Color Me In
Page 8
“B, you’re alive! I thought you’d left me to deal with the mutating bottom-feeders on my own!” Stevie grabs the handles of the wheelchair from the nurse, who rolls her eyes and tells him to bring it back once I’m safely in my car. Now that we’re off school property, I suppose the concerns about insurance are moot.
“Yo, you should have seen the fit Abby threw after they took you away. They made her put on lost-and-found clothes because she was covered in vomit. It was priceless. Like, she’s definitely going to make you pay for it big-time. Watch your back. But oh, man, it was worth it, trust me.”
For the first time today, things don’t feel absolutely terrible. A black car is parked at the corner, probably the one my dad sent.
“Yoo-hoo! Nevaeh!”
Walking toward me from the opposite direction of the car is Rabbi Sarah. Her straw-colored hair bounces on her shoulders as she moves.
Not today! the little voice in my head screams. Not after everything else!
“Stevie, wheel me to that car and get in,” I say through clenched teeth.
“B—what? I have to bring the chair back to Nurse—”
“Stevie, do it now!”
We book it to the car. Rabbi Sarah chases us, but we are closer and hop in before she reaches us. The car peels off, and she plops into the empty wheelchair, a living monument to the worst first day of school in the history of the world.
Stevie is giving me the “we’ve never lied to each other in ten years what the hell is going on” look.
“My dad thinks spending time in Harlem with my mom’s Baptist family is a bad influence on me, so he called a temple, and now I have to have a belated bat mitzvah. That lady is a rabbi,” I tell him quickly, and even though the words burn as they come out, I can’t deny that I feel better after the purge. Stevie’s face softens with pity and he grabs my hand, absorbing the dread I’ve been dealing with on my own for the months he was gone.
“Damn, B,” he says, taking in the scope of this new reality. “What if we do a flash mob during the ceremony? That would piss your dad off so bad! And we’d definitely go viral.” His hands move as he frames the imaginary headline. “BuzzFeed News: Ma-Swirl Tov! You’ll Die at This Biracial Coming-of-Age!”
I laugh. The thought of him stealing the stage in some fancy temple in the middle of such a doomed affair almost makes it worth going through with it.
“I don’t think Abby was lying,” I say quietly. “A couple days after you left for the summer, I came home from Bubby’s country club and the boxes were outside, waiting for us to leave. No warning. No nothing.”
We sit in silence together as Stevie tries his best to come up with more positive spins.
“What are you going to do?” he asks finally.
Nothing, like always, the voice inside me says, but for once, I don’t want to just settle and accept this as truth. I look at my phone: it’s only two o’clock.
“Sir,” I say, getting the driver’s attention in the rearview mirror. “Change of plans. We’re going to Manhattan.”
Chapter 11
Say what you want about Times Square and how overrun it is by tourists; at least it has some personality. Midtown East is as bland as an unseasoned, boiled chicken breast. We get out in front of my dad’s office, just a couple avenues east of Bryant Park. Men with slicked-back hair in fitted gray suits march around us. My father’s office is in a forty-story building in the center of the block, sandwiched between two shorter, equally nondescript structures. The dark green marble lobby is cold and smells of chemicals, like it had been plastic-wrapped and someone accidentally broke the seal.
“Miss Levitz.” Mauricio nods from behind the security desk to greet me like he has my whole life. He reaches into his navy-blue uniform pocket to present us with two Jolly Ranchers.
Levitz, Banks, and Tanner is a highly profitable boutique law firm that my father started a few years after graduating from Yale Law School. The rumble of jittery knees fills the office as sleep-deprived junior associates chug coffee and type furiously at their desks. No one so much as looks our way as we enter, so I lead Stevie through the office to the partners’ corner.
The large desk where my dad’s secretary, Ashleigh, usually sits is unattended. Her person is replaced with a message written in pink Sharpie stuck to the back of her chair: Be right back!
I roll my eyes as we walk past the desk to the large double doors and see an episode of The Real Housewives of New York City paused on her computer screen. I have never liked Ashleigh. There’s something about how close she stands to my dad that’s always rubbed me the wrong way. Plus, I think it’s weird that a grown woman is obsessed with reality TV to the point that it’s practically all she can ever talk about.
“Come on,” I say to Stevie, pushing open the huge oak doors to his office.
My father’s face is mostly obstructed by the body in front of him, but his left eye peers in the direction of the intrusion. First confused and then stricken with fear, he stands and knocks Ashleigh, who moments before was searching his mouth for leftovers with her tongue, to the ground. Pink lipstick smears his chin.
“Nevaeh!” my father exclaims.
Ashleigh quickly shifts her shirt, trying to hide the red lace peeking out from under the airy material.
Guess she’s the blonde Abby was referring to.
“Why aren’t you at your lesson?” Dad asks, eyebrows raised.
