What the Heart Wants

by Tiana Laveen

  Parked cars on either side of the street were caked with hard snow from the previous snowfall, but the sidewalks looked freshly salted. Rows of brownstones stood tall and proud, some with ornate emerald and gold Christmas wreaths hanging on the doors, while others boasted antique bronze doorknobs and intricate ironwork detailing on the gates around the front steps. In a few homes, Kwanzaa ruby and black candles peeked from the windowsills, while others showcased ocean-blue menorah candles.

  Cameron looped his arm around Emily’s as they made their way up the walkway to Mrs. Coleman’s home. When they arrived on her doorstep, the lights within her abode flickered from behind semi-sheer white curtains. As they waited to gain entrance, Cameron snuck a glance at Emily. She oozed elegance in her long black coat, turtleneck, and fine leather boots. Her wheat-colored tresses were pulled tight, away from her chiseled yet feminine face, into a lengthy ponytail that trailed down her back and hit right above her ass.

  It wasn’t long before the front door slowly opened, and there his second mama stood, dressed in a light gray shawl, black slacks, and fluffy white slippers.

  “Heeeey.” She greeted them with a warm smile, her bright eyes filled with light. “Come on in. Get outta the cold.”

  Cameron and Emily entered the dwelling, and as soon as the door closed and locked behind them, he drew her into a big, warm hug. She chuckled at his hesitation to release her, and she hugged him back with the same vigor. He imagined his need for her may have exceeded her need for him in recent days, which made him so glad to receive her affection.

  “Mama, this is Emily Windsor.” Cameron stepped aside and unzipped his black leather bomber coat while Emily extended her freshly manicured hand. Her gold and diamond bangles clanked as she moved. As Mama eyed her, head cocked to the side, her smile slowly drifted away.

  “Please don’t mind me. I don’t mean to stare.” An unnerving silence reigned amongst them. “This whole thing just intrigues me, I suppose you could say.”

  Emily nodded and offered a tilted smile, as if understanding, as if almost expecting such a reaction.

  “I don’t blame you. I imagine it’s a bit out of the ordinary.”

  Mama hurriedly nodded and took their coats to break the tension. Before long, everyone was gathered around the long mahogany dining room table, each with an ice-cold glass of RC Cola and a slice of homemade lemon meringue pie in front of them. That dining room he’d been in a hundred dozen times. Christmases, family birthday parties, quiet get-togethers…

  The walls were a pale yellow framed by a simple, attractive crown molding. Large oil paintings featuring Africans and African Americans hung on the walls in poses that celebrated music and dance. One in particular showcased an old woman with a thick white scarf wrapped around her kinky salt-and-pepper hair, sitting at a sewing machine, a look of determination and angst spread across her midnight-complexioned face as she worked the foot pedal barefooted. She held a piece of blood-red fabric under the pivoting needle of the machine, completely absorbed in her task. He used to be mesmerized by that image. It looked so realistic, as if one could reach out and touch her, feel the hem of the gown she was creating.

  “I’m sorry for initially canceling, Mrs. Coleman, then saying I was coming again last minute.” Emily sported a forlorn expression as she spoke. “I’m a reliable person. Cameron can surely attest to that.” She tossed him a glance paired with a quick, cutesy smile, but it was short lived. “You see…” Emily’s lips crimped in a frown and her complexion deepened. “Today did not go as planned. In fact, that would be quite an understatement. We’re not promised perfect days, now are we? Anyway, I apologize once again. It wasn’t my intention to cancel and then toe the line this way, wishy-washy and causing confusion.”

  Earl Hines and his Orchestra’s “Sweet Georgia Brown” played on an old, scratchy record player.

  “I understand that things happen. Is everything all right, though?” Mama sat at the head of the table, running her palms against some white lace doilies, over and over, as if they needed a good ironing. She normally used them as placemats.

  “Honestly?” Emily’s brow rose. “No, but with time it will be. On another note, I want to tell you that it’s an honor to meet you.”

