Who Asked You?

by Terry McMillan

  For some reason, I sit down on the couch and my left foot pushes the tray over to make room for my other foot. I look around. I have never stayed in a hotel. I don’t know what it feels like to be waited on. I wonder what it feels like to call room service. I wonder what it feels like to come back and your room is clean. Bed made. Fresh towels in the bathroom. I don’t really know why I pick up the remote control and press the red ON button. I click the channel button and stop when the screen is full of thousands of tropical fish swimming in what the announcer says is the Great Barrier Reef. I know this is Australia. I watch, for how long I don’t even know, and when the fish become a blur of moving colors it’s because of the tears that have suddenly started to run down my cheeks.

  Even though I haven’t told anybody, I’m scared. What if I can’t handle all this responsibility? What if I’ve forgotten how to be a parent? It takes so much energy. What if I don’t have enough to last? What if my daughter comes back next week or next year and wants them back? What if I die? What if I give them the wrong stuff like I did my kids? I don’t want them to turn out like mine did. I want them to be proud, honest, dignified, civil, kind, and loving. I want them to be strangers to trouble.

  And then there’s Mister. I don’t know how close he might be to going home. I know everybody wants me to just ship him off to one of those places, but I don’t think I can. He’s my husband. And I’m tired of folks telling me what they think I should do with him, like he’s a pet that needs to be put down or something. He’s my husband. I know I’m going to have to get used to him not being anywhere one day, but until that day comes, it won’t kill me to be there for him.

  I unroll the linen napkin and wipe my eyes on it. When I get up, I feel better even though I didn’t know I was feeling bad. I just don’t like to worry. It can wear you out and it doesn’t fix whatever it is you’re worrying about. This isn’t even about me. It’s about my grandkids. And they need me to take care of them and that’s what I’m going to do. I hit OFF on the remote, pick up the tray, and leave. I take the service elevator down to the kitchen, where another order is waiting for me.

  “Hi, Grandma!” Ricky says after jumping into the backseat and slamming the door like I’ve asked him a hundred times not to do.

  “Hi, Grandma!” Luther says after doing the same, except he leans forward and kisses me on my ear first. He is such a sweet boy.

  “Hi there, boys. And how was your day?”

  “I was good, Grandma! I even got a Sharpie! See!” Ricky says, and holds up a green one. I suppose the medication must be working, though I’m praying for the day when he can get off it.

  “Principal Daniels wrote you a letter for me to give you ’cause he don’t have your address and it’s in a white envelope in my backpack, Grandma. My teacher wrote one, too. I didn’t do nothing—I mean anything—bad or anything like that. I might get to skip third grade and go to fourth.”

  “How would you know that?”

  “I read both of the letters and they say the same thing. They think I’m smart. And I am. Second grade is way too easy and it’s boring.”

  “Well, we’ll talk more about this later after I have a chance to read the letters, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “And you should never open mail that is not addressed to you, Luther.”

  “But what about if it’s about me?”

  “It needs to have your name on the envelope.”

  “Well, that’s silly.”

  “It is silly,” Ricky says, then closes his eyes and drifts off. This is what I don’t like about this new medication he’s on.

  “Can we go to Disneyland for my birthday, Grandma? Please please pretty please with bubble gum on top?” Luther asks me for the third time in two days.

  “Yes,” I say, matter-of-factly.

  “For real?”

  “First I need to find out if Nurse Kim can go with us because Grandma can’t do all that walking and I want to be able to take Grandpa with us, too.”

  “Goodie! Goodie! I hope Nurse Kim can go! Can I push Grandpa in his wheelchair some of the time, too?”

  “Yes, you can,” I say.

  As soon as we walk in the door, Nurse Kim jumps up from the recliner, where it is obvious she’s been snoozing, and tries to act perky when she stretches out her arms for her boyfriend, Luther, to run inside them for his much-needed hug fix. Ricky is not aroused by Nurse Kim at all and just waves to her.

  “Grandma said you want to go to Disneyland with us for my birthday and we can take Grandpa, right?”

  Nurse Kim tries to act surprised. “You mean I’m invited?”

  “Yep!”

  “Maybe I can bring my new boyfriend.”

  “What new boyfriend?” Luther asks.

  “Yeah, what new boyfriend?” Ricky asks.

  “His name is Wendell.”

  “I don’t like that name,” Luther says.

  “I don’t like that name, too,” Ricky says.

  “Well, he’s a very nice guy, but there might not be enough room for him anyway. We’ll see.”

  “I just hope he don’t—I mean doesn’t—want to be your husband,” Luther says, and then, “Because I want to marry you when I grow up. I will make a good husband and you will love me way more than him.”

  And he walks off to the back bedroom and Ricky follows him.

  Nurse Kim just winks at me and tells me that Mister actually had a good day.

  On Saturday morning, after washing and folding four loads of clothes, I carry the last basket down the hallway into the living room and can’t believe I’m walking in water. When I look out toward the sunporch, there is Ricky watering the plastic flowers and plants from an empty Miracle Whip jar. “Ricky, what are you doing, baby?” I ask, trying to be very careful not to sound too worked up, which messes him up and then he gets wound up even more than me.

