Page 59 of Free to Fall

“You hurt me worse than anybody ever has, Nas.”

“I know that too.”

“I don’t forgive you.”

He nodded slowly. “Not askin’ you to. Not yet.”

I dropped the towel on the counter and stepped aside so he could pass. He didn’t say another word. Just walked out of the bathroom and down the hallway like this was his house, like he belonged. And maybe, deep down…a part of me still wanted him to.

But fuck that part right now. Because dinner was about to be served, and I was gonna sit across from the man who shattered me with a fork in my hand, chewing slow and plotting how the hell I was gonna keep my heart from doing backflips the second he looked at me like I still belonged to him.

Dinner was… exhausting. Not because the food wasn’t good—it was, as always, perfect. My Nana’s smothered chicken and cabbage never missed. But the tension between me and Nasseem was doing laps around my nerves like it paid rent. And what made it worse was how damn comfortable he was. Laughing softly with my Nana, passing her the hot sauce like he hadn’t ghosted me after telling me to abort our baby.

I sat at the end of the table, chewing slowly and trying not to glare at the two of them sharing stories like they were kinfolk. Ididn’t say a word the entire meal, too busy forcing back the tears that kept threatening to fall.

Under the table, my hand instinctively rested on my lower belly, gentle and protective. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want me. And now he was here. In my safe space. Cracking smiles and fitting into my family like he hadn’t shattered me.

I kept my head down. Ate quietly. Nana said grace, hummed between bites, and complimented my healthy appetite. She acted like the air wasn’t thick with tension, like we weren’t sitting on a porch full of unsaid words.

After the meal, she pushed her plate forward with a satisfied sigh and said, “Whew. That hit the spot. But I need to lay down. This weather got my joints talkin' back.” I immediately stood, ready to clean up so I could breathe without his presence. “Egypt, walk me to my room, baby,” Nana said as she stood up slowly, resting her hand on my shoulder for balance. “Nasseem, go on and start wrapping the food. I know you can figure out some foil.”

Nasseem chuckled low under his breath. “Yes ma’am.”

I clenched my jaw and helped her down the hallway, glancing once over my shoulder to see him already stacking plates and grabbing foil like he belonged there. It made my stomach twist.

When we got to her bedroom, I helped her sit on the edge of her bed, fluffing her pillows out of habit. She looked up at me, her expression soft but serious. “You gon’ keep actin’ like that boy didn’t fly all the way here to fix what he broke?”

“I didn’t ask him to come,” I snapped, sharper than I intended.

“I did,” she reminded me gently, patting my hand. “Because somebody needed to. And you sure as hell wasn’t gon’ do it.”

I sighed, pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes. “Nana, you don’t understand.”

“Oh, I understand better than you think,” she said. “He hurt you. He broke your heart. And I’d like to wring his neck for it, but baby…that man is sorry. I can see it in his eyes.” I didn’t respond. “You two gotta talk,” she continued. “Whether y’all fix it or not…you got a child to think about now.” I winced, feeling the weight of that sentence fall heavy on my shoulders. “Talk to him, Egypt. Tonight. You’ll feel better if you do.”

I nodded, even though I didn’t mean it. “Goodnight, Nana.”

She smiled, brushing my cheek with her thumb. “Goodnight, baby girl.”

I walked slowly back down the hallway, dreading the next moment. When I stepped into the kitchen, I found him putting the last covered dish into the fridge. The room was, quiet.

I didn’t speak. Just turned on the faucet and started the dishwater. The tension sat between us like a ghost. We moved around each other in this quiet, angry ballet—his arm brushing past mine, my hip almost bumping his. Still no words. Just sighs and the sound of dishes clinking in the soapy water. I hated how familiar it felt. How easy it was to fall back into rhythm, even in our silence.

Once everything was clean and put away, I turned off the light over the sink and wiped my hands on a towel. “Come on,” I said quietly, walking past him without looking back.

He followed me out the back door and onto the porch. The air was thick but cool, the Memphis night wrapping around us like a blanket of stillness. I sat on the porch swing and waited. When he finally sat next to me, I pulled my legs up under me and stared straight ahead.

“Say what you came to say.”

He was quiet for a second, gathering his words. “I’m sorry, Egypt,” he said finally, voice low, raspy. “For all of it. For the way I reacted…for what I said…for how I made you feel. I fucked up.”

I looked at him then, letting him see the hurt in my eyes. “You did fuck up.”

“I know,” he nodded. “I was scared. I let that fear speak for me. I shoulda held you and listened to you. But instead, I pushed you away like a coward.”

“You didn’t just push me away,” I snapped, sitting up straighter. “You accused me of trapping you. Said I did this shit on purpose. Like I was some groupie tryna cash in on your fuckin’ bank account.”

He flinched. “I said some wild shit,” he admitted, voice tight. “But that ain’t how I really feel. You ain’t never been on no greedy shit with me. I was lashing out. I ain’t have no control over anything else, and I took it out on you.” I bit the inside of my cheek, hard. “I shouldn’t have said none of that,” he added. “And I hate myself for it.” We sat in silence for a moment. “Did you…” He hesitated, voice cracking slightly. “Did you get the abortion?”

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