Mireya stepped out of an OB exam room with a printout folded twice in her hand and the strap of her purse already halfway down her arm. She pushed the paper into the side pocket of the purse and zipped it closed, her eyes on the corridor ahead. The hallway carried the smell of hand sanitizer and the cleaner they used on the tile, a chemical sweetness that sat against the back of her throat. A woman in scrubs cut across the corridor pushing an empty wheelchair, the rubber wheels squeaking once where they hit a seam in the floor. Down at the far end, the exit doors held a square of thin pale sun against the glass.
She got six steps toward it.
"Mireya."
Her name came from behind her. Her shoulders pulled half an inch tight under her hoodie. She let out a breath through her nose and turned.
Stephanie was coming up the corridor with her lanyard swinging against her chest and a folder tucked under her arm. She raised her hand a little as she got closer.
Mireya's tongue pushed against the inside of her cheek. She caught the eye roll before it landed and held still, her purse strap settling back into the groove on her shoulder.
Stephanie stopped a step away, body positioned at an angle, not blocking an exit. "Hey. Do you have a minute to talk?"
"I have class in about an hour."
"It won't take that long. I just knew you had an appointment today and wanted to check in on you."
Mireya pressed her lips into a line. She kept her eyes on Stephanie's face and gave her a nod.
"Okay."
Stephanie tipped her chin past her own shoulder. "I think there's a meeting room down here that's empty."
She turned and started walking. Mireya stepped in behind her, her shoes tapping a half beat off Stephanie's loafers on the tile. They passed a bank of plastic chairs where an older woman sat with a paperback open in her lap, a vending machine and a corkboard tacked over with flyers in English and Spanish, the corners curling. Stephanie stopped at a door three down from the corner, tested the handle, and pushed it open. She reached around the frame and flicked the light on, then stepped back and held the door for Mireya.
Mireya walked in. The room was small, a table in the center with four chairs around it, no window, a watercooler humming low in the corner. She took the chair on the long side of the table and sat down, setting her purse on the chair beside her. Stephanie came around to the same side and pulled out the chair next to Mireya's, folder set down between them and folded her hands in her lap.
"How are you doing, Mireya?"
Mireya shrugged. "I'm pregnant."
"Do you think that's a bad thing?"
Mireya shook her head. "I'm just saying that I'm tired. You know, growing a child is exhausting."
Stephanie nodded. Her hands stayed folded, her thumb pressing once against the back of the other thumb, then releaseing. "I was looking over your file the other day, and I saw that you put your child's father's mother as the emergency contact for everything. Sara Guerra, right?" She let a small beat go. "Do you have family here in the United States?"
Mireya snorted a laugh. "I was born here, Stephanie. In this same hospital." Her chin lifted toward the wall and came back down. "Just like my child. Just like the next one."
Stephanie's hand came off the folder. "I didn't mean it like that."
"My mother lives here. In the Ninth Ward, aunts, uncles, cousins."
Stephanie nodded again, slower this time. Her eyes stayed on Mireya's face for a beat past comfortable. "And you don't feel that's a safe place for you to find support?"
"I have support. You just said you looked in my file and I have someone there, right?"
A small smile pulled at the corner of Stephanie's mouth. "You're right. Ms. Guerra."
She turned to the folder and opened it on the table between them. Her fingers slid past two stapled forms before they came back with a business card pinched between her index and middle finger. She slid it across the table toward Mireya, the card stopping a few inches from Mireya's hand.
"This is for a psychologist here in New Orleans. I'm not saying there is anything wrong with you, just that you're considered a high risk case mentally. If you'd like to give her a call, it may be helpful for you to speak with a professional."
Mireya's hand came forward. She picked up the card and brought it close enough to read. The cardstock was thick and matte, white, the name printed in a small clean serif at the top. Fernanda Calero, PhD with a phone number underneath.
She dropped the card back onto the table. "I don't need that."
Stephanie's smile stayed where it was. "I didn't say that you did, Mireya. It's just something else that could be helpful for you. You don't even need to call. I'd just like for you to have it. Is that okay?"
Mireya stared at her. The hum of the watercooler moved in under the silence, low and steady, a sound her ear picked up only because nothing else was filling the room. Stephanie stayed still, clinical, professional, her hands folded in her lap.
Mireya picked up the card, her thumb pressed it flat against her index finger and she turned her purse toward her with her other hand, unzipping the side pocket where the OB printout had gone. She dropped the card in on top of the paper and zipped it back closed.
