New York in July

Summer is here.

Kaya would have been 32 years old next week. Instead, she’s been dead for five years and I’m home after six years. It’s always easy to see patterns in reverse.

–

It’s early July 2025. I pack my bags and groan about the weather. Being hot is the worst and everyone keeps talking about a really bad heat wave. A week later, I’m on a red eye to New York City. My aunt is in the south, choosing greenery over concrete. I’m staying with Dele, my best friend from high school, whose home became a refuge during my short stays. She sends me a text the day before I land,

“I’m dragging you to this!”

Attached is a video of a Brooklyn block party, and they’re playing funk music. It’s on Tompkins Ave and I agree, it’d be nice to have an activity. This stay is eight days long and in the months between March and July, I accepted what my body already knew. I am moving back home. Now that the decision was made, my mind rose to the occasion. A shared list between Jaz and I, where we discussed things as small as utensils and as large as rent, was created. There was my own list of course, a four part lengthy iPhone note, that had the details of how to sell my car and if I should have a going away party. By the time I’m walking around Bushwick early Saturday morning, I no longer own a car and I have a plan to go to the Atlantic Center DMV in two days.

My hair becomes a fixation of mine, how would it fare in this sticky weather? Would it look pretty, would I look pretty? New York summers made me irritable, but this is part of moving back, taking the good with the inconvenient. I head to Jaz’s place (she’s already started saying our place) and after we discuss logistics we get lunch at Baby Blues. We wish we could live in the same place again, but we both agree this is more than coincidence, this is fate. We trust each other to make our transition easier. I think she’s doing me a much bigger favor, and we admit that our excitement is laced with healthy fear.

Hours later I’m unraveling my hair in the mirror. Dele’s bathroom has great lighting and we’re getting ready to go to the block party. She’s telling me about the friends we’re going with, I’m getting sleepy, but I push through. My mint green scarf top is tied too tight around me, but I accept that I will have to tie it again in a few hours. The block party is packed, but the weather has cooled ever so slightly. We’re all mentioning the breeze, the music is so loud, and everyone dances differently, but on beat.

“I love that ring!”

Dele’s friend Fahren points to the ring on my left middle finger. I get as quiet as allowed and say,

“It’s my uncle’s ring actually. He passed a couple years ago.”

She says sorry and it looks vintage, that’s why she loves it. The moment is short, but it stays with me. Looking around I see him everywhere, and imagine him walking from the grocery store and stopping to listen to the music. My uncle would love this event. My uncle has loved this event. The grief fills me and then it quiets. We decide to leave and walk to Sally’s in Bedstuy.

The next day I head uptown to see Rochelle and plan our trip to Japan. She’s excited for my return home, everyone is actually. I hear it all week from Alexis, Dele, Ezeugo, Tionne, Kofi, and Jaz. I am too, but I’m trying hard to be present in the life I’m living across the country. But I can’t lie, this feels like the most right decision I’ve made in years.

New York City’s Department of Motor Vehicles humbles my excitement. I go without an appointment; my cousin tells me over the phone I’m making a mistake. To my defense, I looked and found nothing across five boroughs. A man with a thick Caribbean accent tells me no walk-ins, I suck my teeth, sigh, and move to the side. I have a plan and it must succeed. On the website I refresh the appointments three times. Hah! An appointment twenty minutes from now has opened up, I take it and smugly show my email confirmation to the man at the front. He doesn’t deserve this attitude, but I don’t feel bad.

I text my sister and tell her I’m at the whim of the workers, so I’m not sure when I will show up to our hang out. Earlier in the year, my sister and I, who is eleven years younger than me, had our first phone call. We both had the same attitude about it, we wouldn’t make this bigger than it needed to be. Meeting a sibling you didn’t grow up with is stressful enough, no need for us to add to it. My plan was to let this meeting happen early on in the trip, that way if it went terribly I had five more days to change the narrative. An argument breaks out in the line near me and unfortunately I hear it over my music. New York makes me “surrender” my California license, a dramatic word choice on their part, but I lean into the metaphor. They give me my former license number and it’s the most efficient thing they do all day.

My sister and I meet in Soho. It’s nice and easy. We talk about our lives and preference for the cool weather. It turns into a multi-stop hang and we end at The Smith in Flatiron. Let’s hang out again we say. I tell her I have to go back to Brooklyn, the DMV drained me, and then it begins to torrentially rain down. I pull out my umbrella, she has to stop at a Walgreens to get one. Despite not growing up together, I’m an eldest sister without trying. The next few days go by in a blur: I take myself to the Met for three hours the next day, go to cafes with friends, and Tionne throws a rooftop party I attend. He says it’s about time I came home.

In my final days, my cousin and I meet at my aunt’s place.

“Your hair, its so fluffy!”

I laugh, he tells me how much he loves it. We eat and catch up. I think about how just two years ago we wouldn’t have done this. How my uncle’s death brought us together and I’m grateful. I recount the past seven days and he notes I’m so busy when home. I tell him my wish is things will quiet once I’m back, that it won’t feel as rushed. He doesn’t believe me, but I do.

Dele and I talk about how our relationship will shift once I’m back. I thank her for loving and helping me these past years. She says I’m her family and I tell her I feel the same about her.

In the cab ride to the airport, I finally see how much I’ve gained through loss.