Lennix could get me out of my head, but she’s so close to delivering and has a lot on her plate. I hate to bother her. I could call Viv or Kayla. Even Mama, but I already know there’s only one voice I actually want to hear. And tonight I’m just weak enough to call.

He picks up on the first ring.

“Kimba?”

Ezra’s voice is dark liquid poured over my nerve endings, making me shiver, soothing me in the space of one hot breath.

“Hey, Ez.”

The rush of air on the other end sounds like relief, disbelief. Joy.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “We haven’t spoken and I—”

“I know. I’m sorry I haven’t called.”

A beat of silence fills up with all the things we could have said to one another over the last four months.

“You’ve been busy,” he says. “I understand.”

“So have you.” My smile belies the ache in my heart. “You turned in the book?”

“Uh, yeah. It’s all behind the scenes, preparation stuff right now.”

“How’s Noah?”

“He’s good.” A smile enters his voice, the one reserved for his son. “Same Noah. Looking for new and inventive ways to rule the world.”

I laugh, force myself to ask the next question. “And, um…Aiko? How’s the pregnancy coming along?”

Another beat of silence, filled with all the things keeping us apart.

“She’s great. The baby’s growing. Healthy.”

I want to ask if the baby has kicked yet. If he was there for that, if he felt it. If it’s a boy or a girl. If Aiko has that famous glow. If this is bringing them closer…again, reminding them why they spent the last decade together.

Making him love her?

But I don’t ask any of those questions in case I can’t live with the answers.

“You sure you’re okay?” Ezra asks. “Do you need me? I can come—”

“Yes, I need you, but no, you can’t come.”

“Tru,” he groans, my name torture on his lips. “Baby, where are you? Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Just a crap day,” I say, my words going watery. “I’m in this poo butt town fighting bullshit legislation that would promote voter suppression. And we lost. People who really needed this win don’t get it, and I feel… I feel like I let people down, you know?”

“You didn’t. I know you did all you could do.”

Right, and the worst part is when it’s not enough. So many times it’s not enough. Tears prick my eyes and it feels good to cry for someone other than myself; to step out of my own problems long enough to consider all the people and communities who’ll be affected when they purge those voter rolls.

“Shit,” I say, my voice wobbling. “Why are people so… God, I hate this.”