Who Asked You?

by Terry McMillan

  “He didn’t have a spiritual awakening. But he does have prostate cancer.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Stage One.”

  “Oh, so does this mean now that you’ve raised the kids and they’re off to college and you finally get a few minutes where you can start stringing beads, now he wants to come running back to you to help him convalesce?”

  “He’ll recover.”

  “Let’s just hope you do. I also don’t feel like making a necklace, Venetia. In fact, I don’t even wear necklaces, because they make me feel like I’m choking or that something is hanging around my neck, and I don’t like either one of those feelings. And to be completely honest, I haven’t had any hobbies in almost sixty-one years and I am not that crazy about starting a new one today. But thanks for offering. Make me something pretty for Christmas. How’s that?”

  “Are you mad at me?”

  “Of course not. We all do what we think is in our own best interest. I just came downtown with you because I thought you needed some company.”

  “I thought you needed to take your mind off of your grandkids.”

  “I don’t mind my mind being on them.”

  And she puts her empty tray down, gives me a kiss and a hug, and walks out the front door.

  I pick up my tray and set it on the counter because I don’t much feel like stringing any beads now.

  “If you want to take your husband back, then do it. Who am I to get mad at you for not doing what I think you should do?”

  “Are you serious, BB?”

  I turn around and BB is standing there with her arms crossed.

  “Very. If it works, I’ll be happy for you. And if it doesn’t, I’ll be here for you.”

  I walk over and hug her.

  “Now. Even though I don’t like necklaces, I definitely love bracelets.”

  Luther

  I’m putting my books in my locker when I feel somebody tapping me on my shoulder. When I turn around, it’s that girl, Noxema.

  “What happened to our mother?”

  After I hug her, I close my locker and slide down to the floor. She sits down next to me.

  And I tell her.

  Afterward, she reaches inside her backpack and pulls out some napkins she took from the cafeteria and we use them to wipe our eyes. Then she takes out a bag of Twizzlers and offers me some. I take three.

  “So, what happened to your father?”

  And she tells me.

  “Grandma! Where are you? There’s someone who wants to meet you!”

  “And you will never in a million years guess who it is!” Ricky says.

  I elbow him.

  “I’m coming!” Grandma says, and we hear the bathroom door open, and like always, she has a white towel wrapped around her head like those women in Africa wear and the flowered bathrobe Ricky and I gave her last Christmas. When she comes down the hallway, she stops dead in her tracks before she even gets to the living room. Then she covers her mouth with her hand.

  Noxema is standing between Ricky and me.

  “You look just like she did when she was your age,” Grandma says. “Come here, baby.”

  And our sister walks over and stands in front of her and just says, “Hi, Grandma. So nice to meet you. I’m Noxema.”

  III

  CLEAR THE WATER

  Tammy

  Mom, Clemmie and I are moving out,” Montana says to me as soon as I walk in from work.

  “I’ll believe it when I see it,” I say.

  “Believe it. Trevor just landed the role of a lifetime!”

  “And what, pray tell, would that be?”

  “A major part in a sitcom. On a network. He’s got a contract and everything! Isn’t that great news?”

  “Super. I always knew Trevor had what it took and he persevered, so I give him credit for believing in himself and following his dreams.”

  “Mom, who are you kidding? You thought he was a loser and not good enough for me.”

  “Busted.”

  “Check this out,” she says, and holds out her left hand, which has a ring with a tiny diamond on it.

  “Congratulations,” I say with as much enthusiasm as I can muster.

  “We did it in Vegas. But wait. I’ve got tons more good news.”

  “Please don’t tell me you’re pregnant again?”

  She shakes her head back and forth.

  “No no no. Trevor has leased us a lovely two-bedroom, two-bath condo in Burbank. We have a view and a garage and access to a pool and everything.”

  “How long is the lease for?”

  She gives me a shove and laughs at the same time. But I’m serious.

  “How long?” I ask again.

  “Two years.”

  She is swinging her body from side to side, like she’s so happy she can’t stand still, and I now feel like kicking myself in the ass for putting a damper on it.

  “I know you won’t believe this considering how much I’ve waffled these past four years, but I’m going to UCLA to get my teaching credentials.”

  “What happened to skin care?”

  “I can still do that part time, but as you know firsthand, Mom, all of this has been a long, slow process, and Trevor and I are both so grateful to you for your patience. He wants you to like him.”

  “Okay. Tell him I like him.”

  “Seriously, Mom. He’s a good guy.”

  “Okay. Enough about Trevor. I think you’ll make a good teacher. But I always thought you’d be good at anything you put your mind to, sweetheart. You’re a good mother. But can you do me a big favor?”

  “And what’s that, Mom?”

  “Follow your own lesson plan for your life.”

  “I’m trying. Are you following yours?”

  This throws me off. “I’m revising it. That’s what you do when you make plans and sometimes things happen and you end up on a different path. Babies are a good example of this. But to answer your question, Tanna, all I know right now is I’m going to Billings next month to finally bury my brother’s ashes next to our parents and I’m hoping while I’m flying through those clouds that my next move becomes crystal frigging clear.”

