by La Jill Hunt
She walked down the hallway and was about to knock on Peyton’s door to make sure she was ready for school when she was shocked to hear what sounded like a man talking.
“You know that was mad funny, yo,” the voice said.
“It wasn’t. I was so embarrassed when you did that.” Peyton laughed.
“I wasn’t trying to embarrass you. I was trying to make you smile.”
Sylvia hesitated, and then gently opened the door, popping her head inside. “Peyton?”
“Mom!” Peyton jumped, then quickly closed the laptop that was in her lap.
“Who is in here?” Sylvia looked around her daughter’s room, searching for the owner of the deep voice, but she didn’t find anyone.
“No one, Mom. Why are you just coming in here like this?” Peyton snapped. She stood up and grabbed her uniform sweater off the bed and put it on.
“Who were you talking to?” Sylvia asked, wondering who was causing her daughter’s sudden nervous behavior.
“Nobody, Mom.” Peyton’s voice was an entire octave higher than normal.
“Peyton, I’m not crazy. I heard you talking and laughing with a boy. Now, who was it?” Sylvia folded her arms and waited for Peyton’s answer.
“Just a friend, that’s all. It’s not that serious.”
“It must be serious. Whatever you were talking about couldn’t wait until you got to school,” Sylvia said.
“He doesn’t even go to my school.” Peyton put the laptop on her desk and picked up her backpack. “Come on. I don’t want to be late.”
“He doesn’t go to your school? What school does he go to? Who is this boy, Peyton?” Sylvia was now more curious than concerned. She was also a little disappointed that Peyton felt the need to hide whomever her so-called friend was. She’d always thought her daughter would feel comfortable enough to come to her when she was ready to date, but then again, she thought she knew her husband well enough to know if he’d had an affair.
Guess I was wrong on both accounts, she thought to herself.
“His name is Tank. He goes to Coastal, and we’re just friends.” Peyton sighed.
Coastal High School was the public school that Jordan attended. Sylvia wondered if she knew this mystery boy as well.
“Peyton, I’m not making a big deal out of anything. You’re a beautiful seventeen-year-old girl. I would be making a big deal out of it if you didn’t have male friends. But I’m still your mother, and I still need and want to know who this friend is, and I’m sure your father would like to as well,” she told her daughter.
Peyton looked at her mother in horror. “No, Mom! No way! You know how Daddy is. Please, don’t. I swear, if it gets serious, I will tell you.”
“It doesn’t have to be serious, Peyton. Even if he’s just a friend, we still want to meet him.” Sylvia gave her daughter a reassuring smile. “I promise you, if I didn’t love and care about you, I wouldn’t even be concerned about who you talk to.”
She wasn’t exaggerating when she said Peyton was beautiful. Even in the plaid skirt and white blouse that Peyton had worn to school daily for the past eleven years, Sylvia could see the womanly curves that she had developed. She was grateful that in addition to inheriting her father’s good looks and athletic ability, her daughter had also inherited the same curves that Janelle had from her mother. It was a perfect combination to look at for an adolescent boy, and Sylvia knew Peyton probably got a lot of attention that she probably didn’t even realize. When it came to personality, their daughter was more like her mother: shy, quiet, and naïve when it came to boys.
“Fine, Mom. Come on. We’re gonna be late, and I have a yearbook meeting this morning.”
They went downstairs and into the kitchen where Aunt Connie and Jordan were having breakfast already.
“Good morning,” Sylvia greeted them.
“Good morning,” Jordan mumbled, barely looking up from the iPhone she was texting on.
“Good morning. The bacon and grits are on the stove. And before you ask: no, it ain’t turkey bacon, it’s pork. You want your eggs scrambled or fried?” Aunt Connie got up and walked over to the stove.
“Just coffee and I’m good, Aunt Connie.” Sylvia shook her head.
“Are these homemade?” Peyton asked, picking up one of the golden, fluffy biscuits that were sitting on a plate in the middle of the table.