"I have to get to class."
Stephanie nodded and pushed her chair back. The legs scraped on the tile. She stood, the folder coming up with her, tucked into the crook of her arm.
"If you'd let me, I'd like to follow up with you in a couple of weeks."
Mireya stood too, her purse going up onto her shoulder. "It's not like I have a choice in it."
"I hope you don't feel that way or that I've given you reason to feel that way. We're on the same team here."
Mireya's head moved side to side, once, tight. "I gotta go."
Stephanie stepped back from the chair to clear the space between Mireya and the door. She set her hand at the side of her hip. "We'll talk more soon. I hope you have a wonderful day, Mireya."
Mireya was already moving past her, the strap of her purse catching once on the back of the chair before it pulled free.
"Yeah, you too."
She crossed the room in four steps and pushed the door open. Mireya turned toward the exit and started walking.
~~~
Autumn sat at the kitchen table with a salad bowl pulled up close to the edge and her fork moving through the leaves with no real interest. She speared a cherry tomato and ate it, then dragged the tines through the dressing pooled at the bottom of the bowl, slow, watching it bead back together where the metal had cut through it. Her phone sat face up beside the bowl, the screen lit. Her thumb scrolled through the timeline, the feed loading and reloading without her registering most of what passed under it.
Above her, through the long hallway that ran toward the back of the house, the strip of light over her mother's office door cast a thin yellow line along the hardwood. Autumn's eyes flicked to it every few seconds. Light still on. Still on. Still on.
She set the fork down and tapped her fingertips against the edge of the table, an irregular run that started with her ring finger and worked back to her index. She sighed, pushed the bowl away with the heel of her hand, and stood up. Her chair scraped back against the floor. She grabbed the keys off the counter and turned toward the foyer.
The light cut.
Autumn stopped where she was, keys in her palm, her eyes coming back to the line of the doorframe down the hall. She set the keys back on the counter and crossed the kitchen.
She came up to the office door, brought her knuckles up and gave it three light taps.
"Come in."
Autumn pushed the door open and leaned her head and one shoulder through the gap. Her mother was already pushing back from the desk, the chair rolling on its mat, her hand coming up to slide a small magnetic cover across the lens of the webcam on top of the monitor. She checked the cover with her thumb, gave it a nudge, and let the chair settle.
"Mama, you got another client soon?"
Nadine shook her head. "Not for thirty minutes. You need something?"
Autumn nodded. "I need to ask your opinion on something."
"You should've just told me that. Come on."
Nadine waved her in with two fingers. Autumn pushed the door the rest of the way and stepped into the room. The office held the same arrangement it always had, bookshelves on the left wall, the spines color blocked, framed degrees behind the desk, a small ficus in the corner with a watering can tucked behind its base. The couch sat along the right wall, the throw blanket folded along the back, a box of tissues centered on the side table. Autumn passed the couch and dropped into the armchair instead, her legs folding under her, one knee coming up onto the cushion.
Nadine watched the choice. Her mouth lifted at one corner. She closed the notebook on the desk, set the reading glasses on top of it, and rolled her chair across the rug until she was angled toward the armchair.
"What is it?"
Autumn drew a breath in through her nose and let it back out. "So I need some relationship advice."
Nadine smiled. "I didn't know you still felt you needed to ask me about that."
Autumn rolled her eyes, her head dropping back against the chair. "I ask you about plenty of guys."
Nadine laughed, her hand coming up to her chest in the same motion. "You haven't in years. I think maybe there was one guy when you were in high school. What was his name? Jayson? Terry? Stacy? Before Miles."
"Carnell?"
"Oh shit, I was way off."
Autumn shook her head. The smile was already slipping off her mouth before she got to the next sentence, and she rolled her wrist in a small circle, gesturing the conversation forward.
"So, anyway. I've been talking to this guy who just transferred to SC this semester. Football player. Things were fine. He's honest, maybe too honest. He has a kid."
Nadine's chest rose and fell on a long sigh. Her chin came down a fraction. "Please don't tell me he's one of those baby daddy types."
"No. I don't think he is. He says he takes care of his daughter. He's 'cordial' with his child's mother. Doesn't talk down on her or anything."
"But?"
Autumn pressed her tongue against the inside of her cheek. Her foot shifted against the cushion. "He has another child on the way with the same woman."
