I Almost Forgot About You

by Terry McMillan

“Anyway, the next time you speak to Stanley, you tell him he can come on down to Bakersfield if he’s looking for some more neighborhoods that need to be spruced up.”

  “I’ll tell him.”

  “He seems very nice, Georgia. Well rounded. Of course, being educated is a plus. And you know, nobody minds him being white.”

  “I don’t either,” I hear myself say.

  “Even Dolly liked him, and you know she doesn’t like any white people. And her sons didn’t believe he’d really been to space until Stanley showed them pictures on his iPhone of himself up there in that space outfit. They fist-bumped him. I saw it with my own eyes.”

  “Well, I’m glad they came. And Dolly looked good.”

  “She succeeds sometimes. Anyway, let us know when you get on that train so we know how to find you.”

  “I will. Love you, Ma.”

  “You, too. Now, go walk the walk.”

  When my phone rings again, I answer it like a robot. “Hello, this is Dr. Young.”

  “Mom, you’re at home!” Frankie says.

  “My bad.”

  I hear knocking on the front door.

  “Hold on a sec. My neighbors have been waiting for me to go on a walk, so don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back!”

  I drop the phone, and it falls to the floor.

  “COMING!” And I fling the front door open.

  “What in the hell is going on with you, Rihanna? Are you walking or are you talking?” Naomi, of course.

  “I’m talking.”

  “To be honest, I’m not feeling this hill either,” Macy says.

  “Is it the astronaut?” Naomi asks, giving Macy a shove.

  “Stop being so nosy! But no! I have to go! Sorry, I don’t think I can walk with you two huzzies this morning. Maybe tomorrow.”

  I close the door and hear them cackling. I run back to my office. “Okay. I’m listening.”

  “So, Mom, Stelle filled me in about her bad news, but she’s going to be fine, and we’re going to try to spend more time together and let our kids get to know what cousins are, but she just told me the rocking news about Mr. Stanley, and I say get on that train and to hell with optometry. And just so you know, baby Levi is getting two teeth, and I’m done breast-feeding because he bit me. If I sound wired, it’s because I’m so frigging happy you’re finally getting the love and joy and excitement you deserve, and I also have to say you’re the best mom that Stelle and I could have asked for, and what up?”

  “I’m good,” is all I can say. “But can I please call you back a little later, baby?”

  “Absolutely. Love you!”

  I then run out the door and catch up with my neighbors. I am so overwhelmed with joy I could use the fresh air.

  —

  During this entire week, like clockwork before bedtime, Stanley (I only like calling him Stan face-to-face) calls me or I call him. We talk about everything under the sun. I know it’s a cliché, but I’m so glad I have a man with a brain to talk to. I told him about my practice. That I’ve set a travel date. He’s excited for me. Asked if I’d mind sending him my itinerary so he’ll have some idea where I am. He said he’d be waiting at the station for me in Toronto, and to let him know if I change my plans, because he’s making a lot of them. Ever heard of Broadway?

  —

  The twins are much taller. And they’re not dressed alike. Thank the Lord.

  “Hi, Granny!” they both yell right after they come inside.

  Gabby’s two front teeth are missing, and she has a thick ponytail that cascades from the top of her head. Scarlett has two braids that fall over her ears and looks like she has all her teeth. They are both in jeans and different-colored T-shirts.

  Estelle looks like she did the last time she was here. Exhausted. She’s carrying Dove in whatever those carrier things are called. I wish there was something I could do for her. Maybe I’ll keep the little huzzies—I’m going to stop calling them this—Gabrielle and Scarlett for a weekend after I come back. Take them to the Oakland Zoo or the planetarium. Maybe teach them how to make some kind of cookies.

  “It looks different in here, Granny,” Scarlett says.

  “Because she painted. Anybody can see that.”

  “Let me see Miss Dove,” I say, ignoring them but trying not to act like what they’re saying isn’t important.

  I kiss Estelle on the cheek and take the baby out of that carrier. This little girl is cute. So are the twins, but they, like Levi, started out a bit slower on the cuteness Richter scale. Levi finally looks his age.

