The Only Black Girls in Town

by Brandy Colbert

  “Well, she’s a journalist—freelance, so she can work from anywhere,” says Dad. “But the idea is that she’ll get a lot of rest while she’s waiting for the baby.”

  I’ve never been around anyone who’s pregnant. Will she have strange food cravings? What if the baby comes early, while Tim is still away?

  “What’s she having?” I take a careful sip of my chai, hoping it’s not still too hot. It’s perfect, though, and it goes down milky, spicy smooth.

  “They’re waiting to find out,” Dad answers. “Denise says it’s one of life’s only true surprises. They’re so excited. You know, I think Denise was a bit sad that she couldn’t keep you when you were born.”

  “What?”

  “Kadeem.” Elliott says it lightly, but it still sounds like a warning.

  Dad waves a hand at him. “Oh, she’s old enough. Besides, what’s so bad about hearing you were so loved that someone wanted to be your mother?”

  “Is that true?” I ask slowly. “Denise wanted to keep me?”

  “She never said so. But we were in the room with her, and the way she looked at you—”

  “She’d just given birth,” Elliott interrupts him. “It’s a huge life event. There are a lot of hormones and emotions involved.”

  Dad sighs. “You’re right. I shouldn’t speak for Denise.” He turns to me. “But she does care about you very much.”

  “Yes,” Elliott says, his voice softer. “Ever since you were just a twinkle in our eyes.”

  I look down at the table. I never know what to say when they talk about me before I remember being me. Most of my friends don’t seem to think too much about how they came into the world. It’s like they just knew they would exist, no matter what. But I know how badly my dads wanted me and how it wasn’t as easy for them as just deciding they were going to have a baby.

  “When will Denise get here?” I ask.

  “Well, since you’ve given the okay, we’ll call her tonight and find out,” Dad says. “Tim has to get on the road pretty soon, so maybe as early as next week.”

  Next week? That’s so soon. I’m starting seventh grade next week, and Edie just moved in, and for some reason it seems like so many big things shouldn’t be happening so close together.

  I head to Laramie’s the next day after I eat lunch with Dad. I used to go over for lunch sometimes, until Dad figured out Leif was making things like chicken nuggets and fried bologna sandwiches. We’re vegetarians, so sometimes all I could eat were frozen french fries or ice cream from one of the pints Leif brings home from the creamery. (Even though, to be honest, some of the meat smelled really good.) Dad freaked out and said I couldn’t eat over there until they started serving real food. I haven’t had a meal at Laramie’s since.

  Today, she and I can’t decide what to do.

  “We could go to the beach,” I say. It’s usually my first idea, and it’s only a few steps out Laramie’s back door.

  We’re sitting on the floor of her bedroom in the middle of the rug. She stretches her legs in front of her and I try not to notice how much they’ve grown.

  Laramie makes a face as she wiggles her bare toes. “I don’t feel like dealing with the sand today.”

  Which is ridiculous because you can’t walk through Laramie’s house barefoot without getting sand between your toes. It comes with the territory.

  “What about the comic shop?” It only seems fair to suggest it since she went to the surf shop with me the other day.

  Laramie picks at a loose thread on the rug. “The new comics don’t come out until next Wednesday.”

  “Oh.” I knew that. “The creamery?” Leif’s working again.

  She shakes her head, still looking down.

  “What do you want to do?”

  “I don’t know. Nothing sounds good. I’m almost excited school is starting next week.”

  I stare at her. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Laramie.”

  She sighs and looks at me as she unties her curly blond hair from its ponytail and loops the elastic tie around her wrist. “I started. Last night.”

  I frown. “Started what?”

  She stares at me, her brown eyes serious. “Come on, Alberta. Think about it.”

  I do, and then my face gets hot. “Your period?” I whisper it even though we’re here alone. Laramie seems embarrassed, and it makes me feel embarrassed, too.

  “Yeah,” she says softly. “It’s weird. My mom was all proud, like I had something to do with it. I just wish…”

  “What?”

