Page 109 of Invisible Bars

Chi jumped up like he’d just seen Santa Claus. “Oh, there’s wifey!” he announced, beaming like a little kid. “I’ll be right back!”

My stomach twisted. All the calm I’d managed to build clocked out like it worked a 9 to 5 and wasn’t about to do overtime. My tics started ramping up again—vocal ones, too. My breath hitched, my palms went clammy again, and I began pressing my fingers together in quick, anxious pulses.

Meeting new people was always a minefield. I never knew if someone would be kind… or stare like I was possessed.

And now I had to meet Chi’s fiancée? While high? While twitching? With God-knows-what about to come out of my mouth? Great. Just great.

The car door slid open like a movie reveal, and there she was—posted like a queen on her throne. Chi’s fiancée rolled downthe smooth stone path in a rose-gold wheelchair that shimmered against the sun. Her sundress was flowy and dramatic, draped perfectly over her legs like she styled herself for the cover of an Essence magazine summer issue. Her oversized shades were a whole personality, and her lips were lined to perfection. If confidence had a face, it was hers.

And then her eyes landed on me.

“Oh. My. God!” she squealed, clutching her chest like I was a celebrity. “I can’t believe I’m finally meeting the legendary Naji Ali! Girl, you got my brother skipping work, talking soft, and wearing a ring?! What kind of witchcraft you got in that soft voice and awkward charm? Because I need a bottle!”

That caught me completely off guard.

My tic flared like it had been waiting backstage.

“Pretty bitch! Uh—pretty! You’re pretty, not a—shit, shit, shhhhhh?—”

She didn’t even flinch; she just laughed, a beautiful laugh.

“Listen, if ‘pretty bitch’ is the worst thing someone calls me today, I’m winning.”

I smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. T-Tourette’s. But… thank you.”

She rolled forward, extending a perfectly manicured hand.

“No need to apologize, girl; I know your story. And don’t worry, you’ll be shouting worse things when you meet my mother. She’s a whole sitcom. But I’m Dess—short for Dessign.TwoS’s, like sugar and savage.”

What Dessign said made me want to smile and roll my eyes at the same time. The smile was reflex—but the eye roll? That was strictly for the comment about their mom. I couldn’t help but wonder what she was really like.

Over the next ten minutes, Dessign mostly introduced herself—animated, genuine, and full of chaotic sparkle. She fangirled harder than I expected, gushing about my old modeling campaigns like they were historic moments.

Dessign had this infectious energy—loud, magnetic, and yet comforting. Her arms moved as she spoke, her nails clicking against the handles of her chair like punctuation marks. And while her voice bubbled over with jokes and compliments, her eyes watched me with an understanding I didn’t expect from a stranger. She talked about Chi too—how they met, their chaotic love story, and how he once got arrested for fighting a mall Santa because the man said kids with disabilities couldn’t sit on his lap.

“He was trying to be funny. Chi didn’t find it funny… neither did the judge, but I did,” she’d giggled.

Dessign also mentioned Imanio, casually dropping little crumbs, but nothing too heavy—nothing that made me want to fold up my dreams again and tiptoe back through the secret exit door in my mind. But just enough to remind me I wasn’t alone in thinking he was a stubborn, unbothered menace with just enough softness to make it confusing.

I wanted to ask her how she ended up in a wheelchair, but I’d learned a long time ago that people’s pain wasn’t always up for public consumption. If someone wanted to share, they would. So I tucked the question away like a note in my pocket. That conversation could wait.

"My brother may be a grump," she said softly, wheeling forward until our knees were nearly touching, "but he’ll protect you. He’s a lot of things, but he ain’t a coward. And if he said he won’t hurt you, then he meant it.”

I nodded slowly. "I’m… starting to believe that.”

“And if he don’t, I will. Protect you that is.” She smiled, her lip gloss catching the sun just right. “But since you believe that, maybe this won’t be the weirdest marriage after all. I mean... Chi dated a girl who used a Magic 8 Ball to make life decisions.”

Chi called out from across the yard, “It said I was the one!”

“Yeah, forme, nigga!”

We both burst out laughing… like real, deep-belly laughing. It felt strange, good… even familiar in a way I hadn’t realized I’d been missing. It wasn’t just that Dessign was funny; it was the way she made space for me. She let me exist without shrinking… without judgment.

I liked her.

I liked her in the way a person likes someone who makes them forget that they’renotokay. For just a moment, I forgot that I was technically a hostage with a ring on my finger and a million questions I was too scared to ask.

“You good, girl?” Dessign asked.