On the Come Up

by Angie Thomas

  Jay goes, “Mm,” which in black momma speak could mean a number of things. “I just wanna know how long that’s been going on, and do we need to have a refresher course on the birds and the bees?”

  “Really?” I groan.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m too young to be a grandma. Ain’t nobody got time for that.”

  Okay, Sweet Brown.

  We get our usual pew near the back of the sanctuary. Grandma and Granddaddy come up the center aisle together. His silver tie matches her hat. He carries a stack of empty gold plates. It’s their Sunday to staff the communion table, which means they gotta go get the crackers and grape juice.

  “All right now, y’all,” Granddaddy says. He gives Jay a kiss and gets his sugar from me. “Who is this beautiful young lady with y’all today?”

  “Grandma and Granddaddy, this is Kayla, my girlfriend,” Trey says. “Kayla, these are my grandparents.”

  Kayla shakes their hands. Oh, yeah, this is really serious if he’s introducing her to our grandparents. “Nice meeting you, Mr. and Mrs. Jackson. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “I hope it’s all good,” Grandma says.

  “Of course, Grandma,” Trey says, a little too brightly. He’s lying.

  “We still set for after church, Jayda?” Granddaddy asks.

  “Yes, sir, we are.”

  “What’s after church?” Trey asks.

  “We’re having a family dinner,” Grandma says. She looks at my mom. “All of us.”

  Hold up. She’s not glaring at Jay. In fact, Grandma has been over here more than a minute and hasn’t made one snide remark about her yet. Then, on top of that, my mom is invited to family dinner, as in, Grandma considers her part of the family?

  Oh, God. “Somebody’s dying! Who’s dying? Granddaddy, it’s your diabetes, ain’t it?”

  “What?” Granddaddy says. “Li’l Bit, I swear, you jump to conclusions so fast, you gon’ pull a muscle. Ain’t nobody dying. We just gon’ have dinner. Kayla, you invited, too. I gotta tell you, I make some of the best blackberry cobbler you gon’ ever have in your life. Bring your appetite now.”

  “See y’all later,” Grandma says, and she and Granddaddy walk off. She didn’t even ask me and Trey to sit with her today.

  I turn to my mom. I’m so confused. “What’s going on?”

  The band begins an upbeat song, and the choir marches down the aisles, swaying their arms and clapping to the beat.

  “We’ll talk later, baby,” Jay claims. She stands and claps along with them.

  I still haven’t gotten any answers when we pull into my grandparents’ driveway.

  Grandma and Granddaddy live in “that house” in the Garden. The one that almost looks too nice to be in the hood. It’s brick with an iron fence surrounding it. There’s a second story and an expanded den that my grandparents added back when my dad was a kid. Grandma keeps the front yard looking nice. They’ve got a small fountain for birds and enough flowers to give a botanical garden a run for its money.

  I can’t help the feeling of déjà vu that hits me. Jay once pulled into this driveway and left me and Trey here when things got tough. They’re not nearly as tough now, but I’m not sure I like this. “What’s going on?” I ask.

  Jay puts her Jeep in park. It’s just me and her. Trey and Kayla went to the store in his car. Grandma asked him to pick up some buttermilk and cornmeal for the cornbread. “Like your grandparents said, we’re gonna have dinner and talk about some things.”

  “What kinda things?”

  “It’s good stuff, I promise.”

  I nod. I hate that that five-year-old is still inside of me, and I hate that she’s freaking out right now. I mean, I know my mom isn’t about to leave me here again, but that fear. It’s deep, but it’s there, like it’s part of my DNA.

  Jay stares at the house, lightly tapping the steering wheel. “Every time I pull in this driveway, I can’t help but think about the day I left you and Trey here. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten your screams for me out of my ears.”

  I didn’t know that. “Really?”

  “Yeah,” she says softly. “Hardest day of my life. Even harder than the day we lost your daddy. I couldn’t control his death. No decision I made could’ve changed that. But I decided to do drugs, I decided to bring you and Trey here. I knew that the moment I pulled out of this driveway, it would change everything. Knew it. Did it anyway.”

  I can’t find any words.

