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Ziyah's POV

Ms. Hamilton makes Lucas green tea, and he would deny it, but they have their mother son gossip sessions. Not wanting to intrude on that I say goodbye to Lucas even though he's knocked out, and get into my car where Daya's finished shoes that now have a rose on the right side sit in my passenger seat. I worked on them a good portion of the night before going back to sleep on the pull out couch, and it may not mean shit coming from me, but they look pretty good.

It's early and the streets are pretty empty making it easy for me to drive down them as the sky transitions from a pink to a blue. I never used to look at the sky before I met Daya who has several photos and videos on her phone of the sunset. I mean the sky is nice and all, but it ain't nice enough to lose all that storage space.

I slowly drive down my street looking at the other houses, and not wanting to see mine. I take up every second I can, by looking at the quiet streets where the only thing that can be heard is the annoying ass birds and the wind blowing at the leaves that won't fall. Everything just seems so fucking peaceful or as Daya's smart ass would serene. I would keep slowly driving like this for as long as I can, but there is a mailman behind me, and I'm low on gas.

Relieving the old mail man with his salt and pepper beard and santa clause stomach I park in front of my house where unfortunately my mom's car is parked in the driveway. I was dumb if I thought I could avoid her forever she's my mom and knowing her she's gonna talk just like Ms.Hamilton in Lucas, but in her own good energy let me hold your hand way.

Before I get out of my car I open my phone and look at the picture of Daya sleeping on her desk which I don't get tired of seeing. I look at her sleeping smile and her braids in her middle part, and when I feel a tad better I make my way to my front door.

Hannah's dusty ass station wagon isn't parked in front of the house, but still as I go up the porch steps I hope Bree is in there drunk or sober and ready to ease the tension that I don't think mom will be able to put out with sage.

I fumble in my jean pockets for my keys and open the door to the smell of dark black coffee and pastries. My feet immediately make a large sound on top of the damn hardwood floors, and I can't help but wish mom carpeted the house like she was thinking about some years ago.

"Is that my baby boy who can't text back," my mom's voice sings through the house. I want to just go to my room, but I know that's not an option and I take my time walking to the kitchen. When I get there I see my mom sitting on an island stool with a mug filled to the rim with tea. On the island is a basket with a white napkin inside and many pastries I don't bother looking at on top of it. Across from her is Bree with a filled mug as well but hers is where the coffee smell is coming from, and she wears her usual unamused look.

"There's my boy," mom says. She looks the same as she did when I saw her hugging dad, with her shawl, smile, and beads all on. Maybe it's because I'm mad at her, but the glow that usually takes over her face isn't present as she picks up her mug.

"Hey mom," I say. I sit next to her reluctantly and Bree shoots me a peace sign while smelling her coffee.

Mom grabs a muffin top out of the basket and sets it on a napkin in front of me. "Ms. Hamilton called and said you were sleeping over there, next time I would appreciate it to hear from my own son, but it's all good as long as you're safe." Mom pushes some of my dreads behind my ear and she takes a moment to gaze at me while she adjusts it behind my ear. When she takes her eyes off of me she puts them on the muffin top. "Now eat I've got to tell you guys something important that is a bit serious, I know Angela is not here, but I'm going to call her tonight."

At those words Bree takes a long sip of her coffee which I'd imagine is gonna hurt her throat, and we exchange looks when she puts the mug down. I think we're debating if we're going to tell mom we know, but Bree's eyes raise and look at my muffin top. "It's the last blueberry," she mouths when mom's eyes are on her tea.