He winks at me.
“Did everything go okay today? I know that’s probably a dumb question based on what time it is.”
“You never miss a beat. I have to go back over to the house in the morning, but I’ll be back before lunch and in plenty of time to get cleaned up.”
“I hope you like this chili,” is all I say.
* * *
—
Carl is gone when I wake up, but sitting on the chest of drawers is a giant bouquet of yellow roses with red tips and a giant yellow envelope with a card inside that I decide not to open until tonight. I hope we don’t get home too late and I hope he’ll take one of his little pills so we can complete the celebration of my being alive 24,820 days. Yes, I did the math.
When I walk into the bathroom, there is another bouquet of white roses on the sink and a Post-it on the mirror that says, Happy Birthday, You Sweet Young Thang! Be back before lunch!
I do love this man, even if he sometimes doesn’t listen to me.
* * *
—
I’m anxious all morning, watching the sun turn from white to yellow, which is why I’ve been in the backyard on my knees, digging in dirt, planting a flat of yellow, purple, lime, and white zinnias and painstakingly surrounding them with red petunias, because even though I love to garden, right now I’m really just killing time. I also can’t believe I have not gotten a single birthday call from anybody. I keep digging.
“You need any help?”
I look up at Carl, smile, and shake my head no. He bends down and kisses me on both cheeks, then whispers, “Happy birthday, beautiful.”
He stands back up. “And that’s all you get for now!”
He is silly but it’s what I like most about him. He is still handsome. And his skin—unlike mine—is as smooth as satin gloss brown paint. I have to admit Carl is one patient man. I know I am not the easiest person to please, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
“Don’t wear yourself out, now. You know I’ve got plans for you this evening, so don’t mess up your nails.”
He walks over to close the gate to the pool, which neither of us ever gets in. I can’t swim and I’m not interested in learning. But I do like to sit on the edge and kick my feet. Every now and then Carl will pretend to do kicking exercises for his arthritis, but mostly he just throws the ball in for B. B. King, who gets more use out of the pool than we do.
I take off my gloves and show him how pretty my pink nails still are, and then I slide the gloves back on like a stripper. “What kind of plans?” I ask just to sound curious.
“Okay. I know you’re fully aware that I am having a party for you, so just try to act surprised. Would you do that for me, sugar?”
“What would make you think I already know?”
“Because I know Cinnamon told you.”
“How would you know that?”
“Because I told her to keep her big mouth shut, which I knew was impossible.”
“It’s okay. But, Carl, you promised me no more surprise parties.”
“I know. But this one is going to be very special.”
“I’ll take your word for it, sweetheart.”
He winks at me. I yank the hem of his jeans with one of my rawhide gloves, and he jumps up and down as if I just tickled him. Carl still gives me goosebumps. He’s been my husband for twenty-four years. I’m not ashamed to admit that I’ve been married three times. That’s how many times it took me to get it right. I’ve taken to thinking of each one as a vehicle. Antoine was a Ford. Elijah was a Dodge pickup. And Carl is my Mercedes-Benz. He runs really well and he’s built to last.
“The reservation is for seven, if you can make it.”
“I’ll be ready, Carl.”
“How ready?”
I toss some peat moss on top of his gray Nikes.
“Well, I’ve still got a few errands to run so I’ll see you later, cutie.”
I love it when he calls me that. He rubs the top of my straw hat and I watch him limp away.
* * *
—
I don’t hear the doorbell, but B. B. King comes to the back door and barks to let me know someone is at the front. I struggle to get to a standing position, and when I finally make it inside, I’m clearly too late because I don’t see a face through the glass. I open the door, and there on the porch, blocking the doorway, is what looks like a nursery of six or seven giant bouquets.
I am ashamed of myself for being such a whining, cranky, judgmental old bitch. My friends do care about me. I decide to read the cards later.
