𝐹𝑟𝑒𝑒 𝑋𝑜𝑛𝑒

𝐿𝑋𝐼

Tyra opened her favorite bottle just for the occasion. I sat on her bar stool, my arm and head leaning against the cool marble of her kitchen island. The subtle patterns of the countertop blurred as I stared at it, unfocused, my face resting heavily in my hand. The air smelled faintly of whatever scented candle Tyra always burned, vanilla and warm amber, and it mixed with the sharp, unmistakable aroma of liquor as the cork popped.

"Oh! Ouuu, this is my favorite," Tyra cooed, her voice full of faux excitement as she tried to lighten the mood. The singsong quality in her tone didn't quite reach me, but I appreciated her effort.

I felt everything all at once, relieved, happy, sad, and hurt, an exhausting concoction of emotions swirling around inside of me. The hollow ache in my chest wouldn't settle, and every word, every thought, felt like it carried a weight that pinned me down. I could hear her pouring the liquor, the steady glug of the liquid hitting the glass echoing through the quiet kitchen. Finally, I turned my head to look at her.

Tyra stood on the other side of the counter, her small frame outlined against the soft glow of the kitchen lights. She was barefoot, her sweatpants cuffed at the ankle, and her oversized hoodie hung loose around her as she tipped the bottle, filling one glass, then holding it up proudly. Her face lit up with a mischievous smile as she crossed to my side, raising her brows as she handed the glass to me.

"That's a lot, Tyra," I whined, eyeing the generous pour.

"It'll help you loosen up and relax," she replied simply, already turning to pour herself a glass. I watched as she filled hers just as much, if not more, before taking a long sip, as if it were water. She froze mid-gulp and stared at me, wide-eyed and overdramatic, like she'd forgotten how to drink altogether.

I couldn't help it, I laughed, though it was soft and brief, like a puff of air escaping.

"What?" she asked, her eyes still wide with mock innocence.

"Nothing," I said with a small shake of my head.

And then, suddenly, my phone rang.

The sound cut through the room like a knife, jolting me. My heart leapt, hopeful and anxious all at once. I wanted it to be Janet. Please let it be Janet. I glanced at Tyra, searching for reassurance. She noticed the way my eyes darted toward my lap, where the phone was buzzing, and she motioned down with her hand. "Go ahead, answer it."

"I'll give you your space," she added softly, grabbing the bottle and her glass before disappearing toward the living room. I watched her retreating figure, her small steps deliberate as the bottle dangled loosely from her fingertips. Her effort to leave me alone, her understanding without asking too many questions, meant more than I could say.

I exhaled, bracing myself, then pulled the phone from my pocket. My shoulders sagged when I saw the name. Steven.

"Hello?" I answered, pressing the phone to my ear.

"Hey, Mariah. How are you?"

Something in his tone sounded off, nervous, hesitant, and it immediately put me on edge. Steven never got nervous. He was the one who always handled situations so I didn't have to. Hearing his voice waver made my stomach twist.

"I'm good... what's going on, Steven?" My voice stayed steady, though my pulse quickened.

There was a brief pause. "Don't be mad at me, but, um... a woman claiming to be your mother is asking me for your number."

His words hit me like a bucket of ice water. I straightened slightly, gripping the glass in my free hand as if it might anchor me. "And?"

"I kinda gave her your number."