Page 41 of In Another Time

Whatever image I had. . . Yeah. I’d felt it. I knew exactly what it was supposed to feel like. And it hadn’t been at that table.

“ButIlove you,” she said suddenly, stepping closer. Her voice was quiet now, trembling. “I love you, Omir. Not for your business. Not because of what you’ve built. I love you for who you are. Your fire. Your loyalty. Your stubborn ass heart that feels everything too deeply.”

I didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. My chest was tight. My mind a blur.

“And I don’t care what my family thinks,” she added, reaching for my hands. “I should’ve defended you. You’re right. I froze. But don’t walk away thinking you’re alone in this. You’re not.”

Her fingers slid into mine, warm and trembling. I looked down at our hands. . . then up at her. And I saw it. The sincerity. The softness behind her perfection. She looked like she meant it. So I pulled her in and kissed her. Long. Deep. Slow.

Her hands slid to the back of my neck, and I felt her melt into me like she needed this moment to breathe. And maybe I did too. When we broke apart, our foreheads rested together, our breaths mingling in the space between us.

“I just need you to standbesideme,” I murmured. “Not behind me. Not in silence. Beside me. That’s it.”

She nodded. “I hear you. And I’m here. All the way.”

I closed my eyes for a second and let that sink in. Let it settle. We stood there in the breeze, wrapped in something tender, something hard-earned. And for the first time all day, the storm in my chest started to settle. But even as I held her. . . a different name echoed in the back of my mind.

Lennox.

Not loud. Not intrusive. Just. . . there. Lingering like smoke. A familiar ache wrapped in the memory of warmth. A memory of the way her family had embraced me without needing proof. The way her mom had patted my shoulder like I belonged.

And it hit me. . . Even in Anya’s arms, I felt the ghost of something I hadn’t let go of. Something that maybe. . . hadn’t let go of me.

LENNOX

The day of my father’s funeral felt surreal, like I was floating outside of myself watching everything unfold. I sat in the front pew of the church, surrounded by my family, yet I felt completely alone. The weight of the day pressed on my chest, making it hard to breathe, hard to think.

As the pastor spoke about my father’s life, I tried to focus on his words, but my mind kept drifting. I thought about all the things my dad used to say to me—his advice, his jokes, his warm laugh that could fill a room. He was the first man to tell me I was strong, the first to tell me I deserved the best in life. And now he was gone.

The sound of my mother’s quiet sobs brought me back to the present. She was holding onto my brother’s arm, her face hiddenbehind a handkerchief. I reached over and squeezed her hand, trying to offer some comfort, though I felt just as broken.

When it was my turn to speak, I stood on shaky legs and made my way to the podium. The church was packed—friends, extended family, coworkers, and neighbors who had all come to say goodbye. I gripped the sides of the lectern, took a deep breath, and began.

“My dad was everything to me,” I started, my voice trembling. “He was my guide, my protector, my biggest supporter. He taught me how to stand tall, even when life tried to knock me down. He wasn’t perfect—none of us are—but he loved fiercely and deeply, and that’s what I’ll always carry with me.”

I paused, swallowing the lump in my throat as tears blurred my vision. “He used to tell me that family is the most important thing in the world. And looking around this room, I can see how much he meant to all of you. Thank you for being here to honor him. He would’ve been so touched.”

As I stepped down and returned to my seat, the weight of my grief hit me like a tidal wave. The rest of the service passed in a haze, and before I knew it, we were at the cemetery, standing under a gray sky as my father’s casket was lowered into the ground.

I clutched a single white rose, my fingers trembling as I let it fall onto the casket. “Goodbye, Daddy,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “I’ll make you proud.”

Back at my parents’ house, the repast was in full swing. The living room was filled with the buzz of conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the sound of children playing. My siblings and I sat together, surrounded by our significant others and extended family. Everyone was sharing stories about my dad, laughing and crying as they remembered him.

“Remember when Daddy tried to fix the washing machine and flooded the entire laundry room?” Lorna said, laughing through her tears.

“He swore he knew what he was doing,” my brother Lawrence added. “And then he blamed it on the instructions being wrong.”

We all laughed, the sound bittersweet. These were the moments I would hold onto—the laughter, the love, the feeling of being surrounded by people who understood my loss because it was theirs too.

After a while, I needed some air. I slipped out the back door and onto the porch, the cool evening breeze brushing against my skin. I sat down on the steps, letting the tears I’d been holding back fall freely. I was so caught up in my emotions that I didn’t hear Sherelle’s car pull up until she called out my name.

“Lennox?”

I turned to see her walking toward me, a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a box of desserts in the other. “Sherelle,” I said, wiping my eyes. “You didn’t have to come.”

“Of course I did,” she said, handing me the flowers. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there. Life be life’ing.”

I hugged her tightly, grateful for her presence. “Thank you.”

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