  “Why? I’m in no one’s history books.” The older woman shrugged, sporting a bit of a smirk. “I’m not famous or infamous, even. I’ve done nothing for you.” She squinted, regarding Emily in a discerning way, as if trying to figure her out—like a human puzzle bearing fresh and old scars connected to a life she herself had brought into the world.

  “I beg to differ. Without you, there would’ve been no Brooke. Without Brooke,” Emily placed her hand over her chest, “there’d be no heart, a second chance at life.”

  A slight smile crept along Mama’s face and Cameron nodded in agreement.

  “I suppose since you put it that way, you’re right.” Mama took a stingy taste of her soda, going through the motions, then placed the glass back down. “RC Cola and pie isn’t exactly the tastiness of meals. In fact, the thought of it would probably sound kinda nasty to most folks.” She giggled, drawing them into the banter. “But see, when my Brooke was a little girl, Emily, she loved them together. Would always ask me to make a lemon meringue pie and let her have a glass of cola. She said the bubbles in the soda would make the meringue tingle in her mouth, like that Pop Rocks candy the kids used to have. She said 7-Up didn’t do as good of a job as the RC Cola or Coke, so that’s what I used to give her.”

  Cameron nodded. “I remember that candy.”

  “You may not believe this, but I made the pie on a whim this morning, not even thinking about this visit. For some reason I decided I wanted to make it. I make all sorts of pies. I’m not a great cook, but I make great cakes and pies. So I looked in my refrigerator and pantry and sure enough, I had all that I needed to make it. Once you two came over, I grabbed the soda and poured it in the glasses too, not thinkin’ much of it. That’s strange, isn’t it?” She tapped her finger to her lower lip. “And now, here we are.”

  “Maybe it’s not so strange after all, Mrs. Coleman. Maybe Brooke knew I was coming by.”

  The quiet took over then, blanketing the room like a thick fabric that floated from the sky and covered all of them. The three just sat there for a spell, casting glances at one another.

  “So I understand from Cameron that you two are an item,” Mama stated, breaking the silence. She dipped her fork into the fluffy, sweet and sour dessert.

  “Yes.” Emily lifted her chin and leaned over, patting his hand while sporting a proud grin. “I love Cameron very much. I know it seems, well, strange. That word is being used a lot lately.” She laughed nervously. “But I can assure you that—”

  “Rule number one.” Mama lifted her finger in the air as she paused to swallow the dollop of pie she’d just shoved into her mouth. “You have no one to answer to regarding your love affair with Cameron but yourself and God. Rule two, my questions and curiosity about you are mainly about my daughter, Brooke. Cameron and I had an interesting conversation a while back, and it was me who asked to meet you, not him tryna gain approval or shove you down my throat. He told me some things had been going on, and he was truthful with at least his interpretation of the situation. I can’t say what’s fact or fiction regarding that sort of thing, but what I can say is that sometimes pain brings people together.

  “I don’t understand why some people struggle with that, ya know? Comin’ from a hurt place, we try to heal. Our minds and hearts do what our bodies do. When there’s an injury to, say, our arm, our body makes that wound sore. The nerve endings start screaming to let us know that hey, you’ve been hurt. So we look and we see it. We pause, we say, ‘Hey, I’ll be damned. I’m bleeding.’ Then, the body goes into repair mode, and before long, we’ve got a scab. We might even have a scar, depending on how deep the cut is—something that won’t ever fully go away, just remind us of what happened, but proves that we made it, we got over. Sometimes we try
to heal by doing things we shouldn’t, though, just to make the pain go away. To make the angry voices in our heads shut up.

  “Other times, we cling to people in the same boat, or those who have overcome and made it to shore. Now, I don’t know what you and Cameron are doing, how this came to be, but what I do know is that you both were hurting and trying to heal, probably in more ways than one based on what he’s shared with me about you.” Emily nodded. “Now, yes, this visit is happening to appease my curiosity, my need to heal. It’s for me to find some closure, but I want to also ensure that you are feeling all right, young lady, in good health.”

  “I am. I’m healing well and I have a cosmetic surgery scheduled to address the scar, actually. It will probably require at least a couple of surgeries, but I’m glad I’ll be able to do that soon.”

