by Neta Jackson
Tuesday. Stu was on the Yada Yada reunion committee. I hadn’t heard any plans yet. Sure hoped that left enough time to get it together before New Year’s Day.
Amanda reluctantly agreed to “do stockings” after church when the rest of the family arrived for dinner. SouledOut had announced a short worship service at eleven o’clock for this Sunday since it was also Christmas Day, giving families time to do their Christmas morning festivities. I half-wished we could skip church today and just hang out at home . . . until we walked into the storefront sanctuary with five minutes to spare and saw the Sisulu-Smith family surrounded by excited SouledOut members. Some of the younger kids, who couldn’t quite remember who these people were, nonetheless seemed fascinated by Nonyameko’s curious accent and the boys’ dashikis. Every female in the place had her eyes on Nony’s beautiful black-and-gold tunic and head wrap she’d worn yesterday to the wedding.
I caught Nony’s eye, and she managed to slip away from the clutch of well-wishers. “Good morning, Sister Jodi.” She smiled the same radiant smile I remembered so well. “So. Ugogo—grand-mother—has the baby today.”
“No, my mom can’t—” I felt my face flush. “Oh. You mean me.”
Nony laughed. “Yes, you, Jodi. Wasn’t Joshua a junior in high school when we first met? And now he has married our Edesa and handed you a Latina grandchild! So much has happened since we went away.”
“Oh, Nony,” I said, wiping my eyes. “I’ve missed you so much. Now here you are, and I haven’t had even two minutes with you to myself.”
“I have missed you, too, Jodi. You are not teaching this week, correct? We will be packing up our house, but I will slip away one day and we can have lunch, yes?”
She scribbled her new cell phone number on a scrap of paper just as the praise team launched into “Joy to the world! The Lord is come!” The island beat of their rendition had everyone standing, clapping, and praising to the joyous Christmas carol. “Yes, yes, yes,” I whispered, giving Nony a hug with my free arm. Then, baby carrier in tow, I scurried to the seat Denny had saved for me.
BY THE TIME we got home, the succulent smell of roast turkey filled the house. I put everyone to work on dinner and table set-ting. Denny’s parents showed up at one o’clock in a taxi, having declined our invitation to come to worship at SouledOut that morning in favor of a leisurely morning at their hotel. Fifteen minutes later, Josh and Edesa, flushed and grinning ear to ear, pulled up in my parents’ aging sedan. All that was missing from the gen-eral hubbub as everyone hugged and wished each other “Merry Christmas!” was Willie Wonka’s excited barking.
I felt a pang. The old dog had been gone two Christmases now. Wonka would have loved Gracie, I thought. He’d always been so protective with Amanda when she was little.
Even though we’d had many hands and laps to take care of Gracie the last eighteen hours, I was relieved when she was back in Edesa’s arms. Caring for a grandbaby was going to take some get-ting used to.
At two o’clock, we gathered around the table as an extended family for the first time and lit the white Christmas candle in the middle of our Advent wreath. Denny asked my father to bless the food—a mistake, I thought, since my dad tended to pray not only for every single person at the table, but all the missing family members by name and a list of missionaries too. But finally, the platter of sliced turkey and bowls of bread stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans, and fruit salad made the rounds, along with the requisite cranberry sauce, pickles and olives, and hot bakery rolls, amid much teasing and laughter.
“The Watch Night service your Pastor Cobbs announced this morning sounds interesting,” my father said during a lull. “I didn’t realize New Year’s Eve had special significance for blacks in this country.”
“Oh?” Harley Baxter heaped seconds of everything on his plate. “New Year’s Eve is party time in New York, right, Kay?” He winked at his wife.
“Mm. Watch Night service . . . how quaint,” Kay Harley murmured sweetly.
“Yeah, the youth group’s been doing most of the planning,” Amanda chimed in. “We’re supposed to invite neighborhood teens.”
Josh turned to Edesa. “I wonder . . . do you think we could bring the kids from Manna House that night?”
Sheesh! I wanted to shake him. You just got married! You have a baby already! One thing at a time, kiddo! But I kept my mouth shut and cleared the table. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remembered something Nony had said at the time Josh graduated from high school . . .
“God has plans for that young man, Jodi. Not your plans. Don’t stand in his way. I believe God will use your Joshua like the Joshua of old, to fight a battle that the older generation will not fight.”
