Page 129 of My Only

I pushed through the kitchen doors.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of fresh pastries and flour, the ovens humming quietly in the background. My father was pulling a large baking sheet of golden-brown patties from one of the commercial racks when he glanced up, doing a double take when he saw me.

His brows lifted. “Mornin’, son.”

I stopped just inside the doorway. “Mornin’, Dad.”

My dad had always been in great shape, but ever since he started working full-time at the bakery—lifting trays, kneading dough, moving sacks of flour—he’d bulked up even more. Early sixties, but he could pass for forty easy.

He set the tray of patties down on the steel counter, dusting his hands as he turned to face me.

“What’s going on?” he asked. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

I let out a slow breath through my nose.

Immediately, his shoulders lost height. His whole stance shifted.

“What happened?”

I swallowed. “Ayla said she wants a divorce.”

His chest caved in slightly as he gripped the metal counter for support. He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head before turning away.

I ran a hand down my beard. “The night I came back from the billiard hall with you, she was waiting in the kitchen… wanted to know where I was.”

“Mm-hmm,” he muttered, already knowing where this was going.

“And, yeah…” I scratched the back of my head. “I told her… I was with Harper.”

My father sucked his teeth so loudly it echoed. “Hassani!”

“She asked if I was with her,” I defended, stepping deeper into the kitchen. “I didn’t want to lie.”

“She ask yuh, and yuh just hand her di answer?” he sneered, shaking his head. “Mi nah tell yuh fi fabricate nuttin’, but Hassani… yuh don’t know when fi be a smart man and just omit?”

“She didn’t give me room to. She didn’t even let me explain! She just stormed off, locked herself in the guest room, and she’s been sleeping there for two damn nights?—”

“Shh, shh!” My father waved a hand through the air, shutting me up instantly. “Bwoy, yuh nuh have no sense?! Yuh a tell me too much.”

I clenched my jaw and stopped talking.

Whenever my father got pissed, Patois, as always, jumped in and out of the chat. That’s how I knew he was really mad.

He took a deep audible breath to settle himself, raising a hand before continuing.

“Your marriage is your marriage,” he said, calmer, fixing me with a look. “Venting to the wrong people, even family…” He held up a finger. “Won’t fix things. Overstand?”

I nodded.

“Fixing your marriage,” he continued, pointing directly at me, “should be your focus. Not telling me how bad it is.”

He gestured toward the back of the kitchen. “Come. I don’t want your mother overhearing any of this.”

I followed him past the ovens, the scent of warm coco bread lingering in the air. Soon, the other bakers would be here, starting on the next round of pastries.

But right now, this talk? This was urgent.

My father turned to face me, crossing his arms. “Your first mistake?” He held up a single finger. “Letting her sleep in another room.”

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