The drive to her grandparents' house was exactly forty-two minutes long - just enough time for Keisha to regret not faking a headache.
"Do we have to stay for dinner?" she asked, watching the trees blur past the window.
Flora didn't look up from the road. "You love your grandparents."
"I love them from a distance. Like… a respectful, chicken-free distance."
Flora smirked. "They don't let the chickens in the house, Keisha."
"Yeah, but they let them roam. Like feathered gangsters."
Grandma and Grandpa lived on a small plot just outside town - a garden that looked like it had swallowed the house whole, and a coop that sounded like a poultry uprising every time someone sneezed.
As soon as they pulled up, a rooster locked eyes with Keisha.
She froze. "He's still alive?"
Flora chuckled. "Of course he is. That bird's immortal."
"His name is Lari, Mom. He's been here since I was six. That's not a chicken. That's a demon in feathers."
Before Flora could respond, the front door burst open.
"Flora! Keisha!" Grandma called, apron already dusted in flour. "Come in, come in! The spinach is fresh and the chicken's still warm-"
Keisha paled.
"Cooked chicken," Grandma clarified, winking. "Not Lari. "
They all walked to greet each other and have a lil small talk until Grandpa insisted on showing them his new compost system. Again.
"This bin right here? Pure gold. Banana peels, eggshells, and a little bit of chicken poop. That's the secret."
Keisha nodded politely, trying not to breathe too deeply.
Flora, ever the diplomat, smiled. "It's looking great, papa. Your spinach is thriving."
Grandma chimed in from the herb patch. "That's because I talk to them. Plants need conversation. Unlike some people."
Flora's smile didn't budge. "Well, I'm sure they appreciate your wisdom."
Keisha whispered, "Did she just call you a plant?"
Flora whispered back, "She's been calling me worse since 2003."
....
As they made their way back to the house, Lari strutted across the path like he owned the land.
Keisha froze. "Nope. Not today."
Lari flared his wings.
"Mom," Keisha hissed. "He's doing the thing. The flappy thing."
Flora, unbothered, waved him off. "He's just saying hello."
"He's saying run."
Lari took a step closer.
Keisha bolted.
From the kitchen window, Grandma cackled. "Still scared of chickens, I see."
"Still letting them roam like velociraptors, I see," Keisha shouted back.
"whatever come inside and settle down"
Dinner was a feast: roast chicken (ironic), creamy samp and beans, chakalaka with a kick, and Grandma's famous steamed bread that could silence any argument - temporarily.
They ate, laughed, and dodged Lari's shadow through the window.
Then, as Keisha reached for her second helping of gravy, Grandma struck.
"So, Keisha," she said sweetly, "still the only child, hmm?"
Flora's fork paused mid-air.
Keisha blinked. "Uh… yeah?"
Grandma turned to Flora. "You know, I always thought you'd have more by now. Big families are a blessing."
Flora smiled. Tight. "Well, we're blessed just fine."
Grandpa, sensing the tension, cleared his throat. "The spinach really came out nice this year."
Keisha muttered, "Thank God for spinach."
Later, as the sun dipped low and the chickens finally roosted, Keisha sat on the porch with her mom, sipping ginger tea.
"She still thinks you're not good enough," Keisha said softly.
Flora shrugged. "She's 98% over it. That's good enough for me."
Keisha leaned her head on her mom's shoulder. "I'm glad you're my mom."
Flora kissed her forehead. "Even if I let you get chased by a chicken?"
"Especially because of that."
Inside, Grandma was humming as she packed leftovers. Lari clucked once from the coop, smug.
Keisha narrowed her eyes. "One day, old man. One day."causing her mom to laugh.