After I pack up my gardening tools and place them inside the adorable shed Carl built for me, B. B. King creeps over to the stairs out of the line of fire, and when I turn on the hose and twist the sprocket to spray a strong mist over the limp zinnias and petunias, I wonder when and why and how I became so damn pessimistic.
I don’t like this personality trait. And I hope it’s not too late to change it.
* * *
—
It takes all day for seven o’clock to get here. And I can’t wait to get this over with.
“You look stunning,” Carl says when I walk out of the bedroom in a hot pink skirt suit I bought at Nordstrom Rack last year, and I am just glad I was still able to squeeze into it.
“Thank you, Carl,” I say, glad he approves. He looks good in the black suit, black shirt, and light blue tie I got him for his birthday last year. He has been standing out here in the living room waiting for me because he doesn’t want to wrinkle his suit before we get to the restaurant. I don’t know why he got all dudded up just to go there. It’s not like we’re going to some swank four-star eatery in Beverly Hills.
“We need to step on it, Lo, because you know there’s always traffic.”
Traffic? We shouldn’t have to get on the freeway to go where I thought we were going: Maybelle’s Soul Food Dining Room. Maybe Cinnamon got it wrong. But wait. Did she tell me where my party was going to be? I don’t remember. Maybe I made that jump myself. I decide, for once, to keep my big mouth shut. When Carl opens the door for me, I notice luggage on the back seat of his black Explorer.
“Are we staying at a hotel afterward?”
“Why are you so nosy?”
I put my flowered purse on the floor next to my pointy black patent leather pumps and try to cross my legs without success. I turn on the XM soul station, and when I realize we’re heading toward the 210 freeway, I turn to Carl and say, “Hold on a minute. When Cinnamon told me about the party I just assumed it was at Maybelle’s.”
“You assume too much, Lo.”
“Well, where are we going, and why’d I get all dressed up?”
“We’re on our way to Palm Springs.”
“Palm Springs? You mean I’m not having a party?”
“Nope.”
“Then, why did you tell Cinnamon, and then me, that I was?”
“Because I wanted to throw you off, because you always think you’ve got everything figured out, which I love about you, but I’ll bet she didn’t tell you she’s pregnant, now, did she? Don’t answer that. Please don’t tell her I told you. Anyway, I called all of your girlfriends three weeks ago begging them not to bring up celebrating your birthday this year because I knew you were sick of the same old thing. For once, they listened to me. But it cost me.”
“What do you mean it cost you?”
“Promise me you won’t interrupt me before I finish?”
“I promise.”
Carl doesn’t say anything. He turns the music down.
Oddly enough, now I’m disappointed I’m not having a party. And I’m furious that my stupid-ass granddaughter is going to be a parent. I wonder if Jalecia knows she’s going to be a grandmother or if she even gives a damn. I wonder why Cinnamon told Carl and not me? But I can’t worry about any
of this tonight. I still have lingering nerves and suspicions because I was all set for the party and now Carl has added a whole new layer of surprise. I kick off the stupid heels that were already starting to hurt and I think how I should’ve put the hooks on my bra in the first instead of the second row. I do my best to take tiny sips of cool air and try not to ask too many questions.
And then I hear Carl say, “Isn’t that sunset gorgeous?”
I turn to look. All sunsets are gorgeous. He’s stalling or mad at me now.
“Yes it is, Carl. I’m sorry. I’m all ears.”
He turns the radio down even though Tina Turner is just starting to sing what I know are the first few chords of “What’s Love Got to Do with It,” and I try to be patient by clasping my fingers into a church and then a steeple. Then just when I’m about to open the door and see all the people, I hear him say, “Okay. So your friends were a little sensitive about being left out of your birthday, and I had to promise them a few things to pacify them. You’re going to have to go on the Cruise to Nowhere in the fall, which has made Poochie very happy. And you’re going to have to sell your Volvo, which, I hate to admit, I agree with Lucky about, Lo. The new Volvo XC90 is pretty snazzy and I’m sure B. B. King would like the smell of new carpet. And don’t worry, he still won’t have to jump to get in. You’re going to have to hire Korynthia at the store and she said she’s willing to be trained, but to do what, I do not know. And last but not least, Lucky has signed you both up for Weight Watchers and enrolled you in some SilverSneakers gym so you all can both get fit even though I love the way you look.”
