the nosey & thoughtful mutual

If the Abdul-Mateen family was nothing else, they were a collection of Black folks with big personalities and a flair for the dramatic. Everything from how Yolanda and Senior's home was lit up with carefully placed string lights to the interior decor that Yolanda poured her heart and soul into for no other reason than to see how her grandchildren's eyes lit up when they stepped into her home. And to make their neighbors across the street, the Walters, seethe in jealousy when they step outside their home to see such an extravagant display of taste and wealth. But that was a different conversation to have over aged Cabernet after photos for the annual holiday card were wrapped and the ladies were left to their own devices while the men did whatever it was they did in Senior's parlor. 

Upstairs, as bodies whizzed from room to room to meet their strict 12:30 pm call time, Yahya chased a giggling toddler version of himself down the hallway before extending his long arms to pull the little one into the air just before he could reach the stairs for the third time that half-hour. 

"Damn, boy," he panted before wincing at the ache in his back as he stood up straight. "Remind me to tell your mama you need to run track in a few years. You got your daddy's speed." 

Yahya, half-dressed and already sweating from the stuffy sweater and playing wrangler for his rambunctious mini-me, looked down at his son's feet and noticed that he'd forgotten to add the one part of his outfit that would keep him from moving so fast. He'd learned to toddle but hadn't quite grasped the concept of doing so in footwear. 

He set off to consult the one person with supreme knowledge and authority in their shared household across town. 

In a junior suite on the first floor, he listened to you hum along to Gucci Mane's Christmas album at the bedroom's threshold, out of breath and at his wit's end. He knocked twice before speaking.

"Baby, where are Nasir's shoes?" 

"Next to his sweater." 

"Got it," Yahya answered, eyes still blank as if you had never given him an answer. He started to walk out but doubled back. "And if I were looking for his sweater, where would that be?" 

Holding a breastfeeding baby in one arm and pressing brightening concealer under tired eyes was your primary task that your man promised he wouldn't interrupt. But his oldest son was an adventurous, hard-to-wrangle rascal with all his features and a knack for wearing out even the most seasoned professional. 

Peeling your eyes from your vanity mirror, you looked over at him and his worried expression to offer a bit of reassurance. "I left it on the ottoman in the sitting room so he'll be distracted during his screentime."

When it came to your boys, every detail was tediously planned from sunup to sundown. Yahya still hadn't convinced you to make schedules for any other aspect of life like grocery shopping or tax paying, but motherhood was different. Motherhood was sacred and beautiful, and everything else you didn't expect when that pregnancy test came up positive not once but twice in three years of partnership.

Yahya smiled at your thoughtfulness before answering. "Thank you, baby. I promise to leave you alone now." 

"You're okay. That's why we work together. Come here." Yahya added a little spring to his step as he closed the short distance between you two, stopping just short for a silly little two-step before bending forward to meet your lips for a few quick pecks and leaving a couple for Tariq's forehead as he suckled from your breast. Your hand lingered on his cheek while you spoke. "You're a good man, Savannah. A good man." 

"What's crazy is that nigga was not a good man," he laughed. 

"Okay, but why did you ruin the moment?"

Yahya lifted his hands in surrender. "My fault, baby. Gas me up."

Affirmations of his worthiness as a husband and father murmured between quick kisses made Nasir giggle until both of you turned your attention to showering him in praise, too. He'd learned a few new words as the year ended. All of them expletives or some form of your shared pet names, but new words nonetheless. 

While the cute family moment pulled you away from getting ready, Amir walked past the room and doubled back to stop the lollygagging at his mother's behest. He wore the mantle of enforcer with pride. 

"Aye, man, y'all ain't ever heard of a call time? Don't have my mama looking for y'all. You know her sciatica actin' up."

"Her what?" 

"Don't make me repeat it. You know I got a heavy tongue." You tried but failed to contain your laughter, pulling Yahya in to join as he stood to readjust Nas on his hip. Amir feigned his offense with a hand on his shoulder. "Oh, so y'all are ableists? This is crazy." 

"No, you're just an idiot. I knew they adopted you," Yahya answered back, the taunting tone of a younger sibling thick in his voice and a childish grin to match. 

Amir scoffed and looked in your direction. "You see what happens when a nigga gets back cool with his daddy? He start actin' entitled and whatnot. Should've never allowed y'all to reconcile. I miss emotionally charged Christmas."

Yahya's jaw hung slack while you tucked both lips into your mouth to conceal the unruly laugh deep within your soul. It didn't matter how long you were part of their family; the jokes at the other's expense would never cease to amaze you. No one could eviscerate the Abdul-Mateen clan like the members within their close-knit circle. 

Though impressed with his older brother's quick wit, Yahya couldn't allow the annoyance in his expression to falter for even a moment. He pretended to laugh as he geared up for a retort that didn't quite come close to the earlier jab but fulfilled his need to feel victorious. 

"That's why Hassan is getting the house in the will." 

"You thought you did something. I knew that already. You just now gettin' into those rooms, my boy." 