  Jay takes a deep breath. “I know I’ve told you a million times, but I’m sorry, baby. I’ll always regret putting you through that. I’m sorry that you still have nightmares about it.”

  I look at her. “What?”

  “You talk in your sleep, Bri. That’s why I check on you so much at night.”

  It’s the secret I planned to die with, I swear. I never even wanted her to know that I remember that day. I blink fast. “I didn’t mean for you to find—”

  “Hey.” She lifts my chin. “It’s okay. I also know that it’s hard for you to trust that I won’t end up on drugs again. I get it. But I hope you know that every single day, my goal is to be here for you.”

  I knew it was a daily fight for her to stay clean. I just didn’t realize I was the reason she fights.

  We’re quiet for a while. My mom strokes my cheek.

  “I love you,” she says.

  There’s a lot I don’t know and may never know. I don’t know why she chose drugs over me and Trey. I don’t know if five-year-old Bri will ever stop being afraid. I don’t know if Jay’ll stay clean for the rest of her life. But I know that she loves me.

  “I love you too . . . Mom.”

  One word, one syllable. All of my life it’s been synonymous with Jay but for years it hasn’t been easy to say. I guess I gotta work on it, like I’ve gotta work on trusting that I won’t lose her again.

  Her eyes glisten. She must have noticed that I rarely call her that, too. She frames my face and kisses my forehead. “C’mon. Let’s go inside and pray your grandma hasn’t decided to slip some poison on my plate.”

  Granddaddy lets us in. I don’t think my grandparents have changed anything in their house since Trey and I moved out. There’s a painting of President Obama on the living room wall (the only president, according to Granddaddy), right between Dr. King and a portrait of my grandparents on their wedding day. There’s this portrait of Grandma in a feathered boa and a diamond bracelet. (I’ve never asked and don’t wanna know.) Next to it, there’s a painting of a much younger Granddaddy in his navy uniform. There are pictures of me, Dad, and Trey all over the house. Wallet-size photos of my grandparents’ nieces and nephews line the shelf in the hallway, along with the little baby Jesus and praying-hands statues that Grandma collects.

  Granddaddy goes to the backyard to work on this old pickup truck he’s been restoring since I was a kid. Grandma’s in the kitchen. She’s changed into one of her favorite muumuus and already has a couple of pots and pans on the stovetop.

  “You need help with anything, Mrs. Jackson?” J—Mom—asks.

  “Yeah. Hand me that seasoning salt out the cabinet. You think you can get them greens going for me?”

  Who is this alien, and what has it done with my grandmother? See, Grandma never lets anyone cook in her kitchen. Nev-er. For her to let my mom help out with dinner . . .

  This is the goddamn Twilight Zone. I swear it is.

  Meanwhile, I’m only allowed to sit and watch. Grandma says I “ain’t got a lick of patience,” therefore I “ain’t touching one pot or pan in her kitchen.”

  Trey and Kayla show up. Trey goes out back to help Granddaddy. I honestly don’t think they do a thing to that truck. They just go out there to talk about stuff they don’t want us to hear. Kayla asks if she can help with dinner. Grandma gives her this sugary sweet smile and says, “That’s all right, baby. Just sit your pretty self down.”

  Translation: Girl, I don’t know you well enough to let you in my kitchen like that.


  Grandma tells Kayla all about her recipes though. It only takes Kayla saying, “This already smells divine, Mrs. Jackson,” and Grandma’s head practically doubles in size. When she starts telling Kayla how to make cornbread, that’s when I slip out. Nothing makes me hungrier than people talking about food, and my stomach is already growling like it belongs in a cage.

  I go upstairs. Whenever I spend holidays with my grandparents, I stay in my old bedroom.

  Just like the house, my room hasn’t changed at all. I think Grandma expected me to come back someday, and for things to be the way they used to be, right down to me being the Tweety Bird–loving eleven-year-old who cried when she had to leave.

  I throw myself onto the bed. It’s always weird being here, can’t lie. It’s like stepping into a time machine or something. Not just because of the Tweety shrine but all of the memories made in this room. Sonny, Malik, and I spent so much time in here. It’s where Trey introduced me to Uno. Granddaddy played dolls with me in here.