“Of course. You know they ain’t come out of no can.” Aunt Connie laughed.
“They are amazing!” Peyton told her. “I just want one of these with some bacon and grape jelly, Aunt Connie.”
“I don’t know why I made all these grits if y’all ain’t gonna eat ’em.” Aunt Connie passed Peyton a plate of bacon.
“You know Garry will eat them,” Sylvia said, walking over to her Keurig to make a cup of coffee.
“I already made a pot of coffee.” Aunt Connie pointed to the dripping machine in the corner. “And it’s good.”
Sylvia gave up on trying to explain to her aunt that the Keurig allowed the family to have a variety of flavored coffees, hot chocolate, and tea. She had showed her several times how simple the machine was to use, but her aunt refused and insisted on using the old-fashioned Mr. Coffee machine and Maxwell House coffee every morning. Sylvia also knew that the comment about the canned biscuits was a dig at her as well, because on the rare occasion that her Aunt Connie allowed her to make breakfast, the only biscuits she made were the ones with the Pillsbury Dough Boy on the label.
“Daddy does love grits. He messes them up, though, with all that sugar he puts in ’em, and cinnamon.” Peyton laughed.
“Yes, he does,” Sylvia agreed. “I’ve told him for years they’re grits, not cream of wheat or oatmeal. The only thing you’re supposed to put in grits is salt, pepper, and butter!”
She and Peyton laughed together.
“Oh, there’s nothing wrong with a little variety,” Aunt Connie told them. “You know he’s from Chicago. It’s a Northern thing. Isn’t that right, Jordan?”
Sylvia looked over and saw that Jordan was now staring at them, her face void of any signs of amusement.
“I’m gonna be late for the bus,” Jordan said, getting up from the table.
“Jordan, I can give you a ride to school if you like. It’s not a problem,” Sylvia offered.
“That’s okay,” Jordan replied. “I like to ride the bus to school. It’s a Northern thing.”
The room remained quiet for a few seconds until Sylvia finally spoke. “I give up. Each time I try, she shuts me out. I don’t even know what that was about.”
“Me neither.” Peyton shrugged, slathering jelly onto her biscuit.
“Maybe you two should be a little more observant then.” Aunt Connie pointed to Jordan’s plate, which was still on the table. On the plate was a half-eaten biscuit, bits of bacon, and uneaten grits, with cinnamon and sugar on top.
Sylvia realized what her aunt meant, and even though it was harmless, she knew how their jovial conversation must’ve made Jordan feel. Once again, they’d isolated her.
Janelle
“Well, well, well. Look who’s feeling better.”
“Yes, I’m feeling much better.” Janelle smiled at Sherrod as she looked at him standing behind the glass casing of the area at the rear of the store, dressed in his blue lab coat. He already knew that she was feeling better, because he called and texted her daily to make sure. It was Thursday and the first day she really felt almost one hundred percent and well enough to leave her house. So, she decided to stop by the pharmacy and thank him in person for being so considerate and concerned while she was ill. If it weren’t for him, she probably wouldn’t have gotten better so quickly.
“I’m glad. You look a hell of a lot better than the last time I saw you, that’s for sure.” He laughed.
“I’m sure I do, but don’t hate, because even on my worst days, I know I still look good,” she told him. She had made sure she looked good before she left the house that afternoon. Her hair was
curled perfectly, and she had taken the time to make sure her makeup was tight and so was the outfit she wore. As she got dressed, she had convinced herself that the reason she was being so meticulous had nothing to do with her decision to stop by and see him but was because she was, indeed, feeling better.
“I mean, you was a’ight, I guess.” He grinned.
There were quite a few customers in the waiting area, some seated and some in line. She didn’t want to take up too much of his time.
“I know you’re busy. I just wanted to stop by and thank you again.”
“Give me a few minutes to get these meds out and we can go talk for a minute,” he replied.
“Okay,” Janelle said.
In order to both kill time and not stand around idly while he was working, she decided to pick up a few items while she was there. Just as she was about to check out at the front of the store, she heard him behind her.