“Pie in the living room!” I announced. But in my heart I said, Okay, Lord. Thanks for reminding me that Josh is Yours, no longer mine.
Opening the stocking gifts was fun. “Who snuck these breath mints in here? Somebody trying to tell me something?” . . . “Sardines! Awriiiight.” . . . “Dad! This ankle bracelet has to be from you.” . . . “A pacifier—no, three pacifiers! Hey, how come these ended up in my stocking instead of Edesa’s?”
Both Josh and Edesa seemed delighted by the Christmas ornaments Denny and I had sneaked into their stockings—a “Just Married” bride and groom in Josh’s, and a “Baby’s First Christmas” in Edesa’s.
By the time the stockings were empty, we each had a pile of goodies, both useful and silly, in our laps. I was somewhat bemused by the furry toy mouse I found in my stocking, but no one owned up to it.
Kay and Harley were the first to leave, saying they had a plane to catch at six. We talked my parents into staying over until the next day, in order to drive home by daylight. “Besides, Grandpa, we need your car one more night,” Josh teased. “Chanda George gave us two nights at the Orrington, remember? Mom, you and Dad okay with Gracie one more night?”
“Oh, sure,” I said, taking Gracie once more. “Maybe you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, but I seem to remember a few old ones.We’ll be fine.”
I stood at the bay window and watched them pull away in my parents’ car. Then I bent down and kissed the baby’s forehead, breathing in the sweet smell of her skin. “But I’m kicking your grandpa out of bed for the two o’clock feeding, kiddo,” I murmured.
BY THE TIME I got Gracie fed, changed, burped, rocked, and finally down in the porta-crib, Denny and my parents had all the dirty dishes in the dishwasher and leftovers put away. Amanda dis-appeared into her room with the phone—to José, no doubt—and my parents said they were tired and wanted to retire early.
“Are we alone?” Denny asked. I was curled up on the couch with a mug of hot peppermint tea, enjoying a “Christmas Around the World” CD.
“Mm.” I patted the couch cushions beside me. “Come sit, enjoy the tree.”
“Uh, be there in just a minute.” He disappeared.
A few moments later, I heard footsteps above my head in Stu’s apartment.What in the world? I knew Stu and Estelle weren’t home yet . . . what was Denny doing up there?
The back door banged shut, then Denny poked his head into the living room. “Close your eyes.”
“What?”
“Close your eyes!”
I closed them. What was he up to?
“Okay. You can look.”
I opened my eyes. A cardboard box shaped like a house sat under the Christmas tree. A box with holes in it. Soft scratching and a mewing sound came from inside.
“Denny! What—?” I was at the tree in three steps. I opened the box and peered inside. Two small kittens peered up at me. “Oh, Denny,” I breathed.
I reached inside and lifted out both kittens, one in each hand. One was mostly black with white paws, a white muzzle, with a black splotch on its nose. The other was a calico—orange and black and white splotches from head to tail.
“Oh, Denny,” I said again, burying my face into their soft fur. The black-and-white one licked my chin.
“M
erry Christmas, babe,” Denny said softly.
19
Josh and Edesa arrived early the next morning to pick up Gracie so my parents could get on the road. While Denny was delivering them to the Hickman Hilton, as we dubbed their tiny apartment, along with the porta-crib, J a stash of wedding presents, and turkey leftovers, I called Ruth to wish her Happy Hanukkah.
The eight-day Jewish Festival of Lights began the day after Christmas that year. But of course I couldn’t resist telling her about Denny’s surprise—especially when both of them were tumbling around my feet, playing with the shoelaces on my gym shoes.
“He what? Gave you a kitten? What kind of mishigas is that?”
I giggled. “Two kittens. He figured two would keep each other company when we have to be away at work. He conspired with Stu, who had them penned up in her bathroom for two days. But you should see them, Ruth. They’re adorable.”
“Adorable, schmorable. Twice the trouble, Jodi. Oy vey. I should know. Some potato latkes you should make for Hanukkah. Or honey puffs. A good recipe I have—Isaac! No! Put that box down! . . . ” Ruth’s voice faded into the distance, accompanied by much squealing. Then I heard a screech. “Havah, stop! Stop! . . . Ben, catch her! . . . Oy gevalt! Not on the rug!” The phone went dead.