  “Well see, although I understand that a young lady such as yourself would care about such things—being physically appealing—I was more concerned about your physical and emotional well-being. We all have scars and sometimes no amount of cosmetic pulling and tugging is going to change anything, ’cause see, they’re on the inside.” Mama slapped her chest hard, her eyes full of passion. Emily’s, on the other hand, misted with emotion. Cameron noticed it before she blinked the tears to oblivion. “And another thing, though I see Cameron as my son and always will, his business is his business. Don’t you let nobody guilt you into explainin’ yourself about this relationship, you hear me?” Mama’s voice turned serious as she waved her finger in Emily’s direction.

  “Yes.”

  “It doesn’t matter what I think, what your friends think, what your favorite cousin or the milkman thinks, young woman. This is between the two of you and everyone else is on the sidelines. It ain’t our show. We can have our opinions, and I certainly have mine, but this isn’t any of my concern. The minute you go explainin’ everything, people will take that as an invitation to get in and remain in your business.”

  “Understood.” Emily sighed, maybe in relief. “I do have a question for you though?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m just curious. What is your opinion about Cameron and me being together?”

  Mama looked between the two of them.

  “I suspect some codependency. It’s a curious thing, but not irrational to me. Under the right circumstances, despite some parts of the wheel being bent or strangely designed, it makes sense. Cameron was very much in love with my daughter. He was grieving. He is curious about who you are; he was from day one but didn’t pursue finding out until you showed up on his doorstep. Things happened—like how Opium reacted to you. You said things that piqued his curiosity. I think initially he wasn’t trying to fall in love, but it happened. I can’t say completely why, and he probably can’t either, but that’s the funny thing with love.” She winked as she brought her glass to her mouth with both hands and took a swallow. “It doesn’t ask for our permission, and it does what it pleases. See, that’s how love will do you. Brooke told me that Cameron wasn’t even her type at first, Emily.” He laughed and nodded, knowing full well what she was talking about.

  “Brooke liked what we call square guys, all right? That wasn’t Cam. He was wearin’ baggy pants, gold jewelry, and a baseball cap and in her words, he looked like some thug. But then he wore her down and she fell for him hard. She found out looks were deceiving and Cameron wasn’t a thug at all. He was one of the most passionate, outspoken, intelligent, funny, and amazing men she’d ever met. So, it’s not any surprise to me that you got hooked on his magic. Destiny, love, a life-saving heart surgery will do things like that. Our heart changes our mind. The heart always gets its way, baby. When the heart stops pumping, the whole damn operation shuts down. You can lose a kidney and keep on steppin’. A finger, a toe, an eyeball even. But you lose your heart? It just stops working…well, you know all too well what happens after that, don’t you?

  “The heart wants what the heart wants. Like makin’ a pretty White girl that looks like some damn model—you look just like you’ve stepped out of a fancy Parisian magazine—fall in love with a man like Cameron. That pretty White girl didn’t like Black folk though, and still, she fell head over heels for a Black man who is proud of himself and where he comes from. And still, he had the patience and foresight to allow her to spread her wings as she travels this thing we call life. That’s what happens when our chest opens up. Everything we didn’t know we needed has a chance to fly in. Today ain’t no bad day for you. I don’t care what happened. It’s a good day because you’re still alive.”

  Emily burst out in tears.

  Suddenly, Mama got up from her seat and hurried to gather Emily into her arms, giving her a firm squeeze.

  “Now you listen to me. I believe you’re a good woman, Emily. You’re trying to find your way, and you’re doing a good job at it. You just heed my advice and keep people out of your business, just like I said. I do appreciate the fact, though, that you felt compelled to explain it to me in the first place, but baby, you owe me nothing. My daughter is gone.” The older woman shrugged, sadness in her eyes. “Ain’t no coming back from that. Cameron has to go on with his life, and you have to go on with yours.” She placed a kiss on Emily’s cheek then reclaimed her seat.

  Emily pulled herself together, blinked back her tears, and stared into her lap. “Thank you for your kindness and understanding, Mrs. Coleman. I’ve never encountered anyone like you before.”

