“He’s a year and a half older than Jalecia. He turns forty-two in a couple of months. I swear, Lo, I’m tired of mothering. And I’m not thrilled about grandmothering and especially not about great-grandmothering, though it’s less of a commitment since they’re all in San Diego.”
“You should visit them more often.”
“I don’t like driving that far.”
“Well, why don’t they ever come up here to see you?”
“Honestly? My grandkids say they don’t like traveling with their little ones and my overeducated daughters are ashamed of me because I don’t have a degree, though they don’t have any problems asking me for loans they never pay back.”
“I wish everything was easier.”
“Me, too. Anyway, we can head back to the car if you want to, Lo.”
“Wait. This may be completely out of left field, but do you have any regrets about your life, Ko?”
“Hell yes. I should’ve gone to college. How’s that?”
“Did you have dreams you never told anybody about?”
“Yes. But I can’t remember them.”
“You are so full of shit. Make yourself remember. We’re not too old to make changes!”
“Maybe I’ll be a senior stripper!”
I pushed her.
“What about you? Did you really grow up wanting to sell beauty products?”
“Of course not. I just wanted to work for myself and I liked helping other women look good.”
“You should add a makeup artist to your staff.”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do. Anyway, let’s keep walking.”
“I was hoping you’d say that,” and she threw her long arm over my shoulders and pulled me against her. I am so grateful she is my friend. I wish Korynthia was my sister. Or that my sister was more like Korynthia.
* * *
—
“What are you going to do with Grandpa’s Explorer?” Cinnamon asked, after dropping by with an entire month’s rent. But before I had a chance to digest what she’d just asked me, or to give her a definitive hell to the no, she blurted out: “Did I tell you we’re going to be a family of four in less than six months?”
Did she just say she’s having twins? I crossed my arms, leaned all the way forward in my reading chair, and looked her in the eyes. “Lord, Cinnamon, two babies? What are you going to do? They can’t live on breast milk forever.”
“I know but, well, Jonas just got hired at Whole Foods, and I might have a job, too, Grandma.”
“Doing what?”
“It’s still up in the air. I don’t want to jinx it.”
“Well, good luck,” I said, even though I was clearly not impressed. I hoped it showed.
I hadn’t given one thought to Carl’s big black Explorer parked all these months in the garage, but without thinking, I uncrossed my arms, leaned back in my chair, and heard myself say, “You can have it.”
I immediately wished I hadn’t said it. But, of course, I couldn’t take it back. Seeing the small globe forming under the waistband of her orange paisley skirt with the straggly hem made me feel sorry for her stupid ass. Pregnant with twins, no less. Neither she nor Jonas has a clue about what to do with their own lives, let alone the lives of two babies. And I would not be able to sleep at night knowing they were riding around in a 2006 Prius with no working reverse.
I don’t remember being this clueless when I was her age, although I probably was.
B. B. King barked when Cinnamon started screaming “thank you” over and over. She ran to me and kissed the top of my silver head. She even smelled like cinnamon, and her belly was warm and soft, and I realized that this was the first time I’d felt an ounce of gladness since Carl had been gone.
* * *
—
When Cinnamon left, I dialed Jalecia’s number but got her voicemail. I hadn’t thought about what I would say, so I just dove in: “Hi, Jay, this is Mom calling again. I wish there was a way we could see each other soon. Could you please call me? I’m worried about you, and I would like us to act more like mother and daughter again, if you’ll let us. Anyway, I love you, Jalecia. Please reach out. I promise not to bite. Oh, and congratulations on becoming a grandmother! Bye-bye.”
As soon as I hung up I wished I could’ve hit Rewind and deleted that bite business.
* * *
—
Two weeks later I was sitting at the kitchen table, thumbing through the mail, when B. B. King started barking. I knew it couldn’t be the pizza delivery because I’d only placed my online order ten minutes ago, so I rushed to the front door thinking maybe it was Jalecia, even though I hadn’t heard a peep from her. But it was not my daughter. It was one of Carl’s nephews, one of the two who’d decided not to go back to Flint, and who was currently living rent-free in one of my apartments until he could find a job. I opened the door.
“Hello, Miss Loretha. I’m sorry for just dropping by like this, but I was wondering if I might speak to you about something.”
“Sure, come on in, Kwame,” I said, although I was thinking, Please don’t ask to borrow some money because I’m tired of being a lending tree.
“Thank you,” he said, and ducked so his head wouldn’t hit the doorframe.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
B. B. King, who usually growls at strangers, didn’t. In fact, he strutted over to where Kwame had sat down, and rolled over so his nose rested on the young man’s humongous sneaker. Kwame bent over and rubbed B. B. King’s head.
“Thank you, ma’am. No, nothing is wrong. At least I hope not. I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something ever since I got to California.”
“Is it good or bad news? Because I can’t handle any more bad news.”