  “I wish things weren’t changing so much. That I wasn’t changing so much. Mom measured me last night, and I’ve grown almost three inches this summer. I feel awkward all the time and—it’s just happening too fast. Everything.”

  “Sorry.” I twist my hands together. I’m not sure what to say. I know what she means about things changing too fast, but my body definitely isn’t on that list. I feel bad for being jealous of her, but I am. Maybe I would feel the same way Laramie does if I were the one who’d started first… but I don’t think so.

  “It is what it is.” Laramie sounds so grown-up when she says that, but she looks scared and small. She snaps the hair elastic against her wrist. “Do I get to meet the new girl before school starts?”

  I told her all about Edie after Dad and I got back from the B&B. Laramie sounded interested when I said that Edie is obsessed with horror movies and came from Brooklyn, but in a way that I think means she’s only interested because I am. Laramie is popular. She doesn’t really need new friends. We hang out with the same people, so I guess I don’t need a new friend, either. But I don’t have any black friends. Not ones that I actually see outside of school.

  “What about Saturday? Do you care if she comes with us to the surf camp party?”

  “Cool with me,” Laramie says.

  She looks slightly less miserable than she did five minutes ago, so I try one more time. With something we both love to do together. “Want to see what the thrift store got in this week?”

  Laramie’s face finally brightens.

  BIOLOGICAL

  EDIE AND MS. WHITMAN COME OVER FOR DINNER ON Friday night.

  Dad and Elliott are stumbling over each other in the kitchen, trying to make everything perfect. When the doorbell rings, they don’t even stop talking, like they didn’t hear it. I go to the door without being asked.

  Ms. Whitman is holding a pie plate covered in foil. She air-kisses me on both cheeks. I always think it looks fake when people do that in movies and on TV, but I don’t mind it from her. Everything about Edie’s mom seems genuine.

  “I hope you all like blueberry pie,” she says, handing me the plate. “I went a little wild with the berries at the farmers market this morning.”

  “We love it. Thank you,” I say just as my fathers come out of the kitchen.

  Dad is wearing a KISS THE COOK apron and Elliott has on his professor clothes, even though he had plenty of time to change after work. Is he trying to impress the new neighbors, too? This is the first time they’ve met, and I notice his smile is extra big as he shakes Ms. Whitman’s hand, just like when we see other black people downtown.

  I take the pie into the kitchen and when I come back out, Elliott is asking Ms. Whitman if she wants a drink before dinner. I look at Edie, who has on fresh black lipstick and a gauzy black dress that goes all the way down to her ankles. The toes of her boots peek out from under the hem. I’m wearing a sky-blue romper printed with orange butterflies. It’s one of my favorite outfits, but next to Edie, I feel like a baby. I think maybe I’ll never feel cool standing next to her.

  “Want to see my room?” I ask. Even though I know it isn’t her style. I’m all bright colors and patterns, and I can’t imagine Edie wearing any color besides black.

  She nods and follows me down the hallway.

  My bedroom has white furniture and a butter-yellow duvet on a bed with a nest of pillows. Every wall is covered
with artwork except the one that butts up against my bed. That one is painted white and dotted with pale and dark blue spots of all different sizes that look like watercolor. It reminds me of the ocean. But the best part of my room is the big bay window that lets in tons of light—and the long, comfy window seat underneath.

  Edie walks over to it and plops right down on the blue cushion. It matches my watercolor wall. “I’ve always wanted a window seat.”

  “It’s my favorite thing,” I say. “I love to sit there and…”

  She looks at me. “What?”

  I shrug, suddenly feeling silly. But I go on because even though Edie and I aren’t very similar at all, she feels like someone I can trust not to make fun of me for being myself.

  “Sometimes I like to sit there and look at the stars and just… think.”

  “What do you think about?” she asks, staring out the window as if it will give away my secrets.

  “Just… stuff.” Like why I can’t ignore the things Nicolette says about me. Or, lately, why all the girls I know seem to only be interested in talking about boys and how cute they are. I think some of them are cute, too, but having a boyfriend seems so… grown-up. And I know Dad and Elliott would say I’m too young to have one, anyway.

