A black-and-white Western complete with gunshot pops and war cries filled the screen. Roman stirred a little in his sleep. He’d be awake soon. I was encouraged. The aide left the room after setting down a fresh pitcher of ice water.
“What’s going on, Sienna?” Leon eyed me from his seat. I felt small in mine, helpless, as I waited for my son to wake up.
“What’s going on? My son was viciously robbed and attacked.” And I think there’s more to it than the police are aware of, was what I didn’t say. What I couldn’t say. I shut my eyes.
“You can’t trust everything in front of you. Some things you have to smell first. Sometimes you got to believe the scent before you believe your eyes.” Her words from one of our talks in the plaza.
“Our son.”
I opened my eyes. “What did you say?”
Leon swallowed hard. “I said ‘our son.’ I didn’t father him, and I wasn’t there to see him take his first step, but you know that I helped with navigating him through the murky steps of his teen years. I was there at his basketball games and I was there taking pictures on your front steps on his prom night. We went to the movies and he told me about all his girlfriends, half of whom you never even knew about.” His fingers gripped the bottom of the seat cushion. “He calls me Dad, Sienna, or have you even noticed?”
“And yet you kept me from meeting with him earlier today.” I could not keep the bitterness out of my tone. “Perhaps if I had crossed the street right when I initially planned to do so, perhaps if I had just gone to talk to him instead of letting you convince me not to just yet, perhaps we would not be in this hospital hotel suite.”
“Sienna—”
“No, you listen. You want to know what’s wrong? I’ll tell you. Yes, I’m upset about Roman being hurt, but I’m also upset because I think that something else is going on, something more deeper and scarier that I can’t even talk to you about because all you will do is try to diminish my fears and knock down my gut feelings and somehow turn this around to make it seem that I’m doing something to or against you.”
I hated listening to myself. I hated what I was saying, how I was acting, what I felt. Did pregnancy make a woman go crazy? I hadn’t been pregnant in twenty-one years and last time nobody was around to swing along with my moods.
Was it just the pregnancy?
“Sienna—”
“No, I’m still talking!”
“And I didn’t want to talk to you.”
The weak voice coming from the bed grabbed both of our attentions.
“Roman?” I jumped up from my chair, ran to his bedside.
“I said . . . I said . . .” He struggled to sit up a little before collapsing his head back down into the firm pillow. “I said I didn’t want to talk to you. Leon knew that and I guess he was just trying to spare your feelings. But the truth is, I didn’t want to talk to you then and I don’t really want to now.”
I realized I’d held a single breath when he started speaking. I gasped for air, trying to come from up under the weight of all that was happening in our little hospital hotel room. “Roman, we have to talk,” I managed to squeeze out. “Look at you. This could have been worse. Roman, I’m so glad you’re okay. I can’t even imagine . . . We need to talk.”
“No, I need to talk, and you need to listen. You didn’t give me a chance to when I came home over Christmas break. I tried, but you . . . you took things too far.” He shut his eyes, and though he was a full-grown man, as Leon said it, I could still see the outline of my little boy in the contours of his face. I reached out to stroke his cheek.
He flinched.
Why was he so angry with me? Was our Christmas flare-up that severe?
“I need to talk to Dad. Alone.” His eyes were still closed and he grimaced. He probably needed another shot of whatever it was that had knocked him out. “Alone, Ma.”
Dad.
I looked over at Leon and he nodded back at me. Tears pooled in the rims of my eyelids as I wondered how Roman and I would heal the current rift between us. And when did Leon become his go-to person?
Roman had spent most of his life dreaming about, looking for his biological father. Now he had what I’d never been able to offer him, what his DNA donor had never been able to give.
A chance to call someone Dad.
It was as if he didn’t need me anymore, even now with his body broken and battered. I could not stop the tears from falling. The taste of salt lined my lips. “Okay, I’ll go, but please know that I will listen to whatever you have to say when you are ready. It’s just that what you are saying, it’s hard for me, and I don’t want to accept it. I don’t know that I will be able to. But I will listen. I promise to hear you out.”