“Are you sure you don’t need to buy any protection while you’re here?”
“No, I don’t. Are you sure you don’t need any? You know what Aunt Connie told you.” She smirked at him.
“She told you the same thing,” he reminded her.
She noticed the cashier giggling and realized they were holding up the line. She paid for her items and gathered up her bags.
“Let me help you with those. You might still be kinda weak,” he said, taking the bags out of her hand. “After all, you were dying, as you put it.”
“I was dying. People die from the flu every day. I read it on webmd.com,” she told him.
“Oh God, please stay off that site.” He rolled his eyes, leading her over to the perfume counter where no one was, so they could talk.
“Why? It’s informative and insightful.”
“Touché.” He laughed, placing her bags on the counter. “So, what are you doing for your birthday this weekend?”
Janelle laughed. “How did you know it’s my birthday?”
“I know a lot. I’m your friendly neighborhood pharmacist.” He pointed to the name tag on the blue lab coat he wore.
“That’s kinda scary. Should I be worried?” She squinted in a playful way.
“I don’t know. Should you?” The way he said it let her know that he was obviously flirting at this point.
Janelle looked at him, staring. There was something about him that drew her to him, and she wondered how she should respond. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she said, “I hope not.”
“Trust me,” he told her. “You shouldn’t. So, answer my original question. What do you have planned for your birthday?”
Janelle was worried that her recent illness would prevent her from celebrating her birthday, which was the following Friday night. Nivea had been even more excited than she was when Janelle called to say that she was feeling better and would be well enough to celebrate.
“Nothing much. Girls night on Thursday night, dinner and drinks on Friday night, and brunch with the family on Saturday,” Janelle told him.
“Wow, that doesn’t sound like much at all.” Sherrod shook his head. “So, let me ask you this: does that mean I can take you to dinner on Saturday night?”
Janelle was both surprised and excited by his invitation. In her mind, she had expected that she would do something with Jarvis on Saturday night; although he had mentioned it, they hadn’t made any concrete plans. Going on a date with Sherrod sounded like fun, but she was hesitant. She knew that Nivea had mentioned being interested in him.
“Um, dinner? Saturday night?” She blinked.
“Yeah, dinner Saturday night, if you would like to.” He stood from where he’d been leaning on the glass counter moments before.
Janelle tried to think of the right thing to say and do. On one hand, she wanted to go and get to know Sherrod. He had really been so nice and done so much for her while she was sick that she felt like she was the one who should have been asking him out to dinner. Now, here he was, asking to take her. On the other hand, agreeing to do so knowing her best friend was interested in him was not right. She was torn and wondered if feeling flattered and having the desire to even want to accept his invitation broke girl code in a way.
“Dr. Crawford, code seventeen. Dr. Crawford, code seventeen.” A voice paged Sherrod over the intercom, and Janelle almost let out a sigh of relief.
“Duty calls,” Sherrod said, picking the bags up and handing them to her. “Thanks for stopping by to see me. It was a nice surprise.”
“You don’t have to thank me. I told you I came here to thank you. I appreciate your looking out for me while I was sick and shut in.” She smiled at him.
“And on your death bed?” He laughed.
“Exactly.”
“Hey, it’s what I do. After all, I’m your—”
They both laughed as she finished his sentence for him. “Friendly neighborhood pharmacist.”
“Well, let me know about dinner. I work Saturday until five,” he told her. “I would love to take you out and celebrate. After all, you almost didn’t make it.”
“I will,” Janelle told him, taking her bags from him and watching him walk away.
* * *
“Happy birthday, Nellie!” Nivea screamed as Janelle made her way through the crowd and over to the bar where she, Natalie, and a few other friends were already waiting.
“Thank you! Thank you!” Janelle went over and hugged them. It was the start of her celebration weekend, and she was ready to party. She only had two more years to enjoy her thirties, and she decided that thirty-eight was going to be an age to remember, although she didn’t have everything she thought she would have by this age—such as: a husband or children, or, hell, even a committed relationship. She still had a lot to celebrate because she had a decent job, a home, her family, friends, and her health.
