by Justin Sayre
“I feel like such a baby.” He sighs.
“You’re not. You miss him, that’s fine,” I argue back.
“I will miss you, when you go to Harlem,” he says, looking at me.
“You would let me go?” I ask, really curious about what he’s going to say.
“I don’t have to, like, let you go or whatever.” Ducks stumbles over his words. “But if you think it’s the best thing for you to do, if it’s going to make you happy, then you should go. That’s all I want.”
“I love you, Ducks,” I say, putting my arm through his and pulling on his shoulder.
“I know.” He smiles. “I love you too.”
We walk home arm in arm, pretty quietly after that. I kiss his cheek and leave him at his door, marching up to my house. I should be nervous opening the door to go in, because Janet is home again, and who knows what that means, but I’m not. I have something to do now.
Janet and Auntie are standing in the kitchen, listening to music and talking, when I walk in with something to say. They try to ask me about the project and about my day and tell me how good I look as Amara, but I stop them both.
“I want to tell you something. Okay?” I ask. They both answer that it is.
So I stand there and tell them both what I’m thinking. What I thought about before with Janet, how awful and terrible it was, and how I can never go back to that. I tell them about how the weeks with Auntie have been special and warm, and I’ve been able to be myself and figure out the tiniest bit of who that is. I tell them about fighting with my father, and about Ryan being mad at me, and Allegra, and today with Ducks. But I know what I want to do, not have to do, because I don’t want to feel like I have to do anything about this anymore. I’ve had to do enough.
So I tell them. And Janet cries and so does Amara, and they both hold me close, and though I don’t want to, I start to cry too.
“That was beautiful,” Auntie says, wiping tears off my face.
And I know for the first time that it was.
CHAPTER 29
Auntie Amara stays for an extra week, just to help Janet get used to being on her own again. It’s the first time I’ve ever really seen them together, and you can tell they’re sisters. They argue like sisters, bickering back and forth. They remember things in parts that the other one fills in and then argue over who is right. They love each other, that’s underneath it all, but they fight almost the whole time.
Janet goes to her alcoholics’ meeting every day and drinks water and eats lots of Sour Patch Kids, which is new, but I would take that over her drunk any day. She’s friendly and smiles a lot, which is strange at first, and even though I understand she’s been upset, I get over the crying really quickly. I mean, if anyone has the right to cry, it’s me, but I don’t. She should stop too.
It gets weird about sleeping though. I want to sleep with Auntie again, at least while I have her, but I know Janet will feel alone, and I don’t want her sleeping on my floor again, because that will freak me out.
The first night I got home and told them I was going to stay in Park Slope, Janet slept on my floor again, but I knew she was cold and uncomfortable. I told her to go back into her room, but she insisted on staying there. Finally I told her she had to go. It was making me nuts. I saw how upset she was while getting up, so I walked her into her room to put her to bed. Auntie was reading, and she looked up and smiled to see us.
“Y’all coming in here now?” Auntie smiled.
And before I can really say otherwise, we are. I sleep between them, Janet to my back, kissing my shoulders and thanking me. Auntie lies on her back and starts to fall asleep, which means she starts to snore. I’ve gotten used to it, but Janet hasn’t, and she tosses and turns from the noise.
“Listen to her,” Janet whispers to me.
“I know,” I whisper back, not turning around.
“She sounds like an old muffler.” Janet laughs to herself.
“Go to sleep,” I beg.
Janet tries but can’t, and even though I know I should be watching her, I can’t help myself and fall asleep. At almost three in the morning, I wake up with a start and jump up in the bed. I pat next to me and can’t feel Janet. I knew it, I think. I knew she couldn’t last, I knew she would sneak out to do something. And I signed up for more of this, how stupid am I? I’m never going to sleep again, am I?
I get out of bed, quietly, and try to get to the door without waking Auntie, who is still snoring away. I get to the door and open it slowly till I can just fit around it. There are lights on downstairs, and some soft music playing, but I know she’s drinking. I knew this was all a big fake-out, and now I’ve given up going away with Auntie to start this all over again. How could she do this to me? How?
I get down the stairs, almost without a sound, and walk into the kitchen, where nothing is out of place, the stove’s shut off, and all the drawers are closed. She’s being secretive about it, because she knows now what getting caught means, she’s afraid but she’s not sorry enough to stop. She’s in her office. I can hear her in there, so I slide a little across the tile in the kitchen so I can get to the door without her hearing me.
“What are you doing?” I ask at the doorway.
Janet is curled up on the couch, reading a book, with a glass of water.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she says, looking up from her book. “Couldn’t you sleep either?”
I don’t answer. She knows I couldn’t sleep and she knows why.
“Do you want to sit with me a little?” she says, picking up the blanket over her legs and waving me under. I go over and sit with her, looking around the room for what’s really going on here. No bottles, no cans, and the door to outside is locked.
