by Justin Sayre
“He’s seriously cute. Kate Brenman is heartbroken that he likes you so much. She’s had a crush on him forever, and he barely even remembers her name,” Allegra says, getting a little more upset.
“Well, that’s not my fault. I’m not in charge of Ryan,” I say back, getting annoyed. I’m not doing anything. I don’t even know if I like Ryan, and if I do, so what? Allegra is looking at me like I’m taking something, and I don’t even know if I want it. She wants hand-holding and making out, and she’s not getting any of it. She thinks I am or am about to, or she thinks I am throwing it away.
“Well, if you don’t like him, you should at least tell him,” Allegra fires back at me.
“I didn’t say that. I just don’t know. It’s a lot, you know?” I say. I know this whole conversation has much more to do with her and me than either of those boys, so I add, “And really, I’m just taking my time, Leg. I mean, I sort of have to hold out for Mr. Gennetti, don’t I?”
This gets a laugh.
“OMG, he’s the sexiest thing Evah! It’s not fair. But you seriously need to figure things out with Ryan,” Allegra says. I don’t know who she’s talking about. Not fair to Ryan or not fair to her?
“I will. I promise,” I say as the car turns onto my street. “This is me,” I say to the driver. “Thanks for the ride, Leg.”
“Sure. But, like, go to bed. You need to sleep. You look bad,” Allegra says as I close the door. This is probably the clearest conversation we’ve ever had, where we actually talked about what we wanted to talk about or were at least honest.
I get nervous when I go through the gate, but mostly I’m thinking about my bed. The rest I can deal with.
Probably.
CHAPTER 7
Opening the door, I hear Janet talking to someone. She sounds so small. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her voice sound like that. Then she stops, and the other person stops too.
“Hey, Sophie, is that you?” Janet yells from the kitchen.
“Yes,” I say now that I’m caught. Even an apology will take hours of talking and promises to get better, which will never actually happen, and all I want to do is sleep. This could be worse because she’s brought someone else in to embarrass us both. She’s never done that before.
“Sophie, baby, don’t keep me waiting now,” the other person yells out to me, and suddenly everything changes. It’s my auntie Amara. With her here, things won’t get out of control. She’s too bossy and funny to ever allow any of that.
I run out to the kitchen and see my auntie Amara standing near the island. Her grayish dreads are perfectly spun around in a head scarf that matches her dress with just two or three strands hanging over one side of her face to balance her out. She always has a great look. She holds her big hands out to me with all her ringed fingers spread as wide as they can go just to catch all of me all at once. I run up and hug her as hard as I can. Her boobs are so big, they almost smother me as she pulls me closer and closer to her. It feels like the best way to be crushed.
“Oh, baby, you feel good against my heart,” Auntie Amara says, and I can feel each word tingling against my face.
“When did you get here?” I ask, finding some air, but not pulling away.
“This afternoon,” she says as she lets me go. “Now let me get a good look at you. Girl, you grown! And look at this face.” Amara takes my face in her warm hands and squeezes the bottom of my chin.
“Janet, why didn’t you tell me you had Dorothy Dandridge living in this house with you? You get that face from me, you know.”
I look over at my mother, who seems small and nervous, almost sick-looking alongside Amara. But I think she’d look that way on her own. Maybe it’s because she’s so skinny and slight in comparison to Amara, like someone with a terrible disease, but she just smiles at me, or tries to.
“Now you run upstairs to get washed up for dinner. And we’ll talk about that hair later,” she calls after me.
I don’t remember going up the stairs. That’s how tired I am.
I sit down on my bed for a minute and wake up an hour later to the smell of Chinese food. From my room, I hear Auntie and Janet talking, the sounds of their voices but not their actual words. Janet sounds whispery and scared, almost like she’s hissing, and Auntie sounds loud and firm, clucking back at her. Even though I don’t hear the words, I know they’re talking about me, but I can’t hear enough to know if it’s good or bad.
