She looks at me and I nod. “Rojala.”

“Ma’am,” I say.

“Rojala, ma’am,” she repeats.

“Well, we got plenty to eat and you look like you could use a bite or two. Come on now.” The door slaps shut behind us, and Tasha about knocks me over. She has two cats, one in each arm. I flash Julius a look. She’s a cat lady now, apparently. My sister.

“You’re back!”

“Uh, not exactly,” Julius says, and I elbow him. “Fam, it’s a mf-ing war brewing cross the globe. What is you doing?”

He squeezes my hand then taps his watch.

I sit at the table and survey the collards, macaroni and cheese, candied yams, and smothered oxtails on the plate Ms. Leola just handed me. I exhale the tiniest breath and settle in the chair, scents of home washing over me.

Rojala, the shock scrubbed from her face, pokes a finger in the orange mush on her plate and sticks a finger in her mouth. “Mmmmmm.” Her eyes widen, creasing around the corners. “Oh, that’s good.”

Ms. Leola sets a wedge of sweet potato pie in front of me and sits in a chair. Her head rests on her hands. I shove food in my mouth to avoid answering the questions lingering in her eyes. The note of garlic in the collards hits just right and the season on ’em is spot-on. Not too salty with just a dash of heat. I gulp down more as Julius takes a measured bite, his eyes darting from me to Ms. Leola.

“So?” she says.

“OO?” I swallow. “I mean, so?”

“I know that look,” she says, leveling her eyes at me. “You pop up without a call.”

Rojala sets her fork down on her empty plate. Her eyes fall to the floor. “This is my fault.”

“No! I brought you here. It’s okay.”

“Rue,” Julius says, his tone tight. “We gotta go, fam. You know this.”

Ms. Leola sets a hand on my knee, which is bouncing out of control. “I’m listening, baby.”

Each breath is fragile in my chest, like if I breathe in too deep, I’ll shatter into a million pieces. I just want to eat and sit and be home. Be here, in East Row, with everything I know. I hug around myself and spill. I tell Ms. Leola about everything, from the Seer’s prophecy to me accusing Bri, the Yakanna, Jhamal’s betrayal, the Ancestors.

“Not Sir Chocolate, he was so fine,” Tasha says, and I slap her shoulder.

“Shut up, this is serious.”

She glances at Rojala, studying her tattered shirt and smudged face and mouths, sorry. Julius takes another tentative bite of food. Rojala stares at me like she can’t believe the words coming out of my mouth. Like she sees through me finally. Like I’m not the fearless person she’d once thought.