I grinned at the phone. Potato latkes sounded good. I’d ask for the recipe when I called back later. Much later.
Amanda came into the kitchen and swooped up the calico kit-ten. “Mom! You have to call this one Patches. How about Peanut for the black one? Patches and Peanut, that’s cute. But do you have to keep the litter box in the bathroom? Gross.”
“Hm. Maybe we’ll keep it in your bedroom, ’Manda. After all, you’re not there much . . . ”
She rolled her eyes and muttered, “Better not.”
I knew now why Denny had waited until Christmas night to give me his surprise. Patches and Peanut (well, why not?) were, well, three-month-old kittens, getting into everything. No dust bunny, pant leg, scrap of paper, or bare toe was off-limits as far as they were concerned. It moves! Pounce on it!
In spite of their antics, the week after Christmas felt like a long soak in a Japanese spa after the mad scrabble events of last week—not to mention the surprise arrival of the Sisulu-Smiths. Which reminded me . . .
I called Nony’s cell phone to see when we could get together for lunch, and we settled on Thursday at the Heartland Café. “I hear we are planning a Yada Yada reunion, a ‘big splash,’ to use Chanda’s words.” Nony seemed hesitant. “I do not want to spoil any plans, but . . . to tell you the truth, my sister, I would treasure getting together with just my Yada Yada sisters to share, to pray, to worship as we did for two years before I went home to South Africa.”
My mind scrambled. I hadn’t heard yet from the “reunion committee” about the plans for Sunday, but Chanda had pushed for a big party with kids and spouses, party clothes,music and dancing—
Which is exactly what we did at the wedding reception! When planning the reunion, we hadn’t expected Nony’s family to arrive in time for the wedding. But now . . .
“Sounds good to me, Nony. I’ll pass that along. See you Thursday!”
Yikes.Who was on the committee? Adele, Chanda, Avis, Stu . . . Stu. I’d heard footsteps walking around upstairs earlier. She and Estelle must be home by now. I’d tell Stu and let her handle it.
I ducked out the back door without a jacket and up the outdoor steps to the second floor apartment. Estelle must have heard me coming because she opened the door before I even knocked. “Get in here, girl. Where’s your coat? My bones are creaking bad enough without seeing you freezing out there. Sit down. I was just making some hot tea. How are you makin’ out with them baby cats?”
“That’s right. You guys were in on the surprise. I love ’em! They are so cute.”
“Good. Because they are not coming back up here. Now go on, sit.”
I sat. Sheesh. It felt so good just to sit and drink tea with Stu and Estelle, no papers to grade, no wedding to plan, no holiday dinner to cook. We chatted for half an hour before I remembered what I had come up for. I told them what Nony had said about the reunion, and saw Stu and Estelle exchange looks.
“What?”
Stu grinned. “Great minds think alike. Estelle and I had the same thought coming home from Indianapolis—that we already had our blowout party at the wedding reception! Nothing against the hubbies and kids, but . . . what we need now is time to get down with our sisters.” Stu sat back and grinned. “At least we can blame the change on a request from Nony.”
STU MUST HAVE got on the phone with the rest of the committee because, sure enough, an e-mail was sitting in my in-box the next time I booted up the computer.
To: Yada Yada
From: YY Reunion Committee
[email protected]
Re: YY Reunion—natch!
Listen up, sisters! WHEREAS it would be hard to compete with the REVELRY we all enjoyed at the Baxter-Reyes wedding, which was A. family friendly;B. a chance to gussy up in our finest; C. alive with music and dancing; and D. attended by all Yada Yadas, spouses, and kidlets were . . .
And WHEREAS one of our Guests of Honor has specifically requested a reunion with “just us Yada Yadas” . . .
Just then Peanut took a leap, landed on the desk, and walked across the computer keys. “Hey, you!” I plucked the black-and-white kitten off the keyboard, nuzzled his cute little wet nose, and snuggled him in my lap as I read on.
. . . The Reunion Committee is hereby recommending we schedule our reunion to coincide with our first Yada Yada meeting of the New Year, this Sunday, same time, at Jodi Baxter’s domicile (she’s next on the list to host). Never fear, we WILL party the Yada Yada Way—Play and Pray. So bring your favorite Christmas goody, your favorite worship CD, and a simple MEMORY GIFT for your SECRET SISTER, whose name will be drawn by a non-Yada Yada third party and sent to each of you by separate e-mail.