  “So…good to see everybody. And I have a surprise for you, Estelle.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll tell you after you get settled.”

  “Granny, can we watch Judge Judy?”

  “Judge Judy?” Estelle asks.

  “Don’t even worry about it. Give me the baby, and let’s go down to the family room. Anybody hungry? I have popcorn!”

  “Yeah!” they say together. “We want popcorn!”

  “I bought a DVD—otherwise we’d never be able to chat—and Dove’s about to fall right back asleep, I can guarantee it,” Stelle tells me.

  And she’s right. On both fronts.

  When everybody’s settled, my daughter and I sit at the table in the nook, and because she’s still breast-feeding, she has a glass of lemonade. I decide to have one, too.

  “So. Have you heard from or seen Justin?”

  “Of course. I see him more now than when he was living at home. He’s actually getting on my nerves.”

  “I think he feels terrible about what this has done to you.”

  “What did you just say, Mom?”

  “I mean, this doesn’t seem like the kind of thing you do to hurt someone deliberately.”

  “Well, he can’t take it back now, can he? And I’ll live. My girls and I will be just fine. I made him get tested.”

  “That was smart, but he’s not stupid, is he?” My heart feels like it’s going to jump out of my chest.

  “No, he’s not. He showed me six months’ worth of tests.”

  “Six months!”

  “Some of these men get a little carried away and forget they have wives.”

  “That just sounds so wrong.”

  “Anyway, Mom, I got tested, and I’m clear.”

  “Okay. So. I just wish none of this was happening.”

  “Well, when Dad cheated on you, didn’t you feel violated?”

  “Of course. But this is a whole lot different.”

  “I know that. But didn’t you want to kill him?”

  “Of course I did. For about ten minutes. How’s Justin’s head, by the way?”

  “You can’t even see it. I should’ve hit him harder.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t. And how are the girls handling his absence?”

  “They think he’s on vacation.”

  “Well, on some level he is. You’ve let him see them, I hope.”

  “Yes. He’s taken them to the movies. The park. He loves all three of them. I’m not worried about them being exposed to anything weird.”

  “Weird? Come on, Estelle. He’s not a freak. He’s just gay.”

  “Okay, I get it. But I have something else to tell you.”

  “I hope it’s good news.”

  “I want to leave Palo Alto and move over here into a good neighborhood that has a good school district full of children of different ethnicities, and Justin’s all for it.”

  “How? And when? What about your house?”

  “I don’t care about that house. In that neighborhood it’ll sell before we put the sign in the grass.”

  “This is good news. I’ll talk to Wanda about this.”

  “Why Aunt Wanda?”

  “I’ll tell you another time.”

  “So the astronaut landed on your planet at the right time, from what I’m hearing. I think it’s so cool, Mom.”

  “Yep. I might maybe could actually kinda be falling in love with him.”r />
  “I know I didn’t just hear you say the word love, Mom.”

  “Yes, she said LOVE!” Gabby screams. Children have ears in the back of their heads, which is why I never swore in front of my daughters.

  Of course, I give Estelle another gift certificate for a massage and facial but tell her she’d better be back in this house in less than five hours, because chances are I’ll be drunk if she’s not.

  Dove is a sweetheart. The girls act like she doesn’t exist. When I hear the garage door open, because it makes a beeping sound, and I don’t see the twins, I pick Dove up in her little carrier and beeline it out there.

  And there they are. Looking more curious than busted.

  “Who told you girls you could come out here?”

  “No one. What’s that over there?” Scarlett says, walking over to a chair with feathers on it.

  “Where’d you buy all this cool stuff, Granny?” Gabby says.

  “Your granny made it.”

  “You did not!” she says.

  “I did so.”

  “It’s outrageous,” Scarlett says. “Can you teach us how to make something?”

  “Absolutely, but not today. Come on back inside, please.”

  And they do, because I interrupted their flow and I could tell they were just about to touch everything, some of which is still drying. I have to admit, if little people like it, I’m hoping big ones will, too.

