FI YUH ALONE (COMPLETED)

He is Three

Armani

JM

The sun wasn't even up proper when mi eyes blink open. The house still had that new smell wood, paint, a faint whiff of cleaning products from yesterday but this morning, it mixed with something better. Chicken liver sizzling in the kitchen.

Kehlani was already up, moving 'round quiet with my mother, the two of them side by side like they'd been doing this all their lives. The sight alone? It did something to my chest. My mother humming soft gospel while Kehlani stirred up onions and peppers in the pot. My woman and my mama, comfortable under the same roof. I couldn't ask for more.

Zaire padded out the bedroom still in his little Paw Patrol pajamas, rubbing his eyes. He climbed straight into his grandmother's lap. "Morning, Granny," he mumbled, before stealing a piece of fried dumpling off the plate. Everybody laugh.

By eight, the house started to come alive. First Teyana and Malik rolled through, her already fussing about "what need doing" while Malik dragged in two big bags of drinks. Then Jalen and Ziddi pulled up, Jalen with his little boy in tow. Soon as he touch inside, Zaire and him link like bredren from birth, running straight out to the backyard with toy cars.

Not long after, Mommy Teresa came with Granny Patcy and Grandpa, arms full of seasoning, meat, and market bags. The place transformed quickly like a mini cookshop in the making.

We carried the tables out back, laying down cutting boards and big bowls. Sun barely overhead and already the backyard had energy: knives chopping, laughter ringing out, the smell of scallion and thyme sharp in the air.

Grandpa sat himself down with a machete, splitting chickens clean like it was second nature. Jalen and Malik were on goat duty, wiping sweat from their foreheads every few minutes while joking about who could cut faster.

Kehlani and Teyana were at the seasoning table with Mommy Teresa and my mother, chopping onions, crushing pimento, and mixing fresh ginger. The women laughed loud between every story teasing me, teasing Malik, even throwing side-eyes at Jalen when he nearly nicked his thumb.

Zaire and Jalen's son tore through the yard with toy trucks, music blasting from Ziddi's Bluetooth box. Reggae classics mixed with the new dancehall tunes, and every so often Kehlani would wiggle her waist while seasoning meat. I stood across the table just watching, grinning. Couldn't help it.

"You not cutting?" she asked, catching me staring.

"Mi cut enough," I teased back, sliding behind her to hold her waist. She elbowed me with a laugh. "Besides, mi prefer watch you in yuh element."

"Boy, go help Malik," she said, but she was smiling, cheeks flushed under the morning sun.

By midday, the place was vibes. Buckets filled with seasoned meat: curry goat marinated heavy with curry and Scotch bonnet, chicken rubbed down with jerk seasoning, fish packed with escallion and thyme. My mother stood over it all like a general, making sure every piece was done proper.

In between, Zaire kept coming back for attention. At one point he dragged his toy car through the seasoning table, nearly tipping a bowl of curry.

"Zai!" Kehlani scolded, pulling him back with flour-dusted hands.

"Daddy, mi helping," he insisted, little chest puffed out.

"Yuh helping mash up mi curry goat," Grandpa boomed, and the whole yard erupted in laughter.

I scooped Zaire up, tossing him over my shoulder until he squealed. "Yuh job is to play, soldier. Leave the goat to the veterans."'

Later in the afternoon, after bellies got filled with fried fish and breadfruit from the first round, I slipped inside with my phone. It was time to lock in the guest list. I sent the flyer out to a few close contacts, family, bredren, and some of the day-ones who always showed support.