  Edie nods like she understands exactly, and maybe that’s why I trust her. We barely know each other, but she doesn’t make me explain myself too much. Especially when I don’t even know how to say it.

  Laughter breaks out in the living room, interrupting my thoughts.

  “Why do you call him Elliott?” Edie asks, tilting her head toward the front of the house. “I thought you said he was your dad, too?”

  “Oh.” Most people in Ewing Beach have known us so long that I don’t have to explain anything about how the Freeman-Price family works. “He’s my dad. They both are. We had a surrogate who gave them the egg, and they used Elliott’s sperm.”

  “So he’s your real dad,” she says, pondering.

  I frown. “Well, they’re both my real dad. They’ve been together forever. But Elliott is… biological. He didn’t like any of the other names, like Daddy or Papa, and we thought it might be confusing if I called them both Dad. So he’s always been Elliott.”

  She opens her mouth again and I really hope she isn’t going to ask more questions. Our family is a lot for some people. Even people who don’t have a problem with nontraditional families have so many questions. It seems like some of them wouldn’t ever stop asking if we didn’t change the subject first. I’ve watched Dad and Elliott talk to other adults about it, and by the end of the conversation, they always look like I feel: a little frustrated and completely exhausted.

  But all Edie says is “He’s cute.”

  My mouth is gaping. “Elliott?”

  “Yeah, he’s totally cute. I like his glasses,” she says, then giggles.

  I make a face and Edie laughs more. “What’s your dad like?” I ask.

  She turns on the seat so she’s facing me completely, her back to the window. “The coolest person I know.”

  “Your dad?” I finally sit on my bed. For some reason it takes me a while to relax when new people are in my room. Which doesn’t happen very often. It’s usually only Laramie, which is maybe why I notice how different I feel with Edie here.

  “Yeah, he’s a music producer. He works with a lot of hip-hop artists.”

  “Anyone I know?” I ask, even though I’m not really allowed to listen to hip-hop. Not the kind with swear words, which is usually the best kind. Dad caught me listening to it once, turned it off right away, and threatened to take away my internet if it happened again.

  “Everyone you know.” She plants her elbows on her knees and leans forward. “He’s constantly hanging out with famous people. And he’s won two Grammys.”

  I think it would seem like anyone else was bragging, but I can tell Edie is just really proud of her dad. And that she misses him.

  “When do you get to see him again?”

  She shrugs and tucks her hair behind her ears on both sides. The sleeves of her dress are puffy and sheer. It looks like a dress ladies would wear back in super-old Victorian times. “I don’t know. Mom says we need to get settled here before I go back to New York.”

  “Maybe she’ll let you fly back for Halloween?”

  Edie shakes her head. “No, she doesn’t want me missing school. We’ll go back for winter break, and my dad and brother are coming out here for Thanksgiving.”

  “You have a brother?” This is the first time she’s mentioned him. I thought she was an only child like me.

  “Yeah, Craig. He’s sixteen. He goes to Hunter College High School, so they didn’t want to move him.”

  “Is that a good school?”

  “It’s really hard to get into. Craig and all his friends are gifted.” She rolls her eyes. “So he got to stay.”

  “Why didn’t you get to stay, too?” I blurt it out before I think about what I’m saying. My neck flushes hot when I realize it’s kind of a rude question. The kind that my dads would be disappointed in me for asking, because it’s too private. But I’m glad they’re not sitting here because I’m not sorry I asked. I want to know.

  “It’s… complicated. My parents are pretty mad at each other.” She lowers her voice. “I’ve heard my mom talking to her friends about how it’s been a hard divorce. I think she left New York just to get away from my dad.”

  “Wow, really?”

  Edie nods.

  “What about your brother? Wasn’t she sad to leave him?”

  “Of course. But like I said, it’s complicated. He’s mad at her, even though I think the divorce is sort of my dad’s fault. Craig said some really mean things to our mom. And I didn’t want to make things worse for her and ask if I could stay in New York. Plus… I don’t know. I kept thinking about her moving out here all by herself and it made me sort of sad.”