"Wow." Nadine's eyebrows went up and stayed there for a beat before they came back down. "I can see why you came to me for this one."
"Come on, now, mama. I didn't see this coming."
"What did he say about the mother? Their relationship?"
"That they aren't together."
"Do you believe him?"
Autumn's mouth pulled at one corner. "I feel like I shouldn't."
Nadine's head tilted a degree. The professional edge that lived under everything she said came forward in her tone.
"Feel like you shouldn't or you don't. Those are two different answers."
Autumn looked at her mother. The two of them held the look across the rug, Nadine's hands folded loose in her lap, her ankles crossed under the chair.
"He doesn't lie about anything. He told me he was a dad like the second time we spoke. Told me he's done time. He—"
Nadine's hand came up, her wrist flicking once. "Done time? Really, Autumn?"
"He goes to USC. It can't be that bad. Can we stay on track?"
Nadine pressed her hand to her forehead, her fingertips pushing into the hairline at her temple. "Lord Jesus, save me." Her hand dropped to her thigh. "Okay, look. I would have a conversation with him. If he's that forthcoming with you when you aren't even dating, there is no reason to choose that one tidbit to withhold. He'd just hide all of it. All of it is bad for a woman of your caliber."
Autumn's foot uncurled from under her and came down to the rug. She leaned forward, forearm settling on the armrest, her chin dropping into her palm.
"And what is the golden answer from that conversation?"
Nadine snorted out a laugh, her shoulders moving with it. "Girl, you know this doesn't work like that. What you want the golden answer to be is the golden answer." She paused. Her index finger tapped once against her thigh. "The question is, if you continue this, when are you bringing this young man here so me and your father can run rule over him. Since he's a damn criminal, but you love them bad boys."
Autumn rolled her eyes, her head dropping back against the armchair, her palms coming up off the armrest.
"Now you doing too much."
~~~
Sena sat with her ankles crossed and her hands flat on her thighs, her fingertips pressed lightly against the denim. The couch cushion held firm under her weight, the dark gray fabric catching a thin sheen from the window. The throw pillow she'd shoved against her hip on the way in still pressed its corner into her ribs through her sweater.
Across the rug, Celia had her notebook open against her knee, the pen capped between her fingers. Her glasses caught the light off the window each time she turned her head a few degrees.
"You mentioned earlier that you've been a little confused about some things lately," Celia said. "Do you want to talk about that?"
Sena tapped her fingers against her thigh, two short runs from index to ring and back. She drew in a breath, held it for a beat, and let it out. Her shoulders lifted and dropped.
"Sure, I guess. I just don't know how to talk about it without making it sound like something that it's not."
Celia's shoulder rose half an inch in a small shrug, the cardigan shifting against the chair.
"It's whatever you say that it is."
Sena's tongue moved against the back of her teeth. She pulled her eyes off the rug and brought them up to Celia's face.
"So, my roommate Cassidy got a fucking stripper pole and put it in the living room."
"That's a good way to stay in shape as I understand it."
"Well, she's using it to become a social media influencer. TikTok star."
"Is that bothering you?"
Sena shook her head, her hair shifting along her shoulders. "I think it's dumb, but whatever she wants to do, I mean, I guess I'll support it. It wasn't Cassidy that got me confused, though. It was Mireya."
Celia's pen lowered to the page. "Tell me about that."
Sena drew in another breath, longer this time, and let it back out through her nose. Her thumb dragged once across the seam of her jeans.
"So, we walked into the apartment, me, Frankie and Mireya. I saw the pole and we were talking about it then Mireya just gets on it and starts doing all this stuff like it was second nature." Her hand came up and made a small horizontal motion in the air between them. "Not like 'I learned this in a studio somewhere with soccer moms,' you know? More than that."
"Did you ask her about it?"
Sena shook her head. "No. She said it was from a class."
"But you don't think it was."
"No."
"Would it bother you if it was from her actually being a stripper?"
Sena opened her mouth, then paused, her bottom lip catching against her teeth. She let it go. "I don't think so. No, I said before it wouldn't. It wouldn't."
Celia nodded, the dip slow. "Okay. So, what else happened?"
"She kept staring at me, while she was on the pole, after, winked at me, all this shit."
"She wanted to see if you were watching."
Sena shook her head. The motion was quick, automatic. "No, I think it was just coincidence."
"Did she do that to anyone else in that living room?"
Sena's eyes moved off Celia and went to the rug, to the same square of woven gray and cream where they always landed. Her thumb rolled the seam of her jeans again.