“It’s hard for me to fall asleep now.” Janet smiles. “And Amara doesn’t help.”
“She can’t help it,” I chime in.
“I know. That’s why I didn’t want to wake you two up.” She smiles. “Do you have trouble sleeping?”
“I did,” I say.
“I see,” Janet says, embarrassed and a little hurt.
I can’t help that I always want to do this to her but I do. I want her to know how awful it was, how mean and crazy she’s been for years, I want to threaten her all the time that if she slips up even the tiniest bit, I’m leaving. I want her to know how serious I am, and that what I say matters now, because for so long, it didn’t. I didn’t matter at all.
“You know, I like this. I like that you sleep with Auntie and that you invited me in.”
“It’s nice,” I answer.
“We never did that.” She smiles.
“We couldn’t,” I snap back.
“Sophie, I know you’re angry at me. I know that, and I know you have every right to be,” she says, breathing in deeply. “I’m not going to let you down again. I promise.”
“Okay,” I answer.
“I hate what I’ve done to you. You deserve a lot better than me. But I want to take care of you now. You don’t have to worry about me. I promise you, you don’t.”
“I don’t know how to not worry about you, Janet,” I say right back.
“I know,” Janet says, starting to cry a little, but she pulls it back together. “But how about, at least tonight, we take the night off? You don’t worry about me, and I just hold you. How’s that?”
I want to say no. I want to say a slew of nasty things to her, but I don’t. I’m too tired to fight. So I lay my head on her lap and start to fall asleep.
When I wake up again, it’s early in the morning, the gray part of the morning before the pink starts, and only a few birds are up to talk about it. Janet is asleep sitting up, with me still on her lap. I get up and away from her for a minute, just to make sure she didn’t move. I walk around the room again to look for bottles or something, anything, but there’s nothing. It’s hard to believ
e, but I have to.
I walk back through the kitchen and turn off the music she left on all night, trying to head back up to my bed, but by the time I hit the bottom of the stairs, I see Auntie standing in the living room, looking out the windows.
I walk toward her, slowly, not wanting to interrupt this moment she’s having but still wanting to be a part of it. I walk up close to her and she doesn’t move. She doesn’t even flinch, and I look out at the spot I think she’s looking at. She takes a big breath.
“We do terrible things to the people we love,” Auntie says. “And it’s not because we don’t love them, sometimes it’s exactly the opposite. Sometimes we love someone so much, we forget how to show it. We forget that the little tiny signs of love are the most important parts. Like this.”
Auntie swings her arm around me.
“What are you looking at?” I ask.
“I’m just looking. I know what I’m looking at, but I know that it all means a lot more than I can see, and I’m looking for a way in.”
“I like that,” I answer.
“I knew you would.” Auntie sighs. “I’m glad you’re staying here. I’m not glad you’re not coming with me, but I think you’re doing the right thing.”
“I guess,” I say.
“You just promise me this right now: You have a phone, you use it, if you need anything at all. You’re not in this alone anymore, baby.”
“I will.” I smile.
“See that you do.” Auntie smiles and holds me a little closer.
When we finally break, Auntie laughs a little and says, “You certainly do like those beads, don’t you?”
I look down at my wrist to see the beads she gave me in her apartment wrapped around my wrist. I didn’t even remember putting them on this morning.
I smile back. “They’re part of my story now.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Auntie says, sipping her coffee and looking back out the window. “Now get to school. Just because your mama’s home doesn’t mean anything changes.”
I head out the door, hoping she’s right.
When Sunday comes, I get ready for church, but I know they’ve been fighting about it. Janet doesn’t want me to go to that place, she doesn’t like all that stuff, but Amara tries to tell her that it’s different. Finally, I have to speak up and say I’m going, that I want to go, and I want Janet to come with us.
Auntie’s face almost falls off when I say this last part. Janet hasn’t been in a church in almost twenty years and she swore she would never go in one again. I tell them both I don’t care. We’re going. They both laugh at how bossy I get about it, but soon enough we’re all on the train up to Harlem.
Janet’s nervous about going, and she mopes when we’re not looking at her. But she perks up when she thinks we’re upset and tries to make us both feel like it’s all right. It isn’t, but I don’t want to worry about that right now. I just want to go.
The old ladies in the front all make a fuss over Janet, for how pretty she is and how well she’s dressed, and when they find out she’s my mother, they tell her how sweet and Christian I am every week. Mrs. Threadgood tells Janet right off the bat that she’s raised a good girl. Janet says she knows.
Janet starts off slow with the service, she knows the songs and she claps along, but I can see that she doesn’t want to be here. She listens to the sermon and nods with the parts she likes but whispers “no” out of the side of her mouth for the bits that she doesn’t. She’s having a miserable time until later, when a little old lady gets up to the piano and starts to play a song that I’ve never heard before, but both Janet and Auntie know well.