  I feel bad for Edie. I know from Laramie how hard it is just having one parent around. And Ms. Whitman seems great, but I don’t think one great parent can make up for living thousands of miles away from the other one.

  “It’s okay,” Edie says, looking at me now. I can’t read her eyes to see if she really does think it’s okay. But her voice is clearer. Stronger all of a sudden. “It’ll be fine. My dad has to go to L.A. for work all the time, and he said he’ll come visit. That’s super close to here, right?”

  “I think it’s, like, three or four hours away.” Which doesn’t seem super close to me. I get antsy if we have to drive any farther than San Luis Obispo.

  “That’s closer than being all the way across the country.”

  “And he’d probably fly up here from L.A. anyway,” I say, because it’s a thought that just popped into my head, and it seems like a thing I should say to Edie right now.

  “Yeah, you’re right. He hates being in the car. He’d totally fly.” She nods at me as if the matter has been settled. “It’ll be fine.”

  But that’s the second time she’s said that in thirty seconds, and I wonder if she’s still trying to convince herself that it’s true.

  “I hope a vegetarian meal is all right with you and Edie,” Dad says easily to Ms. Whitman as he and Elliott take turns bringing food to the table. He carefully sets a spinach soufflé in the middle.

  “Oh my goodness.” Edie’s mom claps her hands together. “It’s so beautiful. You made this?”

  “Yes, but trust me, it didn’t look like this the first time I tried it.” Dad smiles at her as he heads back to the dining room, passing Elliott, who’s carrying a mushroom tart.

  Ms. Whitman gazes admiringly at the table. “Everything looks so delicious. Are you all full-time vegetarians?”

  “Kadeem and I have been for the past sixteen years, and Al has been her whole life,” Elliott responds. “But we eat eggs and plenty of cheese, so we’re not vegan.”

  “Well, I’ve been thinking about moving toward a more plant-based diet. Wouldn’t that be a nice change, Edie?�
�� Ms. Whitman pats Edie’s arm.

  “I mean, I guess?” Edie eyes the food suspiciously. “I think I’d miss meat too much to give it up forever.” She glances at me. “So you don’t eat hamburgers?”

  “Veggie burgers,” I say, taking a drink of water. “I haven’t ever eaten meat.”

  Edie’s eyes widen, suddenly huge on her face. She looks at me like she’s just glimpsed a purple unicorn. “You’ve never had a rotisserie chicken? Or fried chicken?”

  I shake my head.

  “No brisket? No bacon?”

  Don’t they have vegetarians in Brooklyn?

  “I’ve literally never eaten meat.” I shrug. “I don’t really miss it since I’ve never had it.”

  It’s my automatic answer, but sometimes I wonder if it’s still true. I don’t like the idea of eating animals, but I am curious what all of those things taste like.

  “We try not to buy too many fake meat products, but they’re worlds better than when we first went vegetarian back at the commune,” Dad says.

  I look down at my plate. I’m not embarrassed when they talk about the artists commune, but it’s like the family thing. Once the floodgates are open, people start asking so many questions it makes my head hurt. Sometimes I wish my dads would just lie and say they met online.

  Ms. Whitman is absolutely delighted. “You two lived on a commune?” Her shining eyes go back and forth from Dad to Elliott, who have finished laying out the food and are sitting down now.

  “An artists commune,” Elliott says. “Down in Ojai.”

  “It’s where we met.” Dad cuts into the soufflé and passes it to Ms. Whitman. “About a million years ago.”

  “Did you live there, too, Alberta?” she asks, serving herself before she passes the soufflé to Edie.

  “No, it was before I was born.” I take a piece of the mushroom tart and send it around the other side of the table to Dad.

  He pats my shoulder. “Yes, this was pre-Alberta. There were some children who lived there, but most people didn’t stay long after they had kids. We moved up here after Elliott finished his graduate program, when Alberta was two.”