  I make them lunch. Turkey sandwiches. Chips. Sliced apples. Juice for Dove.

  We sit at the table in the nook. Dove’s chilling in her carrier on the floor next to me.

  “Guess what, Granny?” Gabby asks. She definitely lives up to her name.

  “Can you give me a clue?”

  “Our dad has a boyfriend because he’s gay.”

  I have to stop myself from choking on my saliva. “Really?”

  “Yes! He loves our mom, but he likes men better,” Scarlett interjects.

  Gabby: “And he can’t help it.”

  Scarlett: “I think I want to be gay when I grow up.”

  Gabby: “Girls can be gay, too, you know, Granny.”

  “Yes, I know that.”

  Gabby: “They’re called lesbians. I might want to be a lesbian when I grow up.”

  “That’s nice. I know quite a few very nice lesbians.”

  Gabby: “You do? Where are they?”

  “You’ll meet them one day. So tell me, how do you two feel about your dad being gay?”

  Scarlett: “I wish he could bring his boyfriend home to live with us, and then we could all be a happy family again.”

  “That might not work so well.”

  Scarlett: “I have a boyfriend.”

  Gabby: “No you don’t! So what. I have a girlfriend. Winnie.”

  Scarlett: “I have two boyfriends. Fu and Hugo.”

  “Fu?” I ask.

  Scarlett: “He’s Chinese. Hugo is black. But Mom told us race doesn’t matter, so I’m not supposed to be telling you that Fu is Chinese and Hugo is black, even though they are.”

  Gabby: “And Winnie is mixed-race.”

  “How do you know that?” I ask.

  This is both heartbreaking and touching.

  Gabby: “Because she told me. She said, ‘I’m mixed-race.’ And I told her I’m black-black.”

  “So how are you guys enjoying little Dove here these days?”

  Of course I’m obviously trying to lighten things up. A little. Or a lot.

  Gabby: “I’m trying to like her.”

  Scarlett: “She can’t do anything except drink from Mom’s boobs and poop and cry.”

  Gabby: “She’s also boring. Look at her.”

  Scarlett: “I’ll be glad when she can talk so she’ll have something to say.”

  “Well, do you help your mom with Dove sometimes, like big girls do?”

  “Absolutely!” they say simultaneously.

  “What is it you do?”

  Scarlett: “We let her watch cartoons on our iPads. She likes it, and it makes her stop crying.”

  Gabby: “And we ask her questions we already know the answers to, because we’re smart, you know.”

  “You don’t have to tell me.”

  Gabby: “What can we do for fun now, Granny?”

  Scarlett: “Yes, because we’re boring.”

  Me: “How would you guys like to sleep over and go to the zoo tomorrow?”

  Gabby: “Can we sleep with you?”

  Me: “Absolutely!”

  They both applaud, and Dove wakes up.

  Gabby: “What about her?”

  Scarlett: “She does not like real animals.”

  Me: “Well, maybe she can sleep in the guest room with your mom.”

  Gabby: “She only likes sleeping in her bed at our house.”

  Scarlett: “That’s true.”

  Me: “Well, she’s sleeping now.”

  Gabby: “It’s because she knows it’s only a nap.”

  They win.

  My train leaves in two hours. At 9:39 p.m. Of course Wanda insists on driving me to the station, which is here in downtown Oakland and butts right up to the harbor in Jack London Square. It’s amazing how you can catch a train next to sailboats and yachts parked in their berths. Wanda and I have our farewell dinner at Kincaid’s.

  “Well, I hope it’s everything you hoped it would be. You couldn’t pay me to ride on a damn train by myself for ten hours, let alone twenty-three.”

  “It’s because you don’t know what to do with silence.”

  “Embroider. Anyway, whatever month you get to Toronto, give Stanley a hug and a fist bump, since high-fiving is passé. And please don’t blow it, Georgia.”

  “Bye,” I say, and we hug, and I leave her in front of the kiosk.

  “Be in touch whenever you have service! It’ll probably be a blessing to be disconnected.”

  “Okay,” I say, and start pulling my two bags toward the station.