  “I’m watering the plants, Grandma!”

  “Well, I appreciate your help, but have you ever seen Grandma water them?”

  “Nope, and that’s why I’m doing it. We planted beans in a cup at school and Ms. Jenkins said all plants have to be watered or they won’t grow. My bean is growing already. And I want to help your plants grow, too.”

  “Grandma really appreciates your help, Ricky, but these plants don’t need water, because they’re not real.”

  “They look real. How come they not real?”

  That was a good question and I didn’t have a good answer, so I just said, “Now that I know you’re a good gardener, we can buy some real ones. How does that sound?”

  “It sounds good. I can do a lot of things, you know.”

  “I know, Ricky. You make Grandma so proud I just want to hug you.” And I do. And then I take that Miracle Whip jar back to the kitchen and put it back in the recycle bin. Ricky follows me, walking right over the wet floor without a care in the world.

  “Ricky, are you good at mopping up water?”

  “Yep,” he says, and flies past me out to the back porch to get the mop. As I hold the door open for him, I hear the phone ringing.

  “I’ll answer it,” Luther yells from my bedroom, where he’s been curled on the bed watching cartoons all morning with his grandpa. When Ricky and I come back I ask Luther who it was that called.

  “It was one of those collect calls from Uncle Dexter, so I hung up like we always do.”

  The phone rings again.

  “I’ll get it!” I say and reach for it. It’s Dexter calling back. Which means it’s important. I accept the call. “Hi, Dexter. Is something wrong?”

  “Not at all, Ma. I’ve got great news. I’m finally going to be paroled!”

  “Well, that is good news.”

  “Yes, it is!”

  “How soon do you get released?”

  “Well, that’s the tricky part. Maybe two
weeks but it can take up to another month. My parole plan is being sent to my parole officer, who has to look it over and approve it. He’ll probably be calling you soon.”

  “Why would your parole officer be calling me?”

  “Because he’s going to have to review all of the rules you have to abide by having a parolee living with you.”

  “Who told him you were going to be living with me?”

  “I did. Just for the first hundred and eighty days after I get out, find a job, and am able to get back on my feet. I thought you said I could, don’t you remember?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Don’t worry, Ma. You won’t even know I’m there. I promise.”

  Nurse Kim

  I do not like Disneyland. I didn’t like it when I was little either. I do not like the giant Mickey and Minnie Mouse or Donald Duck and the rest of those suckers that scare little kids half to death when they walk up to ’em and hold out their thick rubber hands. And I can’t stand the way Disneyland smells. Like hot syrup. Almost everything they have here to eat is sweet. And everywhere you turn there’s nothing but little kids and enough strollers to fill a car dealership. And that music. Oh my God. Nothing but bells and organs and those damn accordions. Everything is a jingle. And that high-pitched singing never stops. What they could really use out here are a few good bars.

  I just agreed to come so Miss Betty could spend some quality time with her grandsons and so they could escape the ghetto for a few hours and spend some time in a fantasy. I’m more than happy to push Mr. Lee around in his wheelchair, because he needs to inhale fresh air whenever possible. I’m not even going to charge Miss Betty overtime, because I know she’s having a hard time manipulating her finances since these kids got here. She ain’t mentioned nothing about when that trifling daughter of hers may be coming back, and even though I still ain’t found no roommate and my rent is late and I might have to either quit this job or move back in with my granny, which Lord knows I do not want to do since she live way out there in Palmdale and I cannot deal with that traffic on the 14 but especially the 405 and plus she be all up in my business—even though I wouldn’t have no business if I was to be living under her roof—it would be low of me to leave Miss Betty like this, so I think I might go on and put an ad on craigslist and pray I don’t get another psycho.

  I’m sitting on a bench under a little shade tree hoping to finish the last ninety pages of this Harry Potter book, which I cannot even believe I bought, ’cause it’s pretty thick. But I love reading anything that could never happen so I figured what the hell, and Mr. Lee is dozing so I’m just turning those pages when Miss Betty walks over, limping, and says, “Kim, my knee is killing me. Would you mind if I sit here and you take the kids on a few more rides and then we can leave?”

  “Not at all, Miss Betty.” I fold the corner of the page I was on and drop the book in my purse. I take Luther’s hand, which I dread, and that little Ricky needs a leash. I end up going through Space Mountain, Splash Mountain, and those spinning teacups I didn’t think would ever fucking stop. Almost threw up floating through It’s a Small World but I admit I did get a kick out of Pirates of the Caribbean after I downed one of my little bottles of tequila I keep in my purse just for times like this when I wish I was somewhere else but can’t just up and leave.

  After we get back to Miss Betty’s house, I push Luther’s dead head off my shoulder, since him and Ricky slept all the way, and then we lift Mr. Lee up the steps. He was out like a light, too. Once everybody gets settled in, Miss Betty comes out to the living room and collapses on the sofa. She pats the empty cushion next to her, so I sit. I know she’s getting ready to tell me something heavy.

  “It looks like my son Dexter is going to be living here for a few months,” she says.

