Page 243 of Invisible Bars
Imanio leapt to his feet beside me.
My chest heaved as if I had just sprinted through a battlefield. My fingers shook uncontrollably, and my tongue pressed hard against the roof of my mouth, trying to keep my tics at bay.
“White-on-white crime incoming!You snake in stilettos! Bible study, but violent!” I shouted, a chaotic mix of emotions flooding my voice.
The room fell into stunned silence, eyes wide and mouths slightly agape.
“Whoa. Baby, do… do you know these people?” Imanio asked, his voice low but sharp with concern.
My breath hitched.
“They’re… they’re my parents. And that’s my sister,” I divulged.
Imanio paused like he had to remind himself he was at a dinner table and not a war table. Then he turned to Giselle, slowly… dangerously.
"Don’t tell me you did what I think you did,” he said, each word carefully selected.
Giselle stood with her wine glass raised like she was making a toast in hell.
“What?” she said smoothly. “It’s a reunion. I thought it was time.”
“Youthought?” Imanio growled, eyes narrowing like loaded triggers. “Giselle, you really went behind my backandhers and brought people she cut off—without at least speaking to one of us first. You know… asking if she still fucked with them or not?”
“I didn’t think it was a problem. Forgive me for wanting to understand her roots,” Giselle replied, tone sweet like spoiled fruit. “You never told me she was Nigerian.”
“Maybe because you never got the chance to really know her to find out. Secondly, it wasn’t your business,” he snapped. “And why the fuck would that matter? And if you wanted to understand her roots, that’s what Google is for. So try again!”
“Now who in their right mind invites the ghost of trauma to a damn dinner table?” Mama Rose voiced her opinion. “Chile, we was supposed to be eating’ greens, not unpacking’ grief. I don’t even know the situation, but there’s some trauma there, the way that baby is looking.”
I began to spiral.
My fist hit the table with a thud.
“Who boiled the devil and served him dinner?! You ain’t got no love in that wine glass, just vinegar and vibes!”
Then—with a calmness that belied my rising anger—I looked her dead in the eyes and said, “You really sat there and madeyour curiositymore important than my peace. Rebuke your brunches in satin! Karma’s on her period and you’re next!”
Giselle shook her head slowly, stepping back like the very air she breathed had turned poisonous.
The room went quiet until my father finally spoke, his voice low and commanding.
“We only came because this lady told us our daughter wanted to see us. We were toldNajihad invited us.” My mom’s eyes welled up with tears, guilt painted all over her carefully done face. “We would never have shown up just to be used as weapons against her.”
“Well, s-she lied,” I rasped, the words dry in my throat before my tics shoved their way forward: “Dead dandelions in Dior! Bloodline betrayal!”
I turned toward Imanio, my tics slicing through my chest, my neck, my hands like wires sparking on contact.
“T-take me out of here! Emergency exit—liar in lace!—cancel the communion!”
Before I could finish, he was already guiding me out of the room, his hand a steady anchor against the chaos rolling through me. We moved down the hall and into a quiet room off the kitchen.
I collapsed onto the bed—hands trembling, legs no longer willing to hold me up.
Imanio knelt in front of me, his hands warm on both sides of my face.
“Breathe in and out, baby,” he coached. “You’re okay. I’m here. And remember… they donotget to control your peace.”
“I h-hate her! And I don’t hate anyone… but her,” I cried, tears rushing down like they’d been waiting weeks.