  Of course, hugs.

  “BJ, look out the sunporch window! There’s a moving truck in front of the Songs’ house. Hallefuckinglujah!”

  “Oh oh, Nana, you just said a very bad word!”

  Shit fuck goddamnit! As much as I love my granddaughter, I will be glad when she finally waves bye-bye to me from her car seat and sleeps in her own bedroom three busy freeways away and I can finally stop tiptoeing in my own goddamn house and talking in that Elmo voice and praising all of the dumb shit she does and I won’t have to watch or listen to all those ridiculous educational shows and cartoons every morning, noon, and night, especially that Yo Gabba Gabba and The Backyardigans (except for Uniqua, that’s my girl), and I can get rid of all the miniature bowls, sippy cups, plates, and glasses, and maybe now my house won’t look like Toys R Us and I can stop pretending to enjoy her company after about an hour and I can just get in my brand-new Porsche Carrera I bought from the interest I earned on that Apple stock that split, and Little Miss Clementine can hug and kiss her nana all she wants when I visit for birthdays and holidays, and maybe if and when her parents make enough money to actually take a vacation and can afford DirecTV, I would be more inclined to babysit, but on the other hand, if there was a way I could see Clementine when she’s closer to puberty, we might be able to have a decent conversation and I wouldn’t have to chase her all over the house or forget we’re playing hide-’n’-go-seek when I start running my mouth with BJ like I’m about to do now right now.

  “Nana was just kidding! I thought you were Snow White!”

  “I am Snow White!” she says, and runs to get that Snow White dr
ess I made the mistake of buying her, along with about five or six more. She thinks she’s a princess and some days she gets pissed off at me if she puts one of them on and I get confused about what princess she is.

  “Can you believe this, BJ?”

  “I can believe almost anything. I have lived long enough to see our first black president get elected. I met my long-lost granddaughter. One of my sisters hasn’t spoken to me in almost two years. My grandsons are in high school. Ricky has not been in any trouble and gets good-enough grades. And because of Luther being an honor student and the way he runs that football, he gets to pick and choose what college he wants to go to. I’m sad to say I couldn’t tell you if my oldest son is single or on wife number six or if the other one is dead or alive. And last but not least, I’m still too stupid to retire. And my best friend is having an affair with her ex-husband. What day are you leaving again?”

  “Next Friday. It’s not an affair. We’re having sex. And it’s good. I don’t know how I managed to live without it for as long as I have.”

  “Enjoy it and him for as long as you can. And tell Howard I said hi. So, are you excited about seeing your brother?”

  “I’m looking forward to seeing him. Just not under these circumstances. Did I tell you he moved to Colorado?”

  “I don’t think you did.”

  “Yep. He’s still with his ugly wife, and lucky for that little girl she’s struggling to be attractive and maybe in a few more years she’ll settle into some level of appealing.”

  “You can be such a bitch, Tammy.”

  “I know, and I’m so glad. Anyway, Jackson’s meeting me in Billings. It’s just going to be the two of us. But that’s enough.”

  “I’ll keep an eye out for you.”

  “I can’t wait to see who moves into the Songs’ house. Want to make a bet they’re Armenian? They’re taking over L.A., you know.”

  “I don’t care what nationality or what color they are as long as they get a gardener.”

  Logan Airport in Billings is up-to-the-minute modern. I don’t know why I’m surprised. It’s not like Montana is hicksville. It just feels like it’s a beautiful woman stranded out in the middle of nowhere surrounded by mountains and rivers. I’m grateful I grew up to experience open space and freezing sunshine, but I’m still glad I escaped.

  “Hey, sis,” Jackson says when he spots me. He has finally put on weight and looks like he’s been eating his share of elk.

  “You look healthy,” I say.

  “So do you. A little more endowed if you don’t mind my saying it, but I can’t help but notice.”

  “Nice you can buy what you’ve always coveted,” I say, and pull on my hair. He doesn’t get it.

  “They’re called extensions. Every movie star you see on those award shows swinging those luscious tresses has one. Don’t be fooled by beauty. Anyway, after we get the rental car, you want to get something to eat before we check into the hotel?”

  “I thought it was a motel.”

  I push him.

  Both of us have carry-ons and I’m just glad to see that he’s got a new burgundy North Face backpack.

  “You drive,” I say after we get the rental car, which is really some kind of miniature SUV since it’s January.

  Montana is definitely a giant postcard. The one thing these developers can’t buy and ruin is the mountains. Thank the Lord. But it looks to me like everything on the ground has sure changed. Before Jackson drives past our property, he warns me that it’s got its own zip code now. It’s called “Sacred Cow” and is what is commonly known as a subdivision that has given birth to hundreds of homes that cover the land where our horses and cows once roamed.

  When I see a sign that says MONTANA REDNECKS 4 OBAMA I say, “Stop the car, Jackson.”

  And he does.

  “What in the world is going on?”