They immediately ordered a round of tequila shots. Janelle didn’t have to work the next day, but because she was just getting over the flu and on antibiotics, she knew to take it easy and not get too “turnt up.”
She was having a great time with her girls when, all of a sudden, she looked up and Jarvis was walking toward her.
“Surprise!” Nivea screamed.
Janelle turned to her friend and said, “What the hell? I thought this was girls’ night.”
“I know, but I figured you hadn’t seen him since you’ve been sick, so I texted him and told him we were gonna be here.” Nivea beamed with pride.
The first thing that ran through Janelle’s mind was how in the world did Nivea know Jarvis’s cell phone number? But she decided to ask that question at a later time.
Jarvis walked up to her and gave her a hug and kissed her on the cheek. “Happy birthday.” He smiled.
“Thank you.” Janelle smiled back, admiring how handsome he looked. She was glad to see him and enjoyed the fact that he came out on a weeknight, something he rarely did.
“Bartender, another round!” Nivea said.
The bartender lined up more shot glasses in front of them.
“What is that?” Jarvis asked.
“Cuervo!” Nivea told him.
“Oh, no, I’m good. I just want a beer. I gotta work tomorrow.” He laughed.
“Aw, come on. Don’t be like that, Jarvis. It’s your girl’s birthday.” Nivea put her arm around Janelle.
Jarvis hated being the center of attention. She knew her best friend was tipsy, and if she didn’t curtail the situation, there was a possibility of Nivea making Jarvis feel even more uncomfortable than he already looked.
“Can I get a Heineken please?” Janelle leaned over and asked the bartender.
“Coming right up,” the bartender said and quickly returned with the cold beer, which Janelle passed to Jarvis.
“Thanks, sweetie.” He smiled, and she was glad to see him loosen up a bit.
They all continued to laugh and joke with one another, and the DJ began playing a mix of Mary J. Blige, who happened to be Janelle’s favorite artist of all time. Jarvis pulled he
r to the dance floor, and she swayed to the beat of everything from “Real Love” to “Just Fine.”
Janelle was enjoying the moment when she looked up and saw Nivea walking onto the dance floor, pulling Sherrod behind her. Their eyes met, and for an instant, she stood completely still. He had a mischievous grin, and she forced herself to look away.
“Look who decided to come out, Nellie!” Nivea yelled over the music.
“Happy birthday, lady!” Sherrod smiled.
“Thank you,” Janelle said. The music slowed and changed to “My Life,” and Jarvis pulled her close to him. She hoped he couldn’t feel her heart pounding.
“You look so beautiful,” he looked down and whispered. “Were you surprised to see me?”
“Yes, I am,” she told him.
“I’m glad I came out. If I hadn’t, some other brother would probably be all over you right now.” His arms tightened around her body.
She wondered if Jarvis caught the connection between her and Sherrod, but she also wondered if what she was feeling was actually a connection. She looked over at him dancing with Nivea, laughing and whispering in his ear. Again, she felt a slight discomfort that she knew was jealousy.
“You know that’s not true.” She refocused her attention back to her dance partner.
“It is. When I walked in, there were two dudes checking you out,” Jarvis told her.
“What? Where are they?” Janelle teased, pretending like she was looking around the club for the men Jarvis was talking about.
“Stop it,” Jarvis said.
They danced a little while longer and then went back over to the bar.
Jarvis looked at his watch and said, “Well, I gotta get outta here.”
“I really appreciate you coming out, Jarvis.” She smiled as she put her arms around his neck.
“I was flattered that your friends thought enough about me to invite me out here. I had a great time,” he told her.
“Me too,” she said, looking back over to the dance floor at Nivea and Sherrod, who also seemed to be having the time of their lives. Jarvis gave her a hug and another kiss on the cheek.
“Text me to let me know you made it home safely. Happy birthday,” he said as he released her from his arms.