“I’m not going on that cruise.”
“It’s only three days, Lo, and I promised.”
I cross my arms.
“Who’s going to look after Poochie’s mama?”
“She’s bringing her, too.”
I roll my eyes and press my palm against my forehead.
“Lo, it’ll make them happy.”
“What about me? This feels more like blackmail.”
“It is, but it’s also called love.”
“Wait. What did Sadie want?”
I roll my eyes at him.
“My bad. But you’ve got so many friends it’s hard to remember them all. Sadie just asked if you would please come to her church just once or three times.”
“Oh, hell,” I say, and then catch myself. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt for me to get in touch with the Lord this year. But I do not want to sit next to her because she is inclined to get the Holy Ghost. Wait a minute! I forgot! She sits with the choir now! Hallelujah!”
Then we were quiet.
“How much time do I have?” I asked.
“Before your next birthday.”
He let out a chuckle and started shaking his head. I watched the orange sun disappearing behind the San Gabriel Mountains, and like magic, snow suddenly started to appear on the peaks. I waited for Carl to tell me he had also spoken to Jalecia and my sister, but he just turned the radio up when “I’ll Be Doggone” by Marvin Gaye came on.
* * *
—
When I woke up, Carl was pulling up to the valet stand and my cellphone shivered in my lap. I thought I must’ve been seeing things.
“Ma?”
“Happy birthday! And happy new year, too, sugar!”
“Thank you,” I said slowly.
“I know you thought I forgot but I don’t forget important things.”
“Why, thank you,” I said, pointing to Carl. Then I placed my hand across my heart and pressed it. He put his thumb up.
“Whatcha doing to celebrate?”
“Carl surprised me, and we just drove to Palm Springs.”
“Does he golf?”
“He used to.”
“Gamble?”
“No.”
“Well, you two do not need to work on your tans so what in the hell are you going to do in Palm Springs besides burn up?”
“It’s cool here, Ma. Plus, we’re staying at a nice resort hotel.”
“Well, that’s nice. What’s the dog’s name again?”
“B. B. King.”
“I could’ve sworn it was Otis Redding. Ha! Ha! Anyway, did you bring him?”
“No,” I say, shocked she cares, considering he always growled at her and wouldn’t let her pet him.
“Did you put him in one of those doggie prisons?”
“No. Apparently Cinnamon’s going to feed and walk him.”
“I wouldn’t trust her with my stuffed animal. Have you heard from her mother who used to be your daughter today?”
“Not yet,” I say, which makes some of my joy disappear.
“Don’t hold your breath.”
“It’s my birthday, Ma.”
“I doubt she remembered. Something is wrong with that girl. She is troubled, but I don’t think she can help it.”
Troubled? Yes, from substance abuse. Jalecia could very well be an alcoholic, but we’ve also caught her pinching Carl’s arthritis medication and the Percocet they gave me when I broke my ankle a couple of years ago after falling off a treadmill that I haven’t been on since. This was, I’d come to believe, the real reason she’d been visiting more regularly, before our falling out anyway.
“Ma, I’ll come visit you on Monday.”
“Don’t bother. It’s boring as hell here. I can’t wait to get the hell out of here and go home so I can have two shots of Hennessy. I’m sick of being around all these sick old people.”
I just pretend I don’t hear her say this.
“Ma! I’ve gotta go! Carl is waving at me to hurry up. Call you when we get home.”
I was not telling the truth. But this was the most effective way to get my eighty-six-year-old mother off the phone.