I turned toward the door.
“Sienna, wait.” Leon stood, walked to me and gently pulled me back over to Roman’s bedside. “We are going to pray.”
“Hold on,” Roman mumbled. The meds seemed to be lulling him back to sleep. I had a glimmer of hope that maybe this whole line of conversation from him was just part of a crazy nightmare. Maybe he had been speaking out of his mind when he’d said he didn’t want to talk to me.
But his eyes were open again and there was no denying the anger that overshadowed them. “Hold up, I told you where I stand on so-called spiritual matters now. Remember? I don’t need you doing any praying right now.” He glared at Leon.
What? Since when did my son speak against prayer? I cut my eyes over at Leon who mouthed to me, “It’s okay.”
No. I shook my head. No, it wasn’t.
What were all these conversations the two of them had that I was not privy to? And why? When had they talked and about what? And why hadn’t I been included?
Roman and I had said about three words to each other since he stormed off on Christmas Eve. Clearly, he and Leon had said much more to each other since then.
Why didn’t Leon tell me that they had been talking?
A scowl contorted my face as Leon grabbed my hand. He then placed his palm on one of Roman’s shoulders. “This will be quick,” he said, as if giving both me and Roman a warning.
He raised his head, looked up toward the heavens. “Father, thank you for sparing Roman’s life today.”
Roman sucked his teeth. Leon held my hand tighter and continued. “We know that all things work together for the good of those who love you and are called according to your purpose. Even when we can’t see it, or understand it, you allow trials to happen to bring us closer to you. Father God, as we draw closer to you, it is my prayer that we also draw closer together as a family. All of us. All three of us.” He paused. “All four of us. In Jesus’ name I humbly ask these things, amen.”
I opened my eyes to see Roman glaring off in the direction of the window. I had many questions, needed many answers from him: about his plans, about the attack, about our relationship; but I knew everything was on pause.
“Okay, Sienna, give us a moment.” Leon gave me a reassuring nod.
My whole family and life felt dysfunctional. I’d thought getting married, having a husband, would be the final piece I needed to complete the puzzle of my life. Seemed like the puzzle had been broken up and started all over again the day I said, “I do.” My family of two had multiplied and obviously there was no consensus on what everyone’s role was in our new unit.
I turned toward the doorway of the room, thinking about Leon’s prayer. All things work together. Roman would not be getting on his flight tonight. A hospital stay was a heavy alternative, but maybe, somehow, someway, all of this, all of this, would turn out for our good and God’s glory.
“You don’t pray like you should, do you?” A rotten tooth wiggled in her bottom gum line as she spoke, I recalled. “Oh, you didn’t think I knew about such things, did you? But I do. Ain’t sayin’ that I goes along with all the religion protocols, though. The Good Lord done gave up on saving my soul back when Kennedy was in office, but I know your type. Praying and singing and tapping your feet along to t
he worship, being all good with God because He got you through a dark spell. But soon as the light starts getting a little dim, you start second guessing that He’s got an extra bulb and you start feeling the walls on your own, looking for a switch plate, trying to make the light shine yourself instead of waiting for Him to fix it.”
I sat down in an empty waiting room, a peach and gold area lined with sofas and chairs, magazines, and a couple of wall-mounted TVs. A game show was on and a studio audience roared with laughter and applause.
Of all the things going on in my life, of all the messages and matters I knew were waiting on my turned-off phone, of all the questions I had for Roman, the doubts I had about the case in which I was a witness, the fears I had about me and Leon and the baby, for some reason, all I could focus on at the moment was a distant memory of a conversation I’d had with Sweet Violet.
And then I thought about that Christmas dinner that had spiraled my relationship with my son into complete and utter darkness and chaos, as far as I was concerned. Sitting alone in the waiting room with my eyes closed, I could recall our holiday disaster nearly word for word. The memories, the images, the sights and smells and sounds rolled through my mind like a video projector.
