Page 84 of Certified Pressure 3
“Yes, ma’am,” I said quickly.
She gave a small nod, not saying anything else before walking straight into the kitchen. I followed, feeling like a kid who was about to get in trouble. She set the bags down on the counter and started pulling things out like she was stocking a pantry.
There was everything from fresh fruits to organic juices to jars of herbs I couldn’t even name. I watched her pull out fresh ginger, lemon, kale, sweet potatoes, and a few containers that looked like she’d had them prepared somewhere expensive.
“I brought you a few things,” she said without looking up. “You’re carrying my grandchild, and I don’t want you feeding my bloodline junk food.”
I smiled because it was the most Abeni thing she could’ve said. “Yes, ma’am,” I mumbled again.
She opened one of the containers, pulled out a few cloves of garlic, and started washing them in the sink like she’d been in my kitchen a thousand times. The smell of fresh herbs started filling the room as she worked.
“You haven’t been eating right, have you?” she said.
I hesitated. “I’ve been eating.”
“Mm-hmm,” she said like she didn’t believe me. “We’ll fix that.”
She started chopping vegetables while I leaned against the counter, just watching. Her hands moved like she’d done this her whole life.
“I don’t want to get into your business too much,” she said after a while, “but whatever you and my son got going on, you two need to stop the foolishness. All this ignoring each other, and going back and forth is ridiculous. You’re carrying his child, Pluto. That means you’re family now.”
I swallowed hard, keeping my eyes down. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I know Pressure,” she continued, sliding everything into a pot. “He gets that stubborn streak from his father, but he means well. He just doesn’t know how to show it when his pride gets involved.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to say much. She was right, and we both knew it.
A few minutes later, I heard small footsteps coming from the hallway. Zurie peeked around the corner in her pajamas, rubbing her eyes.
“Good morning, little girl,” Abeni said warmly, smiling.
“Good morning, Omà,” Zurie said softly.
Abeni’s eyebrows raised, clearly surprised she remembered the title. “You remember my name,” she said, her tone softer now.
Zurie smiled shyly and climbed into one of the barstools. I went to fix her some cereal while Abeni stirred the pot on the stove. The sound of the spoon hitting the pot and the smell of fresh soup made the kitchen feel like home.
“So,” Abeni said after a moment, glancing toward Zurie, “Pressure said you adopted her.”
I nodded, pouring milk into the bowl. “She’s my little sister. My mom and dad got their own issues, and Zurie’s been with me most of the time. She was sick, but she’s strong. She’s got this thing called Chiari Malformation. It’s when part of her brain pushes into her spinal area, and it messes with her balance and gives her bad headaches sometimes.”
Abeni paused, her face softening. “That sounds hard.”
“It is,” I said quietly, handing Zurie her bowl. “But she’s getting through it.”
Abeni didn’t say anything for a second. She just nodded, then went to the blender. She dropped in some spinach, banana, a handful of berries, and poured something from a glass bottle that looked expensive. The blender roared to life, and when she poured the drink into a tall glass, she slid it across the counter toward me.
“Here,” she said. “It’s got iron, folate, and a few other things that’ll help with your energy. Drink all of it.”
I took it and smiled. “Thank you.”
She wiped her hands on a towel and leaned back against the counter, watching me like she was sizing up more than my appetite. “You and Zurie are part of this family now,” she said. “That means I’m going to make sure you’re good, whether you like it or not.”
I didn’t know what to say. My chest felt tight, not in a bad way but like my heart didn’t know how to react to kindness like that.
“Yes, ma’am,” I whispered finally.
For a while, we sat in silence. She finished stirring the soup and brought me a bowl. I took small sips, and it tasted like something that could heal anything. It was the type of soup you could feel in your bones.