* * *
—
I don’t put my heels back on because my feet have swelled up, so I just carry them over to the seating area outside the registration office and sit down on a lovely green bench that would look great in our backyard. It’s new, because I don’t recall it from our last visit here. I stand up to find the name of the manufacturer, but don’t see one, so I take a picture of it. When we get home, I’ll ask Carl if he can google it, and find out where we can buy it. Something tells me it didn’t come from Home Depot or Lowe’s. I sit back down and cross my arms and legs and just listen to the water running. There are fountains everywhere and hundreds of poinsettias surrounding them. I check my cellphone and there are a ton of text messages, but not one from my daughter. I look around at all the vacationers and obvious honeymooners here to ring in the new year. Everybody looks so happy. Maybe I should reach out to Jalecia. Maybe she is suffering, or struggling with something she can’t share. I do know Jalecia is not a real thief. And a year is too long to not speak to your own mother. I start to dial her number, but then I’m offered a glass of water with a slice of cucumber resting between tiny ice cubes. I take it and drink it in one gulp.
“You ready, baby?” Carl asks, as he comes out of the registration office and holds out his hand. I drop my phone inside my purse and slide my fingers between his.
“I’ve been ready,” I say in my sassy tone.
“Happy new year!” the driver of the golf cart says. We say the same to him as we sit in the back. We know this resort like the back of our hand. When we make the first right turn, I know it means Carl has managed to get our favorite room. He puts his arm around my shoulders and rocks me slowly from side to side as we head down the pathway through the white-stucco-and-chocolate-trimmed villas. All five or six swimming pools are quiet, their chlorine gurgling, finally at rest. The palm trees are lit up from their trunks, making their fronds look like giant green dreadlocks. The driver and Carl talk football, but when we reach our building, Carl realizes he forgot something in the car. I ask for the keys, and tell them of
course I can let myself in. As they head back, I unlock the gate and saunter up the red clay stairs, which feel nice and cool on my bare feet. I use the same key to unlock the second gate when I reach our private outdoor terrace where the gas logs are already burning in the fireplace. I push open the big wooden door and walk inside our gorgeous room with its domed, beamed ceilings. It smells the way I imagine paradise does: clean and woody and like fresh mint. I drop my heels next to the door, toss my purse on the white-duck-covered chair, take my earrings off, and set them on the table next to a dark green bottle I already know is expensive champagne. I pick up one of the two goblets. Why, I don’t know. I set it back down, next to a large plate of figs, squares of dark and white chocolate, green grapes, and four or five different types of cheese. Beige crackers are spread out like cards on a blackjack table. I lay my jacket on the back of a chair. I eat a grape and decide to lie across the four-poster bed until Carl gets back. I press my cheek on the edge of a pillow. It feels nice and cool. I close my eyes and after what feels like only a few minutes, I realize I must have dozed off. But when I look around the room and don’t see or hear Carl, I call the front desk and ask if my husband is heading back to the room. They tell me he should’ve been here by now, so I get up and walk across the patio and open the first gate, and when I look down, there slouched on the stairs on top of our luggage and a yellow gift box, is my husband.
I don’t remember how I got home. I do remember that Carl wasn’t able to drive us. I remember being undressed and sponge-bathed. Somebody slipped a nightgown over my head and somebody helped me get in bed and pulled the duvet up under my chin but I still shivered. There were always arms around me but I knew they weren’t Carl’s arms. I kept wondering what was taking him so long to get home.
I remember people knocking on the front door and pressing the doorbell, and the house phone and cellphones ringing all day and into the middle of the night. I heard Odessa and Sadie and Korynthia and Lucky answering the same questions over and over: “No, he hadn’t been sick. It was a heart attack. No, Loretha is not doing well. She thanks you for your prayers. We will let you know about arrangements.” Arrangements? I only like arranging flowers for the dining room table. Everything was so loud my ears were ringing. The vacuum. The dishwasher. Running water.
It's Not All Downhill From Here Page 3