  My mom isn’t part of any of those memories though.

  There’s a knock at the door, and my mom peeks in. Trey’s behind her. “Hey. Okay if we come in?” she asks.

  I sit up. “Yeah, sure—”

  “I ain’t gotta ask to come in this room,” Trey says, and lets himself in. Then he has the nerve to plop onto my bed.

  “Um, excuse you? This is still my room.”

  “Wow,” my mom says, looking around. “Tweety, huh?”

  She’s never been in here before. Back when she only had me and Trey on weekends, she’d only get as far as the driveway. Grandma wouldn’t let her come inside.

  Mom moves around my room. She picks up one of my stuffed Tweety Birds. “I hadn’t realized I hadn’t been in here before. Wait, I take that back. I was definitely in here when it was your daddy’s room.”

  “Wait, you saying that you two had sex in the room that ended up being Bri’s room?” Trey asks.

  There goes my appetite. “Ill!”

  “Trey, stop!” says Mom. “They probably changed the bed.”

  Oh my God, she just confirmed that they did have sex in here. Trey falls onto the bed, screaming laughing. “Bri got the sex room!”

  I punch him. “Shut up!”

  “Cut it out, y’all,” says Mom. “I need to talk to you about something.”

  “Hold up—first things first,” Trey says, sitting up. “What’s up with you and Grandma?”

  “What you mean?”

  “Y’all been here, what?” Trey glances at his watch. “An hour now, and nobody’s argued yet. I haven’t even heard any snide remarks.”

  “Fact,” I say. “Y’all have been lacking shade like a sunny day.”

  Oh, God. I sound like Granddaddy.

  “Your grandmother and I had a discussion,” J—Mom—claims. “That’s all.”

  “That’s all?” says Trey. “Any discussion between you two is monumental. When did this happen?”

  “The other day,” Jay says. “We talked for a few hours. Hashed out a lot of things, even stuff from way back when.”

  “Did Jesus moderate it?” I ask. “’Cause that’s the only way I see this working.”

  Trey goes, “Haaaa!”

  Mom kisses her teeth. “Anyway! I’m not gonna act like we’re best friends, hell no. That woman still knows how to work my nerves. But we realized that we love you two and want what’s best for you. We’re willing to set our differences aside in the name of that.”

  Trey picks up his phone. “Ah. That explains it. I just got a notification that it’s below zero in hell.”

  I snort.

  “Whatever, boy,” says Mom. “We also came to a decision. Your grandparents offered that all three of us stay here until we get on our feet. I accepted.”

  “Whoa. Really?” I say.

  “Hold up, hold up,” Trey says. “We’re moving in here?”

  Wow. For once, I’m finding out when he finds out.

  “Look, something may or may not come from my interview with Dr. Cook, but either way this will take some pressure off,” Mom says. “I told your grandparents I’d help with household expenses, but this would mean a lot less bills to worry about. Besides, we’ve been trying to play catch-up on rent so long that it’s almost impossible to catch up at this point.”

  “But I’ve got us,” Trey claims.

  “I’ve got us,” she says. “I appreciate all you’re doing to keep us afloat, baby, I really do, but this is honestly for the best. This way, I can go back to school and finish up. Once I do get a job, I can save up for a place. It also means you can go to grad school.”

  He immediately shakes his head. “No. Absolutely not.”

  “Why not?” I ask.

  “The school is three hours away, Bri.”

  “If this is about Kayla, if she really cares about you, she’ll be fine with that, baby,” Mom says. “Heck, she better be.”

  “It’s not just her. I can’t leave you and Li’l Bit.”

  “Why not?” Mom asks.

  “Because.”

  “Because you think you have to take care of us,” Mom finishes for him. “And you don’t. The only person you have to take care of is yourself.”

  Trey slowly lets out a breath. “I don’t know about this.”

  Mom comes over and lifts his chin. “You gotta go after your dream, baby.”

  I get an ache in my chest. That’s the exact opposite of what she told me in the car when she said I couldn’t rap anymore. I mean, I get it. I’ve messed up big-time. But what makes Trey’s dreams more important than mine?

