“I know. I still like talking to you, though. You’re a good listener, Del.”

Was I?

His hand rested on the door handle, tugged it, let in knifing cold air as he prepared to exit.

“I can take you home.”

“No,” he said, “it’s best if I get home on my own. All things considered.”

Jameer got out, but before he was gone, I said, “Are you and Kiera going to be cool again? You’ve been friends a long time.” I didn’t say they needed each other, but I always got the sense they did.

“I don’t think so. I can’t fix this. Even if I could, I don’t think so. Do you?”

I couldn’t comfort him with a satisfactory answer. That feeling was the worst in a while.

Home was filled with familiar smells, and sounds, and fullness. I felt the change as soon as I stepped in. The suitcase and bulging laundry sack confirmed my sister was home for the holidays.

Dad greeted me in the kitchen, tossing things for some meal into his new Instant Pot.

“Hey,” I shot back, heading upstairs.

“You all right?” he asked. “You usually want to know what’s cooking.”

Getting into the complexities of what troubled me was not even an option, so I simply asked, “What is it?”

“Gumbo.”

“Awesome, Dad.” I got away before there were more questions. From him, anyway.

Cressie’s bedroom door was cracked, and even with my best stealth moves, I didn’t make it past unnoticed.

“Hey,” she called, tugging the door wide. “You’re not going to say hello?”

“Hello.”

“Come in here.”

“Are you live on IG?”

“Naw. Nothing like that. Come in.”

I entered, found no bulky camera cases or other equipment this time. There was her MacBook, decorated with CU decals, and a yellow legal pad next to it filled with scribbled notes. She was perched in her desk chair, cross-legged and tiny. I said the most small-talkiest thing I could think of. “Your first semester go okay?”

“Straight As. The channel was a huge hit in my sociology class.” She motioned for me to have a seat on her bed. I hopped onto the cotton candy comforter and waited for whatever this was. From that position, I caught a glimpse of her computer screen. It was her face, in a frozen video.

“New episode?”

“Yep, for tomorrow. I’m making some small edits and plan to post it right after midnight.” Abruptly, she changed the subject. “You mad at me?”

“For what?”

“We haven’t talked since the family meeting.”

I scanned the posters on her wall. Migos. Cardi B. Luke James and Algee Smith. Traced my gaze over her bookshelf. The photos rimming her mirror frame. Anywhere but at her. “Naw. I’m good.”

“You don’t sound good, or look good, baby bro. Something on your mind?”

“What makes you ask?”

“Your face is like a children’s book. Easily read.”

“College went and made you corny.”

“Better me than Mom. You let her see you looking like that and it’s going to be a for-real conversation. What’s up?”