by Tayari Jones
My mother had taken to her bed and I didn’t like leaving her alone, but I al owed myself an hour more. I took the elevator underground and walked the aisles of the parking ramp until I found the Lincoln. I sat on the hood as the engine beneath me ticked like a patient bomb.
My father approached the car at quarter after eight. He had to smoke. I may not have been his “legitimate” daughter, but I knew him wel enough to anticipate his cravings.
I said, “Hey, James.”
He said, “You can’t be here.”
I said, “I know.”
“Then how c-c-come y-y-you’re out here.”
I told him the truth, that I wasn’t sure. I think I wanted him to hug me and tel me that I was stil his daughter, that blood meant something. Yes, he could walk away from my mother, but could he walk away from me? My mother could find another man, but there wasn’t any way for me to replace my father.
“Don’t you love me?” I asked him.
“It’s not about loving people,” he said. “You have to go home now. I’ve m-m-made my choice, just like you made your choice when you went bothering Ch-Chaurisse. You almost took my whole life away from me.”
“What did you think was going to happen?” I asked him. Did he think that I could live my entire life tucked away a dirty photograph? “I’m your daughter.”
“Everybody knows that now,” James said. “That’s what you wanted. You got it.”
EVEN NOW, I cringe to remember it. I fought him. I threw myself at my father, fighting like a girl, al windmil ing arms and shrieking. My voice bounced off the concrete wal s, but no one came to stop us. No one helped even when he shoved me away like I was a grown man. I didn’t fal . I didn’t crumple. And I am proud of this smal moment of dignity.
“You made me do that,” he said. “You and Gwen have turned me into an animal.”
“NO,” I SAID to my sister. “I haven’t seen him.”
“Would you lie to me?” she asked.
“You only lie to people you love,” I said.
CHAURISSE LEFT THEN and Flora and I walked toward my car. I was shaken, but I hid this from my daughter. She recited her - at words, then sang a song in French. I gripped the steering wheel hard to keep my hands steady. I spoke my daughter’s name over and over in my head to keep my soul from shattering. Final y, I pul ed the car into the parking lot of a large church. I went to the backseat and unhooked Flora from her safety seat. I knelt beside her and hugged her tight, the way my mother used to hug me, the way that I promised that I would never grip my child. I used to swear that I would never be a desperate mother, that I would always respect the line between Flora and me. But I squeezed her hard and asked more than once, “Do you love your mommy? Do you love me, baby?”
After some minutes, the moment passed. I put my girl back in her seat and drove in the direction of home.
PEOPLE SAY, THAT which doesn’t kil you makes you stronger. But they are wrong. What doesn’t kil you, doesn’t kil you. That’s al you get.
Sometimes, you just have to hope that’s enough.
acknowledgments
Thanks first to Team T, who read this story before it was a book, back when I was stil afraid of it: Sarah Schulman, Nichel e Tramble, Al ison Clark, Joy Castro, Renee Simms, Bryn Chancel or, Alesia Parker, and Virginia Fowler. My sister, Maxine Kennedy, is my whole entire heart.
The United States Artists Foundation and the Col ins Family came through when I was just about ready to give up. The family of Jenny McKean Moore and George Washington University granted me a year to write and to work with DC’s finest writers. Rutgers-Newark University, the MacDowel Colony, the Corporation of Yaddo, Blue Mountain Center, and the Virginia Center for the Arts provided generous support. Thanks, as wel , to Dianne Marie Pinderhughes, who sheltered me during the home stretch.
My aces: Rigoberto, Natasha, Kiyana Sakena, Jafari, Nichel e, Jeree, Lauren, Jaci, Alice, Jim, Evie, Anne, Deborah, Jayne Anne, Cozbi, Dolen, Aisha, and Uncle Ricky held me down when I was in real danger of flying away. Dr. June MacDonald Aldridge taught me how to keep it classy, and Pearl Cleage showed me how to keep it real.
For my fairy godmother, Judy Blume, I have astonished gratitude. My agents Jane Dystel and Miriam Goderich are the very best in the business.
Algonquin Books and I have been making eyes at each other for a decade. Thank you, Elisabeth Scharlatt, for making it happen. My editor, Andra Mil er, cares about this story as much as I do. You wil see her careful attention on every page.
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
A Daughter is a Colony
PART I Dana Lynn Yarboro
1 THE SECRET
2 A SORT OF CREEPING LOVE
3 NOTES ON PRECOCITY
4 GRAND GESTURE
5 HEART DREAMS
6 THINK ABOUT IT
7 I DARE YOU
8 FIG LEAF
9 NO QUARREL
10 UNCLE RALEIGH
11 THE PRIZEWINNER
PART I Bunny Chaurisse Witherspoon
12 A PECULIAR START
13 ONE HUNDRED PERCENT DRIVEN SNOW
14 A SILVER GIRL
15 GIRLS ARE TOO MESSY
16 THE REST, LIKE THEY SAY, IS HISTORY
17 TIME AND A HALF
18 LOVE AND HAPPINESS
19 UP A NOTCH
20 BLOWOUT
21 THE MEN ALL PAUSED
22 SKIN PAIN
23 TARA
24 A MIGHTY POOR RAT
25 QUIZ SHOW
26 EPITHALAMIUM
EPILOGUE
acknowledgments
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