long before I had to step between them. That was part of coming home, too.
I got out of the car and walked up to the front door. Nia's voice carried through the walls, raised, sharp around the edges. Then Julise's door slammed hard enough to shake the hallway. I stepped inside just as the sound settled. When I rounded the corner into the kitchen, Nia was standing there staring straight at me, jaw tight, eyes flashing. "You better talk to your fuckin' daughter," she said. "'Fore I run into her ass in here. I'm tellin' you." She was heated like she had been holding shit in too long.
"Aight, aight. Relax," I said, holding my hands up. Not dismissive. Just steady. I didn't argue with her. No point. I walked down the hall toward Julise's room and pushed the door open. She was sitting on the bed, shoulders hunched, phone face down beside her. Her face held the same frown her mama wore when she was done being patient.
I leaned against the frame first, then stepped inside and closed the door behind me, putting my back to it. "What's up with you?" I asked.
"Nothin'," she muttered, not looking at me.
"Oh, it's something," I said. "You keep bein' disrespectful to your mama like that shit cute. It ain't. So what's up?"
She sat up straighter then, eyes lifting to mine. There was no fear in them. Just resentment. Sharp and focused. "You don't get to call me out about bein' disrespectful to her," she said, "when you don't even talk to her. You don't even look at her."
That shit hie, harder than I expected. I raised my eyebrow, caught off guard in a way I didn't like. That was when it hit me, Julise wasn't a little girl no more. The shit we thought we was hiding? She had front-row seats to it all. "Julise," I started, "at the end of the day, that's your mama."
"Yeah, she my mama," she snapped. "But she also tore up our family. Ripped my whole life apart. I can see it now. Y'all probably ain't even gon be together next year." She rolled her eyes like she'd already accepted it. Something tight pulled in my chest, quick and sharp. I didn't react right away. I held my place without raising my voice. That was the difference between the man I was and the one I was becoming.
"Jul," I said, slower now, "I ain't sayin' you don't have a right to feel how you feel. But you don't get to disrespect your mama like that." She crossed her arms, chin lifted. "Nia been holdin' shit down since she found out she was carryin' you," I continued. "She took care of you when I couldn't. When I wasn't here. When I was locked up." Her jaw clenched. "So you don't get to talk to her crazy because of what youthinkshe did."
Silence filled the room. Thick. Heavy. I saw it then, the confusion under the anger. The hurt she didn't know what to do with yet. "But—" she started.
"No buts," I cut her off. "I meant what I said, Jul. Tighten up. Don't let me catch it again."
I stepped back out of her room and closed the door before she could get another word out. Stood there for a second staring at the wood like it might say something back. That's when the guilt hit. Like pressure in my chest that let me know this shit me and Nia had going on wasn't staying contained no more. It was bleeding out into places it didn't belong. Into kids that didn't ask for it. Into mouths that was too young to be carrying grown shit.
We needed to figure some shit out. Quick.
Later that night, after I showered, I walked the hallway slow. In the same way I used to when they were babies. Peeking into each room, checking breathing, blankets, light creeping in from the street just enough to see their faces. Juelz was sprawled sideways, mouth open, one arm flung over his head. Jezel was curled tight, clutching her pillow like it was something alive. Julise had her back to the door, covers pulled up high, phone face down on the nightstand like she'd been scrolling until sleep took her. I stood at their doors a second longer than I should've. They looked peaceful. That mattered.
When I made it to the kitchen, the house felt tighter. Like the walls had leaned in while I was gone. I poured a glass of brown liquor and sat at the counter, elbows resting heavy, listening. I looked up and saw Nia through the back window. She was sitting on the porch wrapped in her robe, legs tucked up under her, a wine glass in one hand, phone in the other. I watched her head tilt back when she laughed, real laughter, soft and loose. She talked for a good thirty minutes, pacing a little, leaning against the railing, shoulders relaxed in a way I hadn't seen since I'd been home. I didn't like noticing it or that it bothered me.
She came back inside like nothing happened. Walked past me to the fridge, pulled out the wine bottle, and refilled her glass. That's when I spoke. "Guess it's 'bout time we had a conversation." My head was still bowed. I didn't look at her right away.
"What make you feel like that?" she asked. "I mean, we haven't talked since you been home. What changed? That's all I'm askin'."
I looked up as she sipped from her glass. "Juste booked a beach house in Orlando," I said. "We supposed to pull out as a family. Road trip. Friday." I twisted the glass on the counter, then tipped it back and downed what was left.
"Okay?" she said, eyebrow lifting. Then her mouth tightened. "So what? This is supposed to be some kinda act as if we're a happy family in front of your folks, talk?"
I smacked my lips, eyes flashing up at her. "Did I say that?"
"You didn't have to," she muttered and took another sip. "Everybody knows this ain't no happy home, Jules. No need to put on a damn front." The words sat between us. Heavy.
I rolled the glass between my palms, feeling the cool against my skin. "It ain't about actin'," I said finally. "It's about keepin' shit together and not lettin' shit fall apart all the way."
"For who?" she shot back. "The kids already see it. Julise damn near said it to your face." I didn't answer that. She leaned against the counter across from me, eyes searching my face like she might find something new there. Something softer.
I didn't give it to her. "I ain't sayin' we perfect," I said. "But we family."
She laughed once. Short. Humorless. "We roommates with kids right now," she said. "That's what we are."
I didn't correct her, nor did I agree. I just let it sit there. I clenched my jaw. "That's still family," I replied.
She studied me for a long second, then shook her head slow. "You don't even hear yourself no more," she said. "You talk like everything is a job you gotta manage." I didn't argue. Because she wasn't wrong. That was the problem. I treated everything like something to control. Something to contain. Grief. Love. Loss. Even her. The glass sweated in my palm.
"That trip ain't gon fix us," she added quietly.