Thwarted again. Yahya looked to you for backup while you carefully helped Tariq end his feeding session and returned your breast to its rightful home. "Amir, if you keep talking to my man like that, we gon' have an issue. You know what happened last time." 

"My fault, OG," he answered, tapping the space over his heart to signal his allegiance as memories of the night a few too many postpartum cocktails had you reliving the early days of your relationship with the family. "Y'all got it. I don't want no problems. You a good man, Savannah."

"That's what I said!"

A half-decade of family dinners, vacations, and game nights creating inside jokes and sharing funnies between kindred spirits was bound to result in some personality transfer. Still, Yahya could never, in a million years, predict that you and Amir would become two hosts for nearly the same brain. 

Yahya looked between the both of you, confused and amused at the sheer absurdity of the unlikely moment of deja vu. "I never should've introduced y'all. Now I'm married to Amir: The Sequel." 

"Oh, please," you scoffed as you turned back to the mirror. "I am way too fine to claim that position. No offense, Amir."

"I'm not gon' act like there's none taken. That hurt. Thought we were better than that, Tootie. At least I still got my nephews on my side." 

"You do not," Yahya answered, playfully shielding both boys from their uncle's affection. "I'm raising my kids to dislike you. This is a family that hates before we love. If nobody else gon' keep it going, I will. You know me."

While the youngest brothers fell into their typical back-and-forth exchange of jabs covered in an unmistakable love for one another, you let the familiar chatter surround you in the kind of warmth that could only be felt in the presence of family. 

To think that there was once a time when the family was split into factions too stubborn to have a civil conversation seemed like an alternate reality. You'd traversed the hardships of severed bonds to come out on the other end triumphant, with your relationship intact and growing by the minute. 

As chatter grew louder, more guests seeking refuge from Yolanda's iron fist trickled into an already crowded room. Hassan rounded the corner with Lourdes and Sha'Tarra in tow, two of them holding separate glasses of spirits you could've sworn were off-limits until the evening.

Hassan chimed in, loud and gregarious, courtesy of the expensive whiskey in his half-empty glass. "Damn, we having a meeting, and nobody told us?" 

"I always knew you liked Tootie more than me," Lourdes playfully accused Amir.

"You know they have a standing weekly lunch, right?" Tarra laughed as she rested against the quartz bathroom counter in her red satin dress that barely contained the seven-month pregnant belly she was starting to abhor. "Every Wednesday at Kismet downtown. Oh my God, I could go for some of their wings right now. Baby, can you order some for me? It's for AJ, and your mama is starving us." 

Amir placed a chaste kiss on his wife's forehead to placate her before delivering devastating news. "I love you so much, baby. But my mama is gone be the reason AJ goes to college. We makin' money, but we ain't making Ivy League tuition money yet. Here. Chew some gum. It'll fill you up."

The room lit up with laughter except for Tarra, who screwed her face and smacked the stick of gum meant to cure her hunger out of Amir's hand. You chuckled along as you swapped children with Yahya and focused on cleaning Nasir's face for the hundredth time. 

"If you want 'em, we packed some apple and carrot slices for Nas as a snack. They're in the loft and all yours." 

The mention of a worthwhile snack made Tarra giddy enough to wiggle through her excitement while brandishing a manicured middle finger meant especially for her husband on her way out the door.

"Thank you, girl. At least somebody cares about me."

"You always coming to the rescue. Are you trynna steal my shine," Hassan asked with a laugh. 

You shook your head. "Nah. I'm trynna steal Yahya's shine. You know he's the golden boy. I need them privileges for all my hard work keeping this family together."

"She's not wrong. Senior hasn't been this happy since…well, hell, I don't think I've ever seen your father this happy." Lourdes laughed. 

"Turned him into sitcom dad in three years. You really might be a magician. You do taxes, Tootie?" 

Loud laughter bounced off the bathroom walls at Amir's joke and the noticeable shift in Senior's behavior. A once hard man never known for pleasantries or extending kindness beyond his wife and grandchildren had blossomed into the quintessential loving grandfather. 

A grand smile big enough to rival the sun had found a permanent home on his lips since the day Yahya met you at the end of a short backyard aisle and pledged his love to you forever and always. He was there when each of his youngest grandchildren were born, spent birthday parties dressed as a host of characters, played with action figures and dolls, and made time for weekly appointments with all of his children, natural and inherited. 

Despite your humble denial that you had nothing to do with such a stark transition, you'd been credited with re-introducing the family to the best version of Senior they'd ever experienced. 

Especially by Yahya, who finally got to know his father in a way he'd always desired. 

"That's my baby," Yahya gushed, a silly grin gracing his face as he affectionately gripped your chin for a quick kiss. "You don't want her handling your money, though. She has no clue what a budget is." 

"Why would I need a budget?"

"You sound like your mother-in-law, young lady."

A booming voice projecting beyond a ridiculous faux Santa beard came into the room shortly before Senior's physical presence joined the growing party. A glass of whiskey in his hand matched his oldest son's, making for a silent toast from across the way as they took identical sips. 