"I don't think so. Not that I saw anyway."
"And were you watching her?"
"I mean, yeah. If your friend gets up on a stripper pole and starts holding herself out on it with just her arms while making waves with her legs, you're going to look."
Celia's pen tapped once against the spiral binding. The tap was barely a sound. "I didn't mean it like that. I meant, were you watching her?"
Sena's eyes lifted off the rug. They found Celia's face and held there for a long beat before her chin tipped a fraction.
"Like if I thought it was hot?"
Celia nodded.
Sena pulled her tongue across her bottom lip and her thumb pressed harder into the seam. "Obviously. It's meant to be, right?"
"I don't think doing pole work is inherently supposed to be sexual."
Sena snorted a laugh. "If you saw this, I think you'd have to change your opinion."
"Okay, so then she was being sexual and she wanted to make sure that you saw her doing it."
Sena's shoulders pulled up half an inch and dropped. "I guess."
Celia's pen moved against the margin of the page. A small tick. She didn't look down at the mark. "How would that change your friendship if that were the case?"
Sena's hand came off her thigh and went to the throw pillow at her side. Her fingers wrapped around the corner of it, the fabric bunching a little under her grip. Her thumb pressed into the seam there.
"I don't know. It's just confusing because she keeps saying she's straight and she's pregnant again for Caine. But I saw her one time making out with her friend."
"That is confusing, but isn't that pretty typical for a college student to experiment?"
Sena shook her head once. "This was different. You could tell. It was more like a relationship thing, intimate, not just playful." Her grip tightened on the pillow. "And to make it more complicated, this friend works with her. You know, the job she goes to at 6 or 7 at night and gets off from at 2 or 3 in the morning."
Celia's hand stilled on the page. Her chin dipped once. The pen rotated a quarter turn between her thumb and middle finger before she settled it again.
"This is very complicated. Would you be willing to speak to Mireya and try to figure out what's going on for clarity?"
Sena drew a breath in through her nose. The breath kept going, deeper than the ones before, her ribs pressing out against the sweater and pulling the fabric tight along her side. Her thumb went still on the pillow seam. Her eyes moved past Celia, past the armchair, past the bookshelf, and stopped on the window where the light pressed thin and pale against the glass.
~~~
They came up off the curb on Figueroa in a loose line, Cam beside Caine with one hand still on his phone and the other in his pocket, Rachaad on the other side with his hood half up against the wind cutting through the plaza. The arena rose ahead of them with the LED ring around the top running through its rotation of sponsors, the Lakers logo holding for a beat between every pass. Vendors crowded the wide walkway, hot dog smell layering over the diesel coming off the tour buses lined up along the curb past the entrance. A scalper held tickets fanned in his hand at the corner, calling at people who passed while two cops on bikes worked a slow patrol across the top of the steps.
Cam tapped Caine in the chest with the back of his hand and turned his head toward Rachaad.
"Bruh, I swear this nigga be trying to set me up in practice. Throwing shit that I gotta turn on the jets to get to or trying to take a nigga fingers off."
Caine laughed, his shoulders moving with it. "You can't let a motherfucker get his shine on? I'm still trying to prove myself, brudda. You just need to make sure that you get to that bitch. You fast, huh?"
Rachaad waved them off with a flick of his fingers, his other hand still tucked into the pocket of his hoodie.
"Y'all talking like I ain't one of the niggas be on the field when y'all doing all this shit. I'm tired of being with this garbage ass backup niggas. All these niggas can get off my team."
Caine looked over at him. "I ain't trying to clown you, big brudda, but how you gonna call them trash when you out there with the same unit?"
Rachaad's chin lifted. "Because there's levels to this shit. It's niggas that don't belong nowhere around the team out there. I'm just a little slower than these other niggas at safety but I'm a starter at 90% of these fucking schools."
Cam stepped a little closer to Rachaad. "We know you a dog, too, my nigga."
Rachaad shook his head and stepped a half pace away from Cam, his mouth pulling at one corner. "Don't be trying to son me, bruh."
Caine laughed. Cam laughed harder, his head tipping back. They kept moving toward the entrance.
A voice came from the line off to their left, riding over the noise of the crowd.
"Hey, lil' homies!"