I don’t know what I expected to come out of this little old lady, but when she opens her mouth, this voice, this voice bigger than I have ever heard in my life, fills the church. She’s not even looking up at us, it’s just her and this music, this beautiful music with lyrics I can barely understand but I can feel. Janet knows all the words, and in the softest way she mouths them along with the little old lady. So does Auntie, but neither are loud enough to be heard. They hold hands like they did when they were little girls in that picture. It’s a moment of magic. There’s no other way to say it.
When the old lady pounds on the piano and sings, “Earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot heal,” Janet gasps, trying to keep the tears in. I know I’ve been sick of the crying, but in this moment I know it’s real and I hold on to her arm. So does Amara. Mrs. Threadgood says the Spirit’s won a heart today, and despite herself, Janet nods and says it has.
We leave Auntie outside the church. We hug for a long time. Auntie almost picks me up to get more of me in her arms. She’s telling me to call her, to never for a second think she doesn’t love me or that she won’t be there for me. I’m her baby, and that’s always going to be true no matter where I go or what I do.
I don’t say much, I’m just trying to freeze the moment in her arms. Trying to remember all her smells and how her skin feels against mine. I want to have all the details of her so I will not ever forget, no matter what. I want more of her, and in this moment, I’m scared I won’t ever get enough.
Janet walks me down to the subway, holding my hand. She hasn’t ever done this that I can remember, but I like it. She tells me about the song. Her father used to sing that hymn when she was a girl, to teach the girls about mercy.
“My father always said mercy was forgiveness with a little bit of forgetting and a little bit of understanding that you’ve done something somewhere just as bad.” Janet smiles. “I haven’t heard that song in forever.”
“I liked it,” I say. The train doors open, and we race in to try to find a seat. We find two and sit down next to each other. We ride for a while not talking, just holding hands and listening to the sounds of the train.
“I guess it’s just you and me now.” Janet sighs when we pass through the tunnel into Brooklyn.
“It doesn’t have to be,” I answer.
We get off at Jay Street to transfer to the F train to take us home. I think I see Jen, down the platform. She’s standing with a big pile of books and schlepping the cart her grandmother sometimes uses, but I don’t see her grandmother anywhere. I let go of Janet’s hand and head down the platform to see Jen, who smiles when I call out to her.
“Hey, where have you been?” I ask her.
“Oh, I don’t have to do the cans and bottles anymore.” Jen smiles, a little embarrassed that I’m bringing it up.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Where’s your grandmother?” I ask, looking around for her.
“She died,” Jen says, looking down at the cart.
“I’m so sorry.” I’m shocked. It’s why she doesn’t have to come around anymore. It’s why I haven’t seen her and why I probably won’t see her again. I don’t know but I hug her, hard, and before I know it, there are tears streaming down my face and hers. Jen hesitates a little but hugs me back harder still. We hold each other for a long time, probably longer than either of us think we can or want to, but I think we both need to.
Jen looks up and sees Janet coming toward us.
“This your mother?” she asks.
“Yes. But it’s fine,” I say.
“Good, that’s important.” Jen smiles.
Janet smiles at us both, and I introduce them.
“How do you know each other? School?” Janet asks.
“No, we’re friends,” I say quickly, not needing to explain anything more.
The C train pulls into the station, and Jen needs to go. I tell her to come over and so does Janet, but I know that won’t happen. I wave to Jen as she gets on the train, and I keep waving until the train leaves the station, knowing that it’s a goodbye.
It’s cold when we get out of the subway. I take my phone out of my pocket to text Auntie that we’ve made it back to Park Slope, and there’s a text from a number I don’t know.
Hey
Hey who is this?
It’s Ducks
I had to get a phone if you were going to move away and leave me
hahahahah
I’m not
Oh. Don’t tell my Nanny yet
I had to sell her hard on that
Hahaha Ok
I text Auntie and tell her we’re home and all right. Going through the door for the first time with my hand in Janet’s, I even start to believe it. We eat and watch TV, we fall right back into a schedule with just us together again, and the worry starts to disappear. I still hear something and jump, but I wait to ask what’s wrong before I start in running after her. It’s getting easier. I hope it stays that way.
That night, I get into my bed early and listen for her.
The water’s running. She’s in her bathroom.
She turns off the water and I wait to count her steps, but after six, she’s at my doorway, looking at me.
“I love you, Sophie.”
“I love you too,” I say from my bed.
She turns off the hall light, taking the six steps back past the bathroom, then the five to her room, and the three to her bed, and she’s in. I should fall asleep, I want to, but I wait, just to be sure. And slowly, day by day, I am.
What’s next on
your reading list?
Discover your next
great read!
* * *
Get personalized book picks and up-to-date news about this author.
Sign up now.