I rush down the stairs just as Auntie calls me to come down for dinner. I walk so fast, I almost trip over the suitcase in the hallway.
“Going somewhere?” I ask Auntie.
“Actually, your mama is taking a trip,” Auntie Amara says, walking with me to the kitchen. Janet is sitting in there, with her same cup of coffee.
“I have to head to Paris for a month,” Janet says, just looking at her cup. “It’s for work. A big story. I need to see a bunch of shows.”
Janet says this like it’s the worst thing that has ever happened to anyone in the world, but I don’t know why. She loves Paris, she jumps at any chance to go. Paris is her favorite place. It’s where she met my father. She has lots of friends there. So what is her problem? When she does look at me, her big eyes are almost full of tears.
“And I’m going to stay here with you. How do you feel about that?” Auntie smiles. She’s setting the table, like she’s already moved in and taken charge.
“Fine,” I say, looking at Janet. What is she doing? What is this about?
“Just fine? Girl, I expected a better answer than that. I never get to see you, and now we get a whole month together, and you’re ‘fine’? Just ‘fine.’”
I don’t take my eyes off Janet. I keep looking at her, trying to figure out what is going on with her. Why is she acting like this? Does Auntie know about last night? Does she know about any of it? Am I supposed to tell her? And what is Janet going to do on her own in Paris? What is she thinking; a week is one thing, sure, but a month? She can’t keep it together for a month and certainly not a month in Paris.
But Auntie pushes in. “We’re going to have a good time, you and me. Your mama and I figured that it would be easier for you if I came than to have you up to Harlem with me.” Amara teaches college at CUNY in the city. She’s really smart and a little famous to certain people.
“When do you leave?” I ask Janet, who stares at her coffee.
Janet gets up from the table, pretending to look at the Chinese food. “Tomorrow morning. Car’s coming at six.”
“And when do you get back?” I ask, looking at her harder and harder, trying to get her to look back at me.
“Not now, girl, rice’s getting cold,” Auntie interjects, pulling out a chair for me to sit.
Everything is so formal tonight. We’re all putting on a show of how things are supposed to be but never are. It annoys me. Janet and I never sit at the table. It’s usually too covered with papers or mail. We eat in our rooms or at the island, watching the news or Jeopardy! We barely use plates, let alone silverware. There’s a whole drawer full of plastic stuff that comes every time we order in, which is all we really do. I’m surprised to see we have metal forks at all.
But I’m hungry, and I’m not going to start with Auntie Amara, not now.
Janet sits down in the side seat, looking at the egg rolls and the dishes but never at me, and never at Auntie. They ordered cashew chicken, which is my favorite, but with everything else going on here, I’m not even excited about it. I reach in to scoop some onto my plate, but Auntie stops me.
“I’ll serve. Hold on a minute.” Auntie smiles, swatting me to sit down. She makes up a plate for Janet and then for me. It’s one weird thing after another.
After I swallow my first mouthful, I turn to Janet.
“When do you get back?” I repeat.
Janet looks to Auntie Amara, like she’s checking something. Then
, looking back at her plate, she says, “In about a month, like, five weeks, probably.”
“That isn’t too long to put up with me, is it?” Auntie Amara asks loudly, trying to pull me closer to her, but I don’t move.
“When were you going to tell me, Janet?” I say, getting a little more angry. She’s abandoning me.
“Oh, now, that’s your mama, girl,” Auntie Amara says to me. Janet still doesn’t turn around.
“It’s my name,” Janet says to her coffee cup. “I have to go, Sophie, and I have to go tomorrow. I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Auntie Amara interjects. “We’ll be fine, won’t we, Sophie?”
I take a big, angry bite of a crunchy noodle.
“Yeah. We’ll be fine,” I say really loudly so Janet can hear me. We’ll be fine without you. Probably better. It’s you who should worry. You’re the drunk.