The three of them turned at the same time. Nap stood in the line at the second set of doors with Steez beside him and three other men behind them. Nap was in a red hoodie with the strings pulled tight and a black puffer over the top, his red Chucks coming up off the concrete with each shift of his weight. Steez had his chain out over a black tee, a red Texas Rangers cap pulled low. The three guys behind them were all in red, two of them holding cups, one with a phone pressed against his ear.
Caine, Cam and Rachaad cut across the back of the line and walked up. Daps went around the circle, each of them moving down the line in turn, the order shifting once Nap pulled Rachaad in tighter than the rest. The line behind them shuffled forward a step and the gap closed in front of them as the security funneled people through.
Nap laughed, his free hand coming up and pressing against his chest. "I keep running into you lil' niggas everywhere man."
Rachaad shrugged, his shoulders settling back. "You know we gotta be out in the city. Can't stay just sitting on campus and shit like them white kids."
"I hear you, lil' homie."
Nap turned a quarter on his heel and tipped his chin at Caine.
"I know you sitting front row, superstar, not with us poor niggas sitting up in the nosebleeds."
Caine held his hands up, the corner of his mouth lifting. "I'm just taking advantage of all this money that they giving me to enjoy everything the city got to offer."
Cam tipped his cup toward Caine. "Especially all these white bitches."
Caine sucked his teeth. The other guys laughed, Nap and Steez at the same time, the laugh rolling through the small group and tapering off as Steez wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.
Steez's chain swung as he leaned forward, his weight shifting onto his front foot. "You gotta watch them out here. Everyone a sack chaser, looking for that big payday. Only way it go in the Land."
Nap nodded, his head dipping with each word. "That's facts. All these people bring their asses out here thinking they gonna get rich, but especially them white hoes."
Caine waved his hand at the air between them. "These motherfuckers exaggerating. I ain't trying to end up like y'all GOAT Kobe."
Rachaad's head came around fast, his eyes finding Caine. "Disrespectful to even suggest he actually did that shit."
Caine's eyebrow lifted. "You think he didn't?"
Nap snorted a laugh out of his nose. "I know he fucked her. Maybe he hit that shit too hard. Bitch tender."
Steez nodded, his hand coming up to settle his chain back against his chest. "I done came across my fair share of them that can't take more dick that they claimed."
Cam's hand came up between them. "I feel like this need an ayo somewhere."
The whole group laughed. Rachaad's head tipped back, his hand coming up to scrub at the side of his face. One of the guys behind Nap and Steez laughed without even fully tracking what had been said, just rolling with the rest of them.
The line moved another step.
Nap rolled his shoulder once and tilted his head toward Steez.
"Y'all should give the homie Steez a little IG boost for his music." He nodded toward Caine, his chin lifting. "Especially you, lil' homie. Being the quarterback and shit at USC."
Caine shrugged. "Fine with me."
Steez's hand was already in his pocket. He pulled out his phone, swiped once on the screen, and held it out to one of the guys with him, the one with his phone still pressed against his ear.
"Take a picture of us for my socials, nigga."
The guy lowered his phone and pocketed it, taking Steez's phone in the same motion, his thumb already finding the camera button. He stepped back two steps to clear the angle and lifted the phone.
The seven of them collapsed into a line, Caine in the middle with Rachaad on one side and Nap on the other, Cam stepping in Nap, Steez on the far end with the other two guys filling the gaps.
The guy with the phone tapped the screen twice, then lowered the phone and turned it around to look at the screen. He angled it back toward Steez.
"That'll do."
Steez took the phone back and slid it into his pocket. Nap turned to Caine first, his hand already coming up. The dap rolled into a half hug, Nap's free hand coming up to clap Caine on the back twice before he stepped away.
"You alright, blood."
Caine nodded once. "Appreciate the love, man."
Nap moved down the line. Cam dapped him up next, the two of them quick about it, then Rachaad, the hold a beat longer than Cam's. Steez worked his way through the same order behind Nap. The three guys behind them stayed where they were, hands lifting in small acknowledgments as the line shuffled forward another step toward the doors.
Caine, Cam and Rachaad peeled back across the walkway toward their entrance on the other side. They cut through the crowd in single file, Cam taking the lead, Rachaad bringing up the back. Behind them, Nap and Steez's group rolled forward into their gate, the laugh still moving through them as the security wand swept across Steez's chest.
Rachaad pulled even with Caine on the open stretch of concrete past the line.
"I'm really starting to think you was affiliated back in Louisiana."
Caine shook his head and laughed as they continued through the VIP entrance.