He continued. "In here hiding from the lady of the house," he asked as he looked around the space at faces that gave answers that their mouths wouldn't dare utter. He took another sip and nodded. "This is a good spot. I usually do the cellar, but this works. She will find you, though." 

"She always does. She is basically Detective Stabler in a pair of Dior slippers." Yahya laughed, earning a smile from his father. 

An overlapping chorus of brief personal memories of being found by Yolanda amid a one-sided game of hide and seek. She always won no matter how they attempted to outsmart and evade her watchful eye. 

Quickly finding his collection of older children uninteresting, Senior turned his attention to Nasir and Tariq, pulling the infant from his youngest son's arms to speak at him in a high-pitched voice. 

"You win, my girl. Sorry, I ever doubted you. But using the baby is a dirty tactic."

"Who told you I played fair?"

"Touché."

Senior watched you and Amir exchange a handshake too complicated for his taste and screwed his face in growing confusion. "Win what? You two gambling again?" 

"They think Tootie's your favorite now. Yahya lost his spot at the top." Hassan cut in. 

The older man scoffed. "All of you are too old to be my favorite anything." 

"But if you had to choose, it's Tootie, right?" 

"I'm not answering that," he laughed before a quick pause to eye them all individually. He stopped at you and smiled, adding a wink before speaking again. "She isn't half bad if that's what you're asking." 

Another round of laughter and collective conversation proved fatal as Yolanda marched down the hallway with Macie in tow. The soft clicking of her heels across wood floors didn't register amongst the chatter until it was too late. Your attempt to signal the others was futile. All of you were caught again. 

Yolanda cleared her throat, freezing everyone in an instant. She folded her arms over her chest. "Is this what I get in return for all my hard work and planning? Are you hiding from me?" All in the room rushed to deny her accusation to no avail. She couldn't be fooled. "And then you lie to me. Am I nothing to you people?"

Her heavy dose of guilt worked how she'd intended, producing averted gazes and murmured apologies that made her bite back a triumphant smile. 

"That's why I came down here, honey," Senior lied as he approached her for a kiss she didn't return. "They don't listen. I'm so glad you came to back me up. Bad, bad children the who-" 

"You're laying it on thick. Stop while you're ahead."

"Yes, ma'am. Stopping now."

A tense silence hung in the room while they waited for Yolanda to unleash her wrath. You looked between everyone, your brain scrambling in a frantic search for words that could turn the snafu into more of a misunderstanding than an intentional slight. 

Finally, your mind drafted an appropriate response. "We just wanted to get out of your way, Ms. Yolanda. Amir came to tell us you were almost ready for us, just like you asked, but I know you need quiet for a masterpiece. We should start outside so the folks across the street can get a reminder on who really runs Christmas around here." 

The mention of the Walters family getting a glimpse of her kin all dressed in their holiday best brought back a competitive light to Yolanda's eyes as she smiled. 

"You're right. I like the way you think," she started, her gaze far off for a moment while she envisioned the looks on their smug faces. She slowly refocused and waved her hands in the air. "Wrap this up and do it quickly. We have photos to take! C'mon, Senior. And take off that ridiculous beard. It's giving me "the ick," as Macie would say."

A collective sigh of relief was released as Yolanda left the room with her granddaughter hot on her heels, imitating her every move as a last-ditch effort to score the Christmas gift at the top of her list. Senior turned to the group and gestured toward you as soon as she was out of earshot. 

"Now, can any of you do that?" 

He didn't wait to hear an answer. As quickly as he could pass Tariq back to Yahya, he was off to comply with his wife's strict instructions. 

One by one, the others trickled out, leaving behind various iterations of praise for your quick thinking and the recognition that you, in fact, had claimed the coveted throne with no worthy competitor in sight. 

As the room returned to comfortable quiet, Yahya turned to you as you stood from the vanity to get a final look at your gown. He called your name softly before capturing your hand in his to pull you flush to his body. 

A slow and thorough kiss connected your lips and tongues until he was confident that his actions had conveyed his point. But, just in case they didn't, he praised you with his words. 

"If I was gonna give up my spot, I'm glad it's to you." 

"I only wanna be queen of your heart, baby," you giggled. "The rest of this is just extra." 

He chuckled at your smooth talking. "You can't finesse a finesser, baby. Who do you think talked you into all this? You ain't married with kids for no reason." 

"Oh, please! Santa gave me all this. I had it on my list." 

"Yeah, right." 

Stolen kisses and lingering touches were cut short at a second call of their names from the hallway. Yahya reluctantly took the boys out of the bathroom's safety and into the winter chill, leaving you alone for a final moment of peace. 

You took a look at your reflection, allowing a small smile to creep across your lip as your eyes swept over every change in your body since a fated meeting in your old apartment building. Formal gowns for family photos. A wedding ring that glittered in the light. A crazy bonus family that loved you dearly. Extra weight from two safe births only a few short years apart. All from a quick conversation with the guy next door. 

"Thank you, Santa. This is cool or whatever."

Straightening the strap on your dress, you stood up a little straighter and laughed at yourself before flipping the light switch and joining your family. Santa had outdone himself yet again.

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