  “As my husband used to say, and not always during the best of conversations, I’m one of a kind.” They all laughed at that.

  “It’s been a long journey to get to this point,” Cameron said. “For both of us. I’m not explaining our relationship, Mama. Just saying that neither of us took this step lightly.”

  Mama nodded in understanding and covered one hand with the other on the table.

  “I bet you’ve learned a lot about yourself, haven’t you, Emily? That maybe you’re stronger than you thought you were.”

  “In some ways, but I…” Emily swallowed, hesitating. “I also learned some things about myself that were not so, shall we say, nice? It’s rather depressing when you can only stand yourself in small doses. This isn’t a woe is me type of situation; I’m not that sort of woman. It’s more of an awareness, if you will.”

  Although Cameron wanted to interject and take up for his woman, he felt compelled to keep quiet. Something was happening in that room, and he did not need to disturb it.

  “Give me some examples of what you mean.” Mama fell back against her chair, concern in her eyes.

  “Well, you already hit on one, but I’ll expound. I went through my storage, for example. I have a closet I use strictly for things that I don’t want just lying about.” Mama nodded. “Odds and ends. I’m a bit of a clean freak, but there are items I don’t want to part with, either. So, I took a look inside of there not too long ago and was stunned. I don’t know why I was shocked.” Emily shrugged. “But I was. I found books I’d been interested in a long time ago, some of which I didn’t even recall purchasing or borrowing. Books that encouraged alienation from people who weren’t exactly like me.”

  She took a deep breath, then continued.

  “Another example is that I discovered how selfish and afraid I could be. How my strength was a screen to cover and protect something on the other side that was an emotional hoarding paradise. Found out that a friend of mine, that I’d ditched, her family was practically destroyed because of mine.” Emily’s voice vibrated with emotion as she clasped her hands together. “I kept my emotions away from others. I am known for keeping my cool, you know? For making an amazing poker face. I pride myself on it. I hate being so emotional right now. I was never like that before.” Emily tapped her fingertips against the glass. “That is one change that I don’t appreciate.”

  “Now that Brooke is your copilot, so to speak,” Mama laughed, “tell me somethin’ that’s changed that you love.”

  “I love that I can sing now. I prefer to do it in privat
e, but I enjoy it so much.” The two women smiled at one another. “Cameron has tried to get me to sing publicly several times, but I don’t want to.”

  “I’m going to keep trying, too. She’s amazing. I don’t want it to go to waste.”

  “Let me tell you, if all this crazy stuff Cameron told me is true, about you taking on some of my daughter’s attributes, trust me, it won’t go to waste. See, Brooke was an extrovert. She also loved to read; she owned a lot of books. She read everything that wasn’t nailed down. Cameron and I ended up having to donate so many of them. She could be emotional at times too, and she was confident in her talents. A bit of a showoff, but in a good way.” Mama grinned. “Do you mind singing a verse or two for me? It’s just the three of us here. You don’t have to, but if you want to, I’d like to hear a little somethin’.”

  “Oh? You want me to sing?” Emily ran her finger along her chest where the scar was. “Well, I suppose a little bit wouldn’t hurt.” Her cheeks turned several shades darker. “What would you like to hear?”

  “How about you surprise me?”

  Emily nodded, cast Cameron a glance, then got to her feet. He could see she was nervous, running her hands together as if rubbing in some invisible lotion. Emily took a few moments to mull it over, took a sip of cola, then closed her eyes and began to croon Minnie Riperton’s “Les Fleurs.”

  Cameron’s chest felt like bursting when tears started to pour from Mama’s eyes. The older woman rocked slowly back and forth, smiling as Emily belted out the entire song in her dynamic voice. Her singing was like hot honey poured over the coldest ice. It boomed with soul and handled the delicate layers of the song perfectly, filling the room with the colors of vibrant banana yellow and deep tangerine. Each expertly delivered note held onto layers of warmth, certain to thaw the hard snow, the ice, the hatred made of hard bone. It could break apart a rib cage of anger, melt it right off the coldest man’s body, and go straight to his beating heart, turning him into a new soul.