“She’s my calm,” I said simply. “My truth.”
My father leaned back, eyes warming behind his glasses. “That’s the kind of woman your mother prayed you’d find one day. The kind who steadies you without dimming your fire.”
Something in me softened. “You think she’d like her?”
“She’d love her,” he said without hesitation. “She’d say,finally, one who doesn’t run from your quiet.”
We laughed—grief flickering into light.
When the laughter faded, he reached to the table beside him, lifted a slim black envelope sealed with gold wax, and slid it over to my brothers. “Since we’re talking about the ball…”
I frowned. The seal bore the same emblem as my invitation.
“There’s one more where that came from,” he said, eyes cutting to Micah and Cairo. “Thought it was time all my sons made an appearance.”
Micah arched a brow. “You’re matchmaking now?”
Alan shrugged, the ghost of mischief curling at the edge of his mouth. “Let’s just say the organizers owed me a favor. Figured you boys might enjoy some good company.”
“Good company?” Cairo echoed, half-laughing.
“Names like Selena and Tasha ring a bell?” Alan asked, deliberately casual.
My brothers exchanged a look, interest lighting behind their eyes.
“Dad,” I said, shaking my head. “You didn’t.”
“Oh, I did,” he said. “If that retreat’s as special as you claim, I’d like to see what kind of women run it. Maybe even get my sons out of their own way.”
Micah smirked. “You’ve officially lost your edge.”
“Or found it,” Alan countered. “Legacy’s not just about numbers, boys. It’s about what—andwho—you build it with.”
Cairo lifted his glass. “Well, hell. Guess we’re going to a ball.”
I laughed, half in disbelief, half in gratitude. “Y’all behave. They’re like family to Naima.”
“Family,” Cairo said, grinning. “That just means we’ll come correct.”
Alan chuckled into his drink, the sound like something long-forgotten finding its way back. “Look at my boys—acting like love’s a business pitch.”
“Maybe it’s time we all found our ‘just right,’” Cairo said, and this time his voice carried something earnest under the tease.
Micah nodded, quiet but sure. “Yeah. Maybe it is.”
We raised our glasses, the clink soft but heavy with meaning—three sons, one father, and the echo of a woman who’d once made love look easy.
Dad lifted his glass again, and as if on cue, the record in the corner skipped once before settling into a familiar note. Sarah Vaughan’s voice rose, low and velvet, spilling through the room with the same grace our mother used to bring to Sunday mornings.
For a heartbeat, all four of us went quiet. That voice was memory, was home.
Dad’s gaze softened. “Your mother used to play this when she wanted us to remember joy,” he said quietly. “Seems right tonight.”
The words hung there, tender and heavy all at once.
We raised our glasses again—not just to the ball, or to whatever matchmaking magic he was plotting—but to her.To the woman who made this house more than marble and ambition. To the love that still lived between the cracks of her absence.
The crystal clinked softly, almost in rhythm with Sarah’s lingering note.
