“Look, Shivana, they got to go,” Ma said. “Now get on up from there and come say bye. Don’t be disrespectful.”

Reluctantly, I slipped out of my seat and followed Ma to the living room. Aunt Jewel and Hakim were already at the elevator, laughing and holding hands, looking forward to hitting Interstate 80, crisscrossing Indiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey with no other passengers but the radio. They would snack on things Jewel would never have admitted to eating around us—potato chips, beef jerky, and McDonald’s. They would read a map or stop for directions together if they had to. It seemed like such an adventure. I wanted to hop in for the ride.

“You gone call me when you get there?” Ma asked once we emerged onto the stoop. Hakim’s car—a glistening burgundy Buick—was parked a couple feet from the building. Sensing the true parting was not his, he had already hugged us, said, “I can’t wait to see you again,” and gone ahead to load the trunk.

“Of course,” Aunt Jewel said, her voice cracking slightly. “Probably won’t be ’til tomorrow night though. We’re going to get through Indiana and Ohio and sleep over in Pennsylvania. You know, due to the late start.”

“You gone let him drive the whole way?” Ma asked.

“Yes honey,” Jewel said. “Why should I drive if I have him?” She laughed, and that’s when I broke down. I already missed the sound of her laughter. She only hugged me like I was a child missing a toy that she knew where to find.

“Oh, grow up girl,” she said. “You’re gonna see me again in April. That’s right around the corner.”

I couldn’t say anything. Ma, forever stoic, just stood beside me and shook her head.

“Just think about April,” Jewel said. “Annette gonna take care of you. Don’t worry.”

Hakim pulled up so Jewel wouldn’t have to be bothered with walking just a few feet. He waited patiently while cars honked and drove around him. He didn’t even respond through the open window where he smoked after one teenaged boy in a green hoopty yelled, “Move out the fuckin’ way old man.” That was Jewel’s final cue, and she squeezed me hard once before letting me go.

“April,” she said while walking away. “Call me or write … you got Hakim’s address and phone number. Just call me!”

She seemed to skip to the passenger side of the Buick, and the picture of her smiling with her flashy leather bag was only missing a “Just Married” sign and empty aluminum cans dangling from the back bumper. We watched the car speed down King Drive before I sat down on the stoop alone and Ma went back inside without one word.