Page 293 of Invisible Bars

Dessign grinned, twirling her straw like it was a baton.

“It is isn’t it? Girl, soon as I wheeled in, three men asked for my number. I had to tell the first one, ‘Mymanso crazy, he’d help you fix your flat tire, then beat you with the jack when youtried to thank him.’ Then a second one came along, thinking he could win me over with smooth talk and a church smile. I told him, ‘Myfiancéso crazy, he’ll fight you in broad daylight and dare the cops to lock him up for cardio.’ And the third one? Oh, sis he really tried it! He leaned down like he was gon’ whisper something in my ear. I looked him dead in the face and said, ‘Myhusbandso crazy, he’d break into your dreams just to fight you in your sleep… and then wake you up just so he could fight you again in real life.’ Knowing damn well I aint married…yet.”

“That part,” I said. “And Chi will do a-all those things,” I agreed, laughing.

Dessign sipped from her Twizzlers straw, smirking. “Needless to say, nobody else asked me for my number after that. I guess they spread the word that I had a crazy man.”

We chatted for a good ten minutes before Chi rolled up on us.

He flopped next to Dessign on a busted lawn chair like he’d just survived a marathon—shirtless, chest glistening, and unnecessarily proud.

“What’s good, ladies?” Then his focus his attention went on Dessign. “Baby, if I pass out from this heat, put some ice cubes in my boxers before you call 911.”

“Boy, ain’t nobody trying to handle yo’ spicy pickle. You gone melt with dignity. Or better yet, I might put some hot sauce in yo’ boxers instead. Let’s see how quick you’ll wake up then.”

“You ain’t right,” Chi said, adjusting his shorts.

Dessign lightly pinched his jaw. “You’ll be alright, baby. The ancestors just want you to sweat out your sins.”

Chi grabbed a cup of punch and took a dramatic sip.

“Just know, ifyo’ass pass out, I’m putting a donation jar on yo’ lap— let the block help pay yo’ hospital bill.”

Dessign cocked her head. “Oh, yeah? Chi, I’ll pay somebody to drop a fridge on your shins. Don’t test me. We’ll be racingchairs by the weekend and have matching rims on our chairs and everything by Christmas. Couple goals, baby.”

I held my breath, thinking Chi was about to go off, but instead, his lips spread into that mischievous grin, and he leaned right into it.

“That would be dope, baby. We’ll be side-by-side at the cookout, racing to the bathroom after Ms. Shirley’s baked beans. And when we roll across the finish line, once we reach the bathroom, we’ll hold hands like it’s theSpecial Olympics of love.”

I couldn’t hold it in—a laugh burst out of me so hard my stomach ached. Only those two could turn roasting each other into a love language. For all their fussing, fighting, and pettiness, Chi and Dessign were a perfect match. They made chaos look like chemistry.

A twitch took me mid-laugh, snapping me sideways, and the words came crashing out, too loud and too wild to cage.

“Roll me to glory, Jesus! Straight into heaven’s driveway!”

“Anyway, I’m trying to decide what kind of inspiration I’ma be today—hood philosopher or DJ Unnecessary,” Chi said.

“Be quiet,” Dessign advised. “Last time you gave a kid a speech about choosing violence.”

Chi nodded, unbothered. “And he’s doing amazing now. I heard he runnin’ the 4th grade lunch table like a cartel.”

Dessign shook her head. “Youruinedthat little boy. He’s probably taxing kids for ketchup packets.”

“And teaching financial literacy,” Chi shot back. “That’s entrepreneurship.”

Their playful banter was infectious. They were ridiculous, in love, loud, and beautiful.

I wiped my forehead again, breathing slow through my nose like it might cool me off—it didn’t.

My eyes swept across the crowd and landed on a familiar figure under a wide straw hat with feathers, rhinestones, and way too much nerve.

Mama Rose.

“All I’m saying is,” Mama Rose leaned forward, eyes wide, “if Deacon Miller’s wife wear that same crooked wig one more Sunday, I’ma march right up there and tilt it straight during altar call.”

The ladies hollered, one nearly spitting out her lemonade. “Chile, leave that woman alone!”

Mama Rose slapped the table. “Leave her alone? That wig be leaning so bad, it looks like it be nodding off during the sermon! And that lime-green suit she wore last week? Lord, have mercy! She looked like she was directing trafficandselling Sprite at the same time!”