“I guess it depends on how you look at it.”
I eased down in the recliner, realizing that this was the first time I’d sat in Carl’s chair since he’s been gone. I did not lean back.
“Well, first off, Boone—you know the cousin who’s been sharing the place with me? He took a bus back home yesterday.”
“Why?”
“He said he didn’t like it here.”
“What didn’t he like?”
“Well, he said California is just different.”
“In what sense?”
“Too many weird folks, and he didn’t feel like he fit in here. Truthfully, I think he really just missed his girlfriend.”
“What about you?”
“I don’t have a girlfriend. And I like it here. So far. It’s just been kind of hard finding a decent job, since I don’t have a college degree.”
“It sounds like you’ve been to college.”
“Really? Well, I’m about ten credits shy of getting my associate’s degree from the junior college in Flint.”
“What happened?”
“I just got bored. I played basketball in high school and everybody thought I was going to get a scholarship to a D1 school.”
“So why didn’t you?”
He started rubbing B. B. King’s head again. “I wasn’t that good, plus I really didn’t like playing. Just because I’m tall everybody thought I should play.”
“How tall are you?”
“I’m only six-six.”
Only?
“You ever think about going back to school?”
He nodded.
“What interests you?”
“A lot of things, but nothing in particular.”
I decided not to press the issue, because for some reason I didn’t think this was why he had come over here.
“Can I get you anything to drink?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Well, I’m just waiting on a pizza, but it seems like something else is on your mind. Talk to me.”
&
nbsp; He stopped rubbing B. B. King and sat up straight.
“Well, this is kinda hard for me to say, but…I thought you might want to know that I’m not Carl’s nephew. I’m his son.”
I don’t know why, but I wasn’t surprised to hear this. He looked just like Carl. But what I also knew was Carl obviously hadn’t known about him. Because he would’ve told me if he had.
“Thank you for telling me, Kwame. And I don’t want you to think for a minute that hearing this has upset me.”
He looked stunned, and who could blame him?
“I don’t want anything from you, ma’am. I just thought it was important that you know.”
“How old are you?”
“I just turned twenty-five.”
“Where’s your mother?”
“She’s still in Flint.”
“What does she do?”
“She drinks, mostly. And does a few drugs.”
This made me lean back in Carl’s chair. I did my best to soften my tone.
“How long have you known Carl was your father, Kwame?”
“I only found out when he passed away.”
“Really?”
“Ma never told me.”
“Why not?”
He looked down at the floor and then wiped his long fingers back and forth across his chin.
“Because she didn’t want me to know.”
“Why not?”
“I think because she was ashamed.”
“Ashamed of what?”
“Herself. And plus, I think she was worried that if I knew I had a father out in California, I’d leave.”
“Who was it who told you?”
“Everybody seemed to know but me. But a couple of my cousins finally told me on the bus to Carl’s celebration.”
When the delivery guy rang the doorbell, B. B. King didn’t jump up. He just gazed up at me, his eyes full of what looked like empathy, as if even he was certain that Carl had had no idea he’d made a child before I’d met him and that right here was a young man who needed some mothering. I got up and paid for the pizza, and then I heard myself ask Kwame if he would like to stay—and not just for dinner—and he said, “Yes, ma’am.”
“I hope you got a DNA test,” Lucky said, as she jabbed her fork into my last candied yam. We were having dinner at one of our favorite restaurants, Roscoe’s House of Chicken and Waffles, because Lucky wanted to get out of the house and away from her husband, Joe. Truth be told, we both needed some fried chicken and collard greens. Lucky also had macaroni and cheese, which I passed on.
“No, I have not, Lucky,” I said defensively. “It happened before Carl and I met. In Flint, when he was home visiting. Anyway, Kwame is a nice young man. He’s twenty-five. And FYI, he didn’t ask to move in. It was my suggestion.”
“How long is he staying?”
“Why?”
“I just want to know.”
“But why?”
“Because I want to make sure he doesn’t turn out to be another burden.”
“Maybe if you’d had children you’d know that they’re not a burden.”
“You can’t tell me Jalecia isn’t a burden. And Kwame isn’t even your child, Loretha.”
She never calls me Loretha unless she’s trying to act superior.
“He’s got my husband’s blood, Lucky. I don’t need to explain it any more than I already have. But suffice it to say he can stay until he gets on his feet.”
“You’ve already got a daughter who needs help getting back on her feet.”
“Come on, Lucky. I have bent over backward to help her. I gave her a job. Bought her a car. Paid her rent. Her cellphone bill. I’ve done far too much for her, and what have I gotten? She steals from me and can’t even be bothered to call me on my birthday or say more than two words to me at my husband’s memorial? She’s forty frigging years old, Lucky. I cannot save her from herself.”
She took a long sip of her iced tea and almost slammed the glass on the Formica table.
“But you’re probably going to have to if she hits rock bottom.”