“Maybe we should wait until I’m twelve weeks before we tell him.”
“No, this is the one time he’ll be home until spring break, and I think this news should be told in person.”
Christmas Eve.
Leon was dressed in a long-sleeved pale green polo shirt, tan khakis, and a red and white hat with a jingle bell attached to the tassel. He’d been smiling all day while helping me to prepare for our Christmas feast. Really, he took over the preparations, stating that he wanted me off my feet. “You’re carrying my child. That’s enough work for you to do right now,” he repeated as I tried to regain control over my kitchen. Truthfully, I didn’t mind his insistence on helping. My first trimester nausea had not yet peaked and just the sight of the roasted turkey, mashed potatoes, green beans, and other dishes made me feel like running to the bathroom.
“Roman’s been an only child and he turns twenty-one in March. This baby is going to be a shock to him. If something goes wrong with this pregnancy, we would have gotten him all worked up for nothing.”
“Roman will be excited and the baby will be fine,” Leon spoke as he inspected a piece of fine china. Though it would only be the three of us, we’d decided not to spare any expense or hold off on the good flatware.
Our first Christmas as husband and wife. Our big announcement to my son. Christmas Eve dinner.
If this was not a big enough occasion to break out the good china, I didn’t know what was.
“You look beautiful, Sienna.” He winked at me.
Wearing a red empire dress with satin trim, I felt beautiful. My hard-earned waistline was about to go through a major upheaval, so I was determined to wear all my favorite outfits while I could still fit in them. I’d found this dress at a thrift store while looking for toys and games for my therapy practice. Though I seldom bought secondhand clothes these days, this dress, which still had the price tag on it, had called to me from the rack.
“Don’t touch those cookies.” Leon playfully swatted at my hand which was reaching for his signature dessert. “They’re for the dinner at your mother’s house tomorrow. You know we have to go there with a peace offering since we kept them from coming tonight.” We’d decided that Roman should know the news first before bringing in my mother, father, and sister in on the announcement.
“You could make a living off of these.” I ignored him and broke off half of one. My words were meant to be encouragement, but I saw the shadow fall over his eyes.
His bakery by the Inner Harbor had hit some bumps in the road. Not as many customers as the summertime, plus a recent snowstorm had forced him to close the shop for nearly a week. Missing a week’s worth of sales would hurt any business, especially one as new and unsteady as Leon’s.
I’d hated that I had attacked him on that matter the Sunday we first argued about my insistence on finding Sweet Violet. Though I’d since apologized and offered encouragement every chance I could, I still always saw the shadow, the sadness, the hurt in his eyes.
This marriage business was hard.
I’d thought my marriage, or whatever it was, to Roman’s father, RiChard, had been difficult, but he hadn’t been there. The loneliness, the pain had been what was difficult. The marriage itself was easy because you don’t have to go through the difficulty of working through issues with an absent person.
“It will get better,” I offered again as Leon mashed—no, pounded—a pan full of peeled and boiled potatoes.
A knock sounded at the door.
“He’s here already?” My face wrinkled, not because I wasn’t glad to see my son. I’d imagined and rehearsed how the evening would go, how we would tell him, and how he would respond. The early knock was not part of the script.
“Roman.” Leon opened the door and greeted him with an elaborate handshake and fist bump.
“Hey, Ma.” Roman came over to me and bent down to kiss my cheek. “Something smells good in here. Where’s everybody?”
“Everybody?” I walked behind him, reclosing all the pans and containers he began opening while he spoke.
“You know, Grandma, Pop-Pop, Aunt Yvette, and . . .” Skee-Gee. I knew his cousin’s name was next on his lips, but Skee-Gee still had several months before his release from jail this time. “And my cousins and Uncle Demari?” He finished up to include Yvette’s four other children and new husband.