  But of course she has more to say, and she yells it.

  “And remember, don’t talk to strangers!”

  I just wave a hand in the air.

  —

  When I get inside the station, it hits me that I’m finally going to get on this train. But the Coast Starlight isn’t your everyday train. It’s famous. The scenery along the Coast Starlight’s route, widely regarded as one of the most spectacular of all train routes, is unsurpassed. I can’t wait to see those dramatic snow-covered peaks, the lush forests and fertile valleys and long stretches of the Pacific Ocean, which will provide a stunning backdrop for my journey. (I stole this from their website.)

  I could probably sit in this station all day and just read. Or people-watch. The walls are all paned glass. Modern. The ceilings are so high that the curved steel arches make it feel and look like an airplane hangar. Metal-encased and thick-ribbed lights hang from long cables, and right in the middle of the dark-tiled floor are rows of black seating, much nicer than what you see at the airport.

  I felt the same way when I left for college. I sit down and wait. Listening to the announcements. How many minutes until boarding. Thirty. The train is on time. I look around. There are hundreds of people zigzagging through this place in slow motion. I’ve packed a fleece blanket and an ergonomic pillow, a hooded jacket and leather gloves just in case. I also broke down and bought a Kindle, only because I couldn’t decide which books to bring. Ten minutes. For once I didn’t overpack. I decided that once I’m in Canada, I’ll just buy new when I need something clean. I’ve always wanted to do this—why not now? I want to know what it feels like to be unburdened for a week. I also want to celebrate how good I’m feeling and splurge a little and not worry about it. Of course I brought my personal items, and Wanda insisted I go to Neiman Marcus and not Victoria’s Secret. I brought a pair of white silk pajamas and two items I haven’t worn in years: negligees. But they’re not just for Stan. They’re for me. And I feel amazing in them.

  When I finally hear the boarding announcement, I sp
ring up and fall in line with about a hundred or more passengers who seem to know where we’re going.

  I bought a coach ticket because I don’t need a bedroom on a train. It won’t kill me to sleep sitting up. The passengers on the Superliners get extra privileges besides miniature sleeping quarters. They also get a little shower and free drinks and a lounge and movies. But all the windows on a train give you the same view.

  A nice guy who looks like a hiker helps me up the step. He hands me my two bags and points to where I can drop them off. I put one of mine with the growing pile of seventies-looking suitcases, show my ticket to the conductor—a black woman with red cornrows. She tells me to hang a left, head up the stairs, and hold on to my ticket. I look for my row. I’m sitting next to a window. I pull out my blanket and pillow and toss them onto my seat and put my bag overhead. Doesn’t look like I have a seatmate.

  I say hello back to folks as they pass by. People appear to be friendly on trains. This car is filling up fast. A young couple seated across from me heave their backpacks overhead. Both are blond, and both have ponytails. They smell like the earth.

  “How’s it going?” he asks. “I’m Travis and this is Holly.”

  “I’m fine. Thanks. Nice to meet you both. I’m Georgia.”

  I suppose they qualify as strangers. They look European, but they’re American.

  “Where you headed?” Travis asks.

  “Vancouver.”

  “Which one?”

  “British Columbia.”

  “You a hiker?” Holly asks, but then when she notices my hot pink acrylic nails, she says, “I guess not!”

  And here comes a big woman who has four thin braids falling from her temples with red, orange, and white plastic beads dangling on the end of each one. When they said to dress in layers, she listened. I can’t identify what she has on, but it’s multitiered and confusing. She’s kicking five shopping bags down the aisle, drops her backpack on the seat next to mine, and says, “Hi, I’m Calico.”

  “Hello, Calico,” I say with as straight a face as possible. “I’m Georgia.”

  She chucks each of her bags up top, and I’m praying they don’t touch mine. Then she pushes her backpack to the floor, pulls a tuna sandwich on white bread out of a white bag, and takes two big bites. She chews like she hasn’t eaten in weeks.

  WTF.

  “How far you going?” she asks, and I don’t look to see if she’s still chewing, because I just can’t.