  “You’ll never know what you could become if you stay here,” she goes on, and I stare at the rug. “I gotta be able to brag about my son, the doctor. They won’t be able to tell me a damn thing then.”

  Trey laughs. “You’re gonna brag to everybody, huh?”

  “Every damn body.” She laughs, too. “But first, you gotta go to grad school and get that master’s. Then that doctorate. You can’t stay here to do either.”

  Trey groans and tiredly wipes his face. “That’s more student loans and more school.”

  “But it’s worth it,” Mom says. “It’s your dream.”

  He slowly nods and looks over at me. I try to keep my eyes on my Tweety rug. Don’t know if I should smile for him or cry for myself.

  “Ma,” Trey says. “You gotta let Bri go after her dreams, too.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You told her she can’t rap anymore. You’re not even letting her perform at the Ring.”

  “Trey, you know damn well why I’m not. You’ve seen the mess she’s gotten herself into. Then Supreme wants her out here, acting a fool. I’d be a fool to let that happen. What? So she can end up like your daddy?”

  I look up. “I’m not him.”

  Three words. I’ve thought them plenty of times. Honestly, people act like I’m my dad more than I’m myself. I’ve got his dimples, his smile, his temper, his stubbornness, his rap skills. Hell, I got his room. But I’m not him. Period.

  “Bri, we already discussed this.”

  “Discussed? You dictated to me. You wanna talk to Trey about pursuing his dream, but I can’t pursue mine?”

  “Trey’s dream won’t get him killed!”

  “Mine won’t either because I’m smarter than that!”

  She puts her hands at her mouth, like she’s praying for the Lord to keep her from hurting me. “Brianna—”

  “I don’t like what Supreme wants me to do,” I admit. I swear, I hate that damn song. “But this is the only thing I’m really good at. It’s all I wanna do. Can’t I at least see if I can make it?”

  She stares at the ceiling for the longest.

  “Ma, look,” says Trey. “I don’t like it either, I don’t. But this sounds like a big opportunity.”

  “Yeah, to make Supreme rich,” she says.

  “We can figure out what to do with him and all this image stuff later,” Trey says. “But damn
. Do you really want Bri to spend the rest of her life wondering what could’ve happened?”

  Her foot taps the floor. She wraps her arms around herself. “Your daddy—”

  “Made bad decisions,” Trey says. “And yeah, Bri has, too—”

  Was that even necessary to point out?

  “But I believe that she’s smarter than that,” he says. “Don’t you?”

  “I know she is.”

  “Can you act like it then?” I ask, and my voice is super soft. “It’s not like anybody else does.”

  This look of surprise quickly appears in my mom’s eyes. Slowly, it’s replaced by sadness and, soon, realization. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “Fine. Bri, if you wanna perform at the Ring, you can. But if you go out there, acting a damn fool, best believe I will snatch your soul from your body.”

  Oh, I definitely believe it. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good,” she says. “After this li’l performance, Supreme ain’t gonna be your manager anymore. Hell, I’ll do it before I let him.”

  Oh, dear God. “Um . . . yeah. Sure.”

  “Hey! Dinner ready, and I’m hungry,” Granddaddy calls from downstairs. “So bring y’all asses on!”

  “Sit your behind down somewhere and hush!” Grandma says.

  “Ah, the sweet sound of dysfunction,” Trey says as he leaves my room. “We’ll have to deal with that all the time now.”

  “Lord, help us,” Mom adds, following him out.

  I stay back and glance around. Like I said, I have a lot of good memories in this room. But I also woke up here a lot of nights, screaming for my mom not to leave me. See, the one thing good memories and bad memories have in common is that they both stay with you. I guess that’s why I’ve never known how to feel about this place. Or about my mom, even.

  And you know what? Maybe that’s okay. Maybe we’ll be okay.

  Maybe I’ll be okay.

  All six of us sit at the dining room table and pass platters and bowls around. Grandma has gotten all in Kayla’s business while Trey was upstairs and gives us the 411. Kayla is a straight-up saint because she lets her.

  “She say she got two brothers. One older and one around your age, Brianna,” Grandma says. “Her momma is a teacher at some private school, and her daddy is an electrician. Senior, I got his card. He can fix that light on the back porch for us.”