“They’re not coming.” I looked over at Leon who nodded back with reassurance.
Roman dropped a pan lid to the floor and it clanged and clashed like a bag full of metal bricks. “What do you mean they’re not coming? We have Christmas dinner together as a family every year.” His eyes darted around the room as if our family members were hiding and were about to step out from behind unseen curtains.
“We haven’t seen you all semester and just wanted to share some time with you alone before everyone starts calling for you to come over their homes. It’s our first Christmas as a family.” I offered a smile, but could tell from Roman’s sudden frozen state that he was not pleased. I picked up the lid, trying to understand his angst.
“Aw, man.” He shook his head. “I was really hoping to catch everyone so I could give my updates one time.”
“Well, you’ll be able to share whatever it is you have to share at Grandma’s house. Grandma is fixing a Caribbean-themed Christmas dinner for all of us.”
“Is she still trying to drop hints to Pop-Pop that she wants to go on a cruise?”
“I think those hints have gone from dropped to pounded. But her hints have paid off. She doesn’t know yet, but your grandfather has already booked a ten-day cruise for the two of them to the Bahamas in the spring.”
“Good for her. I know I promised to send you on a cruise for your fortieth birthday next month.” Roman pulled an ear, looked down. “But it looks like those plans will have to be put on hold for the moment.”
“Roman, you are a sophomore in college working a part-time job. I never expected for you to pay for a cruise. That’s why I have Leon.” I winked at my husband. “Cruises can be a lot of money for a college student.”
“It’s not about the money.” Roman still pulled on his ear, still looked down. Leon raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, not that I’m worried about you giving me a cruise, but, what do you mean?”
“Look, I’d rather talk about it all at Grandma’s house. Like I said earlier, I really only want to share my news one time. Get everyone’s questions and offer answers at one setting.”
“Roman, you said ‘updates’ before. Now you are saying news. What is going on?” I looked over at Leon, trying to ignore the alarm ringing somewhere in my chest. What’s going on? Roman seemed to be avoiding eye contact with both of us.
“Ma, I’ll go over everything at Grandma’s house tonight.�
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“Her dinner is not until tomorrow. She respected, somewhat, that Leon and I wanted to have Christmas Eve dinner together with just the three of us.” I glanced over at Leon again, who had stopped basting the turkey and had his full attention on me and Roman. “She said she would start a new family tradition and have her dinner on Christmas Day now instead of Christmas Eve. So, you’re going to have to wait until tomorrow to share with the rest of the family your ‘news,’ but you can share whatever it is with me and Leon right now.” I crossed my arms.
Roman still avoided eye contact. He’d gone from pulling his earlobe to rubbing the back of his head.
And then he dropped his arm, straightened up, and looked me square in the eyes.
“I did not know Grandma’s dinner had been changed to tomorrow. I’m going to miss it. I have a flight out first thing in the morning. It was cheaper to fly on Christmas Day.”
“Wha . . . Huh?” I felt my head pop backward. “You just got here. I thought your winter break wasn’t over until mid-January. Why would you fly all the way from San Diego just to turn around and go back? And on Christmas Day at that?”
“I’m not going back to San Diego.” His voice was monotone.
“Where are you going?” This from Leon, who had put the baster down and now joined us in the kitchen nook. His eyes were just as much on me as they were on Roman.
“India.” Roman let the word settle in our ears.
“Indawho?” I gasped.
“Bangaluru, India.” Roman glared at me like I’d done something to him. “Like I said, my flight leaves first thing in the morning, though it’s going to take almost two days to get there. I have connecting flights in Canada and Germany.”
“Roman, what the—”
“Whoa, wait a minute.”
Leon and I spoke at the same time, though Leon sounded calm and my voice had gone up several octaves. I held up my hand.
“Okay, where do I even begin with this? Roman, what on earth are you talking about? Flying to India? Bangla . . . whatever you just said, India? What the heck?”
Sweet Violet and a Time for Love Page 11