“I know it happens, but why is it happening to you? Are you sure? Who diagnosed you? Should you get a second opinion?”

“My GP diagnosed me initially but did refer me to a specialist who confirmed through additional testing.”

“What do they recommend? Hormone replacement? I have friends going through this now, and there are some real risks with those treatments. Are you on medication? Will they harvest your eggs?”

“Zee.” I squeeze her hand, laughing and pleased to find my breaths coming less laboriously now.  “Please slow down.”

“Slow down? Do we have time to slow down? What about kids?”

The girls are singing a verse of Beyoncé’s “Halo” …badly.

“What can I say?” Kayla shrugs. “I have one shortcoming, my awful voice, and they got it.”

I snort and roll my eyes, but smile. “I haven’t had a period in four months. So the first thing is to get it back. The homeopath is shipping a new detox treatment to see if that helps. I’m not doing hormone replacement for now. Trying alternative routes to manage the symptoms. We’ll see what happens.”

“We should figure out if there’s a family history.” Kayla’s brows gather together. I recognize that frown. It’s mine whenever a candidate puts his dick in the wrong place or says something stupid into a live mic. Problem-solving mode.

“Look, you have five kids and the foundation and God knows what to take care of. I got this.”

“See, that’s your problem,” she snaps, fire igniting in her dark eyes. “You always got something all by yourself. I’m your sister, Tru, even though you haven’t been around for years, and we are every one of us damn proud of you.” Her smooth throat moves with a hard swallow. “Daddy would be proud of you.”

We stare down at our linked fingers and seem to hold the burden of grief in our two hands. And it does feel good not to carry it alone.

“Let me be there for you,” she says. “I’m actually really good at it.”

I nod, swiping at a renegade tear slipping from my eye despite my best efforts to stem them. “Okay, Zee.”

The door wrenches open, and a wide-eyed Triniti stands in its frame. “Joseph threw up.”

“Lord above,” Kayla mutters. “I don’t do vomit. Lawrence better be glad his ass is out of town.”

“I have a strong stomach,” I assure her with a chuckle. “You get back to hair and I’m on clean-up duty.”

“Okay, but you know you’re still washing at least one of those heads, right?”

Busted.

We’re at the door when my phone buzzes in my pocket.

Mona: Cookout at my place this weekend. You’re coming.