The Reunion Committee
Avis, Stu, Adele, and Chanda
Oh, right. Avis did not write that e-mail. Stu just put her name first to lend weight to the “recommendation.”
I checked e-mail again just before heading down the street late Thursday morning to meet Nony for lunch. Ah, there it was, an e-mail with “Secret Sister” in the subject line, though I had no idea who [email protected] was—oh, wait. That sounded like Rochelle Johnson, Avis’s daughter. The message simply said: “Jodi Baxter, your Secret Sister is Adele Skuggs.”
Adele . . . whoa. That would take some serious thinking what to do for her.
But I shoved it to the back of my mind, bundled up against the damp, just-above-freezing weather, and walked the few blocks to the Heartland Café. After weeks on my crutches, it felt good to walk.
Nony was already seated at a table in the funky café, sipping a cup of coffee. Today she was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt with a UKZN logo. “Do they need sweatshirts in KwaZulu-Natal?” I teased.
Nony’s eyes laughed at me over the rim of her coffee cup. “No. But I need it here.”
A waiter in jeans and a Heartland Café T-shirt brought us menus. Nony ordered the “Three-Scoop Salad Plate” with hummus, guacamole, and tuna salad with pita bread. “Make it two,” I said. Truth to tell, I felt too lazy to make a decision.
I could have listened to Nony’s South African lilt all day, but she wanted to know all the news in our family for the past year and a half. “Nony! You know all about Josh and Edesa. Amanda is in her first year at the University of Illinois, living in a dorm. So far it’s been ‘no news is good news.’ Haven’t seen her grades. Denny’s still athletic director at West Rogers High, and me, I’m still riding herd on third graders at Bethune Elementary. That’s it! Oh, except . . . remember Hakim? He’s the brother, uh . . . ” I let it hang. It was still hard to say the words, “the brother of the boy I killed.”
Nony placed her hand on mine. “I remember, though I never met him.”
I told her what had hap
pened earlier that month, the purse snatching, the fall, discovering Hakim’s role in it all. “He’s not a bad kid, Nony. I can tell he’s trying to make it up to me—maybe he even wants me to know. But . . . I don’t think his mother wants us to connect again. Too many painful memories.”
Nony could barely hide her smile. “Maybe so. But God is at work, Jodi! Yes, I know it. Do not worry about what happens next. God will show you.”
Our food arrived. Nony held my hand and prayed aloud, earning strange looks from other tables. I didn’t care . . . well, maybe a little. God would have heard us if we’d whispered a prayer of thanks, wouldn’t He?
“Now you,” I insisted, tearing my pita bread and dipping it in the hummus. “Tell me about the boys. How is Mark doing?”
“Marcus and Michael . . . no longer my boykies, as you can see. Doing well in school. Enjoying their small celebrity status as American blacks.” Mark’s memory and coordination continued to improve, she said, though the loss of vision in the one eye often left him frustrated. “But we praise our God it is only his eye, and not his life, that was lost.” She sank into her own thoughts and memories for a moment.
“And you, Nony?”
She shook her head. “Oh, Jodi. The situation in my country is far worse than I realized. Or maybe I knew it in my head, but to see it every day . . . ” The picture she painted of the AIDS pandemic wasn’t pretty. The province of KwaZulu-Natal had the highest rate of HIV infection in all of South Africa. Thousands, even millions, of children orphaned. “I have been working with a Christian teacher in one of the schools, teaching HIV/AIDS education, as well as Bible values about respecting our bodies, respecting others, waiting until marriage, being faithful to one’s spouse . . . but some-times I feel so overwhelmed, Jodi. There is still so much ignorance! What I am doing is like trying to empty the ocean with a spoon.”
I didn’t know what to say. At least she was doing something.
My plate of food was almost gone. Nony picked at hers. “But we cannot lose hope. Mark is helping to create some symposiums at the university, bringing together political, religious, and educational leaders to show that this problem must be dealt with on all levels, working together. That is one reason we have decided to stay—you know how Mark is when he gets a tiger by the tail.” She smiled slightly.