We were both quiet for a minute. Lucky looked as if she wished she could take that thought back. I just shoved my fork into her macaroni and cheese. But I couldn’t taste it.
“Does this boy do any drugs? Has he been to college? Does he have a job?”
“I got him a spot working with Carl’s construction crew. And he’s a few credits shy of an associate’s degree, and no, he doesn’t do drugs.”
“And you trust him?”
“Yes. Waitress?”
“We haven’t even eaten what’s on our plates, Lo, what is it you could possibly want?”
“Water.”
“This is your third glass. What’s up with that?”
“I’m thirsty.”
“You should tell your doctor. It’s a sign of something.”
The waitress appeared. A young Hershey-brown girl with thick, kinky tendrils that looked like a halo and round breasts like I used to have. She reminded me of that girl who used to sing with the Fugees, but I could not for the life of me think of her name.
“Sweetheart, could I please have another glass of water?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
When she turned to leave I realized I also used to have a waistline and a behind that didn’t jiggle, just like hers.
“What’s that pretty young girl’s name who used to sing with the Fugees?”
“Lauryn Hill. Why?”
“Dang, I forget a lot of shit. The waitress reminds me of her.”
“So how does Odessa feel about Carl’s kid moving in?”
“She doesn’t know because I haven’t told her. It’s my house and she’ll find out when she finds out. Anyway, enough about my life, Lucky. Let’s talk about your world for a change.”
“Nothing to talk about. Joe’s still living in the guesthouse and if I wasn’t so old I’d divorce him. He feels more like a pet than a husband at this point.”
“Shut up, Lucky. I like Joe. We all like Joe. Sometimes more than we like your ass. And we almost don’t blame him for moving into the guesthouse. You should try a little tenderness because all you do is complain.”
She knows this is true, which is why she didn’t or couldn’t say anything.
The waitress brought my water and smiled at me. I wished she could be my daughter just for today.
“Are you going to eat that cornbread?” Lucky asked.
“No, and you can’t have it. I am going to take it home for Kwame, along with a breast and thigh and a wing for me for later.”
“I talked to Poochie today. She said she has to get a hip replacement.”
“She’s been putting that off for too long. I’ll bet she doesn’t have any problems sitting in front of those slots. How’s her mama?”
“Her days are numbered. Poochie’s going to need help, but the rest of her family is on her last nerve.”
We both just nodded at that.
“You know what,” I said. “I think I’ll forget about the wing and get two pieces of sweet potato pie instead. One for me and one for Kwame.”
“Aren’t you cutting back on sweets?”
“I am. I’m eliminating things one by one.”
She looked at my plate and knew I was lying. I haven’t figured out how to make any changes yet. I’ve only just started getting used to being without my husband. Hell, you can’t change everything at once.
“It looks like you’ve put on a few yourself, Lucky. And from what you wolfed down this evening, it doesn’t seem as if you’re really all that interested in losing any weight either.”
“I have no willpower. I admit it. But my pressure is up, so I’m considering getting that gastric bypass surgery.”
“Really?”
<
br /> “My doctor told me I need to lose at least a hundred pounds or I could be in trouble, and I can’t see any other way to lose that much. I’m already taking blood pressure and cholesterol medication.”
“Since when?”
“What difference does it make?”
She then bit off a big piece of honey cornbread.
“Neither one of us should even be in here,” I said as I looked down at my plate. The chicken was fried. I could see the ham in the collard greens. The candied yams had brown sugar and butter oozing out of them. And then there was my beautiful cornbread. Did I really need to eat all this?
“Let me say this, Lo. I know Carl kind of forced you to make some promises to us as part of his grand birthday bargain, but even though I know you’re still grieving, I think the sooner you start making good on them, the better.”
“I know. I’m almost ready.”
“When are you going to trade in that ugly Volvo?”
“None of your business.”
When she whipped out her gold American Express card, I realized it had been four months since the five of us had had a group dinner. We try to get our whole crew together for dinner once a month, so we can catch up and bitch and pretty much have our own version of female church. It’s a thing we’ve done for decades, through multiple kids and multiple husbands and good and bad. But we hadn’t had one since before Carl died.
“Lucky, I was just thinking, it’s your turn to host a group dinner.”
She looked at me like I’d said something wrong. “You sure you’re ready?”
I nodded my head. The truth was I was lonely, and I missed us spilling our guts and being silly all together. My friends are the sisters I wish I had, even when they do get on my nerves and call me out on my BS. But we’ve been doing this for one another all our lives. We grew up in the same neighborhood, went to middle and high school together. Some of us went away to college or didn’t go far, and one not at all. We know one another’s secrets, the ones we’re brave enough to share, which is why kids and husbands and divorces have not been able to loosen our ties. Of course, we occasionally divorce one another but we always find ways to annul it.
“But I can’t have the dinner at my house,” Lucky blurted out.
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