  I don’t say a word. But I’m thinking: Where the fuck is he gon’ sleep?

  “I do not know where he thinks he’s supposed to sleep, but maybe he can fix up that room above the garage. He’s handy, you know.”

  “No, I didn’t know.”

  We just sit there a few more minutes and I know she wants to say something else.

  “I wish he had somewhere else to go.”

  “I know. It’s usually one hundred eighty days, unless they changed it.”

  “Oh, so you know.”

  I just look at her.

  “Six months is a long time, and I just hope he doesn’t cause me any problems or bring any mess to this house.”

  “Sometimes, when they get out, they either straighten up and fly right or do something stupid that violates their parole and back they go to the house with bars. At least Dexter didn’t kill anybody.”

  “I suppose that makes me lucky, huh? Anyway, Kim, thanks for helping me out with the kids and Lee David today. Did you have fun?”

  “I had a ball,” I say. “I always loved Disneyland.”

  When I get home, I get my mail and toss it on the kitchen counter, since Cruella De Vil took her table. Ain’t much left in here except my bedroom furniture, my burgundy velour sofa bed, which hurts your back if you sit on it too long, a twenty-five-inch TV/VCR that I need my glasses to see unless I sit on the floor right in front of it. Cruella also had the cable disconnected, and since you have to be home for ’em to reconnect it, and I work during the day, and I ain’t in no position to be taking any time off since I don’t get paid if I don’t work, I only watch old videos. Thank God I can read. And I got a fat fake-leather chair my granny gave me that’s perfect.

  After I microwave some Stouffer’s lasagna and then take my shower I’m shocked shitless when the doorbell rings. Don’t nobody visit me unless they call first. I make sure my robe is tied and peep through the peephole but you can’t never recognize who the person is looking through these damn things, so I ask, “Who is it?”

  “It’s Ellory.”

  “I don’t know nobody by that name. You must have the wrong apartment.”

  “Kim. I was Tierra’s friend. Remember now?”

  “What are you doing here? You should know she moved out.”

  “I’m very much aware of that. I just took a chance that you might still be living here.”

  “What is it you want?”

  “I just wanted to see if we might have a cup of coffee or a drink one day and, since I didn’t have your number, I just took a chance stopping by.”

  “What happened between you and Tierra?”

  “She had issues I didn’t exactly find attractive.”

  “Well, that makes two of us. Look, Ellis, I don’t know you well enough to open this door, and I find this a little suspicious if you want to know the truth.”

  “It’s Ellory, not Ellis, and I can understand your feeling this way. Let me say this: I enjoyed talking to you that day I was waiting for Tierra and I thought you were intelligent and beautiful and I was wondering if anything ever came out of that traveling nurse thing you were looking into?”

  I crack the door open but do not remove the chain. I peek through the space and realize he’s handsome and all but I am not about to let him in here just because he’s wearing a suit. “You’ve got a good memory. Anyway, I applied and am just waiting to hear. Give me your number.”

  He hands me a business card. I glance down at it and I recognize that BMW logo but I’m still not about to let that influence my good judgment so I say, “I’ll call you one day, but please don’t ever come by my house again unless you’re invited, okay?”

  “I promise. It is not my style. Hope to hear from you soon. You have a good evening.”

  I push the door shut, walk over to the counter, put the mail inside my robe pocket, grab a nectarine out of the fruit bowl and a bottle of water from the fridge, and then drop his card in the trash under the sink because anybody stupid enough to sleep with Tierra can’t come this way like I’m some sloppy seconds.

  I pull my Harry
Potter book out of my purse and put it in my lap after I sit in my granny’s chair. Before I even open it, I decide I might as well get the depressing shit over with, so I get up and start flipping through all the envelopes I know are bills and just toss them on a pile. But then I come to one I know is no bill and I see that traveling nurse’s organization logo on the top left corner, and I open it so fast I get a paper cut. When I read the first sentence, my eyes get big as plates.

  Tammy

  My brothers were still not happy with the settlement offer, which is why Jackson took it upon himself to get on a plane and come to Los Angeles, I suppose to confront me. He had the nerve to call me from the airport an hour ago to come pick him up. Which is where I’m headed now. I have no idea what I’m going to say to him or what he’s going to say to me but what I’m really wondering is where in the hell he got the money to get on an airplane that’s not at an amusement park.

  I didn’t bother telling Montana her uncle was going to be a temporary houseguest and I’m thinking that maybe I should’ve. It might help her and Trevor speed up the move-out process since they’ve pretty much worn out their welcome. Trevor is not going to be anybody’s movie star. Some people just refuse to admit that they don’t have what it takes. That their dreams may not come true. But it’s not the dream’s fault. I can bear witness, but then again, it takes some of us longer for the truth to click. Court reporting has turned out to be more enlightening than I believe dancing ever would have, and I should win Academy Awards almost on a daily basis just for keeping a square face when what I really feel like doing is grimacing or closing my eyes or screaming at some of the gruesome shit I hear. And when they show pictures I pretend not to see them and just press those plastic keys a little harder.