Page 108 of Lily In The Valley
“I don’t hate you, Khalil,” she said after a long pause. Her voice cracked. “But I resent how easy you look sitting there.”
“It’s not easy,” I said. “It’s necessary.”
She looked away. Her lip trembled. I stood slowly, walked to the door. Paused with my hand on the knob.
“I hope you find someone who makes you feel chosen. First and full. No fractions. No doubts.”
She didn’t say anything as I turned the knob. Before I walked out, I heard her whisper behind me, soft, but sharp enough to stay with me. “Go be with the woman you never stopped loving.”
The night air hit my skin like a cleansing. I didn’t feel triumphant. I didn’t feel relieved. But I felt free. Not from her. But from pretending. Pretending that I could detach myself from what I wanted most. Pretending that I could hold onto comfort while craving clarity.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from Xavier:
Zay
Took us a while to settle on a name, but here it is.
I smiled at the picture of my goddaughter wrapped up like a baby burrito. For a second, it felt like the world was shifting into alignment. I walked toward my car, the city humming in the distance.
Ready.
Rooted.
Part Four
“Put It On Me [Remix]”
Ja Rule (feat. Lil Mo + Vita)
Chapter 33
Kelly
Seattle greeted me with rain.Not a downpour. Not dramatic. Just a constant mist that blurred the city into watercolor, dampening the air, softening the edges of buildings, coaxing leaves from green to gold. I stepped out of the rideshare, rolling my suitcase behind me, Karter in his soft carrier slung across my chest. He whined low, then yawned, his tiny face peeking out beneath the mesh.
“We’re back,” I whispered, looking up at my building. He blinked once like he agreed.
The apartment felt unfamiliar at first. Too clean. Too untouched. Like a life I had walked out of and returned wearing someone else’s skin. But it didn’t scare me this time. I unpacked slowly. Put lavender in the oil diffuser. Piled all of Karter’s new dog toys my dad spoiled him with in his cage. He was too cute wrestled with a chicken looking thing that squeaked. With everything put away, I made myself some tea and decided to sit on the patio.
When I stepped out on the slightly damp concrete, I saw the peace lily plant tucked away in the corner. The same one I’d thrown against the wall before breaking down. She’d beenplaced here in her original plastic pot, most likely by my father. It’d been a few months since I’d last seen her, but here she was, growing, thriving, even with her droopy leaves speckled with rainwater.
I sat my tea down and brought the plant inside the warmth of my apartment. Sitting her on the sink, I grabbed a soft towel and wiped the excessive water from her leaves in the same gentle way my grandmother taught me. I searched for a bucket to re-pot her, let her roots stretch, let the excess water drain away. Eventually, I got her situated in a white mop bucket and sat her by the window. Call me crazy, but her leaves seemed to raise a little higher. Like she’d chosen to heal herself, even in subprime conditions.
“Go ahead and breathe, baby girl,” I whispered against her leaves. “We got this.”
I grabbed my tea and snuggled on the couch, calling Karter to sit on my lap. Outside, a slow heavy drizzle started, a soft rain that felt more like a confession than chaos. Clouds thickened overhead, curling into themselves like grief no longer needing to scream. Leaves danced with the wind; their golds and crimsons muted under the weight of moisture.
Karter shifted on my lap, his cheek pressed to my chest, the steady rhythm of his breathing syncing with mine. I curled my hand around his tiny back, let my eyes drift to the window, and watched the world blur. This wasn’t the kind of rain that drowned you. It was the kind that stayed, lingering until it seeped into your clothes, your skin, your spirit until you surrendered to it.
That was the point. Not to push through the heaviness. Not to outrun it. But sit in it. To sip tea in it. To hold your son and your breath and your bruised peace lily and say I was still here. Somewhere beneath all that gray, I was beginning to unfurl too, slowly, softly. Like a leaf that didn’t mind the fall.
The first dayback on rounds felt like returning to a play you’d rehearsed in another lifetime. Same halls. Same white coats. Same pagers and protocol. I walked differently, not because I wanted to be noticed, but because I didn’t want to disappear. I greeted the few colleagues I remembered by their name. Asked about their kids, their specialty tracks. I smiled more. Not wide, just enough to signal I was really there. Present. Choosing this version of myself on purpose.
Morning rounds started with a familiar cadence. Vitals, labs, review the charts, check the boards. But my pace was different. Intentional. Unrushed. I didn’t move like I had something to prove, only something to give.
Room 408:Janelle, age 9, Wilms tumor, post-nephrectomy and first round of chemo.
I was greeted with bright eyes and a high ponytail carefully brushed by her mother this morning. She showed me her unicorn stickers as I checked her port’s site dressing. She said the sparkiest one was for her nurse if today didn’t hurt too bad.