  “Well, in all honesty, sis, I could very well have one of these signs in front of my house except I’d swap Colorado for Montana.”

  I just look at him like he’s not my brother.

  “You can’t be serious, Jackson.”

  “I voted for President Obama.”

  “Go ahead and tell me why.”

  “Because I trust him. Because he’s smart and I like a lot of the things he’s trying to do for us folks who are poor or don’t have much. He’s not trying to be the president just for black people, but for everybody. Now let’s be clear. I still don’t want to be BFFs with anybody black, but I sure as hell don’t think I’m superior just because I’m white. I don’t like being a racist, and out there on the road listening to some of the shit these truckers have to say about black people makes me angry enough to want to throw up. I don’t have a right to hate black people, because they’ve never done anything to me. I think deep down I’ve always been afraid of them. But President Obama has changed that.”

  “Wow.”

  “I know it’s a lot to take in, and I apologize for using that ‘N’ word. It’s not in my vocabulary anymore.”

  “Well, damn, Jackson!”

  “To be honest, sis, I also wanted to be a part of making history. Are you hungry?”

  “I’m starving,” I say, and squeeze his hand extra hard, more to give myself a reality check.

  When we get into town, which is also very up-to-the-minute modern and even has buildings that could be considered small skyscrapers, I’m über-impressed. We eat at a cool Brewing Company with a menu that seems to have a million choices. We drink some good ale. I have fish and chips, and Jackson eats a sandwich called “Scarface,” which has all things Italian on it. I’ve never noticed any Italians in Montana, but as we sit here I can’t help but notice that I have not seen one black person or ethnic minority since I got off the airplane. But I don’t feel like bringing this up, since it’s obvious my brother has come a long way.

  We bury our brother next to our parents and it is not ceremonial but we both feel better. We hug at the airport and before we head to different terminals, he squeezes my hand and says, “So, what do you see in your future, sis?”

  This question catches me completely off guard. Out of all the parting words he could’ve said, I’m wondering why he chose to ask me this out of the blue. “I really don’t know, Jackson,” is the most honest answer I can give because I’ve been so busy living from one day to the next, being so preoccupied with my daughter’s and granddaughter’s futures, I haven’t given all that much thought to mine.

  When I drive down our street, I can’t help but smile, since all twenty-two homes still have an Obama-Biden sign stuck in the front yard, including my Korean neighbors, who have a manicured lawn bursting with flowers. Everybody took pictures of our block before the election and we are just too proud to take them down. When I pull into my driveway, something looks different. I look around the yard and realize I can see the sky, which is when I notice large branches full of avocados and lemons falling into my yard. I also hear what is obviously one of those chain saw things in my neighbor’s yard. Without going into the house, and without even thinking that he could possibly use that equipment on me, I walk along the sidewalk and stand in front of his house. He turns to look at me and turns off that saw.

  “What are you doing?” I ask as politely as I possibly can.

  “Getting rid of these trees. The olive trees are next. I know they’ve been a nuisance all these years, and I figured I might as well cut them down now.”

  “Have I ever complained about any of the trees?”

  “No, but I didn’t much blame you. I wasn’t a very neighborly neighbor.”

  “Well, except for that one time my brother parked his big rig out front, we never had any problems with each other.”

  “Yeah, well, back then I didn’t like the idea of you living in our neighborhood.”

  “I know that. But it was my neighborhood, too.”
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  “True. There’s something you don’t know about the house you’ve been living in.”

  I turn to look at it. “I know it needs major work and I’ve been trying to decide if it’s worth fixing up or if there’s any chance in hell I could sell it, which is probably not possible considering what’s going on.”

  “My great-grandparents owned that house. And this one. But I think it may be time for me to finally leave here, and I don’t care what I get for mine.”

  “Has something bad happened? Wait. Don’t tell me. It’s your son, isn’t it?”

  He nods his head yes.

  “In Iraq?”

  He nods his head yes again.

  “I’m so, so sorry, Mr. Heaven. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Well, if you wouldn’t mind, there’s going to be a lot of folks stopping by tomorrow and I would appreciate it if you would let them park in front of your house and in your driveway for a couple of hours.”

  “Absolutely. I’m sure all of us can. Betty Jean for sure.”

  “She’s already said yes. Thank you.”

  “Do you know my name?”

  “It’s Tammy Whitaker. And your children’s names are Max and Montana. And they’re good kids. And from what I saw of him over the years, your husband appeared to be a good man. Anyway, that’s none of my business. So, a while back, I offered to help Mrs. Butler make a few improvements on her home and that unit above the garage, since I’m retired. I suffer from a little arthritis in my knees but I would be more than happy to help you, too, should you decide to stay.”

  “That’s very nice of you, Mr. Heaven.”

  “It’s Eli.”

  “But where would you move?”

  “I haven’t thought that far ahead yet.”

  “Don’t go,” I hear myself blurt out.

  He looks up and down the block. I do the same. Some of the homes are old and run down, some even sagging, but all but one of the yards are well manicured and it is clear that folks still take pride in what little they do have.