“Yes. And it’s Auntie to you. We’re friends, but I’m your aunt before that. You get me?” Auntie Amara smiles at me.
“Yes, Auntie.” I smile back.
We eat so much of the Chinese food, except for Janet, who stares sadly at her plate and picks at the rice, sipping her coffee, which has to be cold by now.
It makes me mad that she doesn’t say anything. She explains nothing to Auntie. She just sits there and pretends like this is the way we operate every day.
When we’re done, Auntie tells me to help her get all the dishes. Janet sits quietly. I take her plate, which is still filled with rice and broccoli she’s pulled apart.
“Are you finished?” I ask her. Now I’m not looking at her. Let’s see how she likes it.
And then she looks up, and with the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen says, “Yes. Thank you, Sophie.” I can’t help but look back at her. I’m angry with her but her eyes look so sad, it’s hard to stay mad for too long, so I look away. I take the plates in to Auntie, who is washing everything in the sink, even though we have a dishwasher. She says she does a better job.
“What do you have for homework?” Auntie asks me. I know it’s not a big question, but it’s one I haven’t had to answer in years. I can’t remember really ever having to answer it. Janet never asks, and even if I ever have a big project, I am always the one to tell her. Why does Amara need to know about my homework anyway?
I ramble off the list of things I have to do tonight. Mostly worksheets and reading, stuff I can get done on my own in my room, no big deal. Auntie nods after each item and asks a question about the subject and what the teacher expects from me.
“Well, that sounds like a lot. Bring it down to the table here while I clean.” Auntie Amara smiles.
“I can do it on my own,” I respond.
“I know. But I would rather see you do your work in case you have a question or something. Then I can check it over when you’re done.”
Okay, what? Not only do I have to report in, but now I have to do my homework in front of her and she is going to correct it when I’m done? That’s crazy. Why would she do that? I mean, I know she’s a college professor or whatever, but I know how to do my homework. I do it all the time and I don’t need any help. Why can’t I just be left on my own?
I don’t say any of this, though, and I bring down my books and sit at the island as Auntie Amara cleans, not just the dishes but the stove and the refrigerator and every flat surface in the kitchen.
When I finish the last of it, I close my books and start putting papers back in my folder, but Auntie stops me.
“Oh, no. Let me see.” Auntie smiles. She peels off her yellow gloves.
“You were serious?” I answer.
“When I’m joking, you’ll know, little miss. Now show me.” Auntie laughs.
I take everything out all over again and try to get her through it as quickly as I can, but Auntie keeps slowing me down over and over again. Looking at every question and answer, even correcting my work. I don’t get why she has to do this and wonder if it’s going to be like this every night for the next month while she’s here.
“And what’s this?” Auntie says, holding up my social studies book.
“Social studies. We’re learning about Mesopotamia,” I answer.
“What about it?” Auntie smiles.
“Just that it’s the beginning of civilization,” I answer.
“Oh, no, it’s not. It’s one part of it, but humans started their history in Africa. Your teacher tell you that?” Auntie smiles up at me as she flicks through my book.
“No. Mr. Gennetti said this is where humanity started,” I answer.
“Well, tomorrow tell Mr. Gennetti he’s wrong. Or I can.” Auntie laughs out loud. “I’m teasing you, but know that Mesopotamia is only part of the story. Now run upstairs and brush those teeth. I’ll come up and kiss you good night.”
The whole time I’m working, Janet’s been sitting at her computer, frozen so still I’d swear she’s a statue. It’s like she’s already left.
Upstairs, I pace in my room for a bit. What is this? I mean, it’s not even 9:00 p.m. and I’m getting ready for bed? Who’s going to watch Janet and turn out all the lights and make sure the stove is off? Who is going to count her steps from the bathroom to her bed, to make sure that she gets there at all?
Auntie knocks at my door. “Baby, can I come in?” she says as she’s already through the door. She sits on my bed looking around my room. She sees the ripped-up magazine pages in the garbage from the night before. “I’ll bring you up a garbage bag for this.”
Auntie pats the space next to her on my bed and waves me over.
“You and me, we’re going to do all right, aren’t we?”
“Sure,” I answer, sitting next to her and getting pulled over by her thick arm.
“This is a big opportunity for your mama, and she needs to take it seriously.”
“Okay,” I answer.
“So I need you to be good for me. Okay?” Auntie asks me.
“Yes, Auntie, I will,” I answer. It all still seems like so much pretending, and I don’t know when it’s going to end. Auntie holds me close for a minute and then kisses me on the forehead. “I’ll be up for breakfast, all right?”
“All right.” I don’t know what else to say. Everything is about to change, and I can’t figure out what it’s all going to change into.
Auntie stands at the door watching me get into bed. I feel like I’m doing this just for her. She turns out the light and closes my door. My room is so dark, but I want to stay up, I need to stay up and count the steps. Auntie doesn’t know anything about our house or what goes on here. What if something happens? Tonight nothing was like it regularly is, who knows what comes next? I’m so tired in the dark that as hard as I fight, I can’t keep my eyes open, and the next time I open them, it’s morning.
I hear the front door open, so I jump out of bed and head to the front window to look out to the street. Janet has her coat on, and Auntie puts two suitcases into the trunk of the black cab. Davis’s mom is there too, holding Janet’s hand. They hug hard, whispering into each other’s necks—at least that’s what it looks like from up here. Auntie comes up behind them and tells Janet to get into the car. Janet looks up at the house, and for one second I think she sees me looking down at her. She looks away, and the cab door closes. Auntie and Davis’s mom wave to the car as it drives away and then head back to their houses. Coming up the stairs to the front door, Auntie sees me in the upstairs window and waves.
When she gets inside, she yells up, “Sophie, how about some eggs?”
Eggs? It’s too early for hot food. What is she thinking? But I just yell down, “Fine.” Things are only going to get weirder from here on in.
CHAPTER 8
Returning from school is so different for those first few days. One day I come home and the whole house just smells like spices. There’s steam on the windows and on
the pictures in the hallway, and loud music playing from the kitchen. I stop pretty quickly after hearing it and then, without thinking, run into the kitchen. Even though I know Janet’s not home, and I know she would never be cooking, let alone cooking something this good, the steam and the music make me think she’s done something wrong and she’s too drunk to know any better and I need to fix it before it gets out of hand.
In the kitchen, Auntie Amara is swaying to music, slow and sexy-like. She still thinks she’s alone, she’s dancing for herself. But then she turns, sees me, and keeps moving in the slow-swaying way anyway.
“How’re you doing, baby?” She doesn’t care that I’m here. She doesn’t even care that she can’t really hum. She’s just doing whatever she wants, however she wants to do it, including cooking whatever she’s cooking in my house and steaming the whole place up.
“What are you making?”
“Oh, I am cooking up something special for you and me tonight. You ready? You ready for something good?” Auntie says this as she dances over to me, dipping and diving at me. I don’t want to laugh, but I can’t help it. Why does she have to dance like that? Why does she have to dance at all?
“Go on and wash up and come right back down to help me.” Auntie smiles as she sprinkles a bright yellow powder into a boiling pot. From the minute I walk in the door to the minute I leave in the morning, she’s always ordering me around and telling me what to do. I’m still not used to it.
I drop my books on my bed and head to the bathroom. My look today is good, very good in fact. Fall is my favorite part of the year, especially in Brooklyn, and layering is my thing. Today, I have this off-white blouse with a dark green cardigan with little Scottie dogs all over it. This with a skinny stonewash and pink high-tops is a look that I love. It can be anything, and even though I try never to repeat, at least exactly, I am seriously thinking about keeping this as an ensemble for a while.
Ducks loved it. Especially the high-tops.
Auntie Amara calls up from the kitchen, “Sophie, come down when you’re ready. I’m serving this all in the living room.”