The phone on the desk outside his office rings. We stand there, the four of us, until my father coughs and Ashleigh gets the hint: she might be his mistress-turned-girlfriend, but for now, she is also still his secretary. She shuffles in front of him, tucking her unbuttoned top into her high-waisted spandex skirt, and answers, half bent over so her behind points suggestively in his direction.
“It’s a Rabbi Sarah Edward,” she says.
My stomach drops as he snatches the receiver from her. I’m screwed. It’s not like I took the time to come up with a cover story.
“Yeah, mmm-hmm, she’s here, actually. I was just wondering what— Oh, I see. Well, let’s not let it happen again. All right, yep, you too.” He hangs up the phone and glares in my direction again.
“Nevaeh—”
I brace myself.
“Rabbi Sarah sends her apologies, says she mixed up the date.”
The words fall out of his mouth as I drop into one of the chairs in front of his glass desk, relieved and confused.
“Are you okay?” he asks, rushing forward. “The school called to say you fainted. How are you feeling? The nurse said you were all right.” My father cups my face, but I jerk away from his touch. He sits down on the other side of the desk, facing me the way he does his clients, enduring my coldness and willing himself to push on as though he isn’t bothered.
“Abby Jackson overheard her mother at their country club,” I blurt out. “She said you cheated on Mom. She told the whole school today.”
He sighs and glances at Ashleigh, whose ears stand alert like a Doberman’s. “Nevaeh, it’s…complicated.”
His eye twitches as she walks over to me. Her slow, seductive strides drag against the carpet my mother picked out in Morocco as a gift when Dad remodeled the office last year.
“Nevaeh, I know this is a lot to process right now, but I want you to know that I love your father,” Ashleigh tells me. “Over time, I hope we can get to know each other, become friends, even.” Her voice is nasal and high, which makes everything that comes out of her mouth sound like a presumptuous question.
“I’m going back to Pa’s tonight,” I declare with my arms folded on my chest.
“Nevaeh, that’s not how this works.” My father’s face glows red. “You’re a child, and you don’t know what’s best for you.”
“You said it the other night, honey,” Ashleigh says, moving her hand from my dad’s shoulder down
his arm to his thigh. “This is just a cry for help.” She smiles at me from behind him, a look filled with acid and cunning, one that warns me not to underestimate her.
“Let her go,” I hear her whisper into his ear as I rise from my seat and pull Stevie out of the room.
And he does.
* * *
—
“Maybe she’s a vampire? Or like, another evil being who controls minds? Your dad seemed sort of possessed,” Stevie says as we round the corner to Pa’s house and come face to face with Jesus.
Every time I see him, I am surprised by how easy it is to be paralyzed by his smile. Jesus is double Stevie’s lean and lanky frame, so Stevie straightens up, removing a few inches from their height differential.
“You got a man, shorty?” Jesus says playfully. He casually leans in to kiss me on the cheek. I stop breathing. Next to me, Stevie stands with his mouth wide open, probably more shocked than I am at this highly public display of affection from a stranger.
“Umm, Jesus, this is my best friend.”
Stevie sticks his hand out to introduce himself. “I’m Stevie. Damn! Are those Air Jordan Tens from the City series? They’re fire!”
Jesus smiles, and Stevie’s outstretched palm connects with his as they fall into some elaborate hand dance. I’ve never understood how guys keep up with all these handshakes; it’s like they choreograph them on the spot, filled with snaps and fist bumps and sometimes, if they want to be unnecessarily extra about it, a dab, and file them away in some ever-expanding part of their brain.
“Oh, okay, you’re a sneakerhead, huh? Lemme see whatchu got!”
Stevie moonwalks back, always ready to hop into the limelight.
“Not bad. Scottie Pippen Nike Air high-tops.”
I have imagined Jesus for the past few weeks in moments when I’m alone with my thoughts. I lie in bed, close my eyes, and see his lips. I wonder how they might taste.
“Yo, B, you okay?”
The tightness in my chest reminds me that I’ve been holding my breath for a while, so I exhale and attempt to play it cool.
“Sorry, I’m a little dizzy in this heat.”
“Or maybe it’s because your dad is—”
I cut Stevie off before he can blab my business.
“Dead! My dad, he…um, died. Today is the anniversary.” I snatch the water bottle from Stevie’s hands and take a long, dramatic drink.
“I’m sorry,” Jesus says.
“That’s okay. Really. It happened so long ago. I barely knew him….”
The lies get harder as I build on them.
“We’ve got to go,” I choke out, and drag Stevie down the block so fast he almost twists his ankle on the uneven pavement trying to keep up.
“Sorry. I just…don’t want him to know everything,” I say, handing him the water bottle as I open the front door.
Stevie’s eyes travel from the details etched into the staircase to me, searching for a sign that his best friend is still here.
“Nevaaaeeeeehhhh.” Jerry sings my name from the other room, and we find him stuffing salt and vinegar chips into his mouth. Janae grabs some chips for herself and drops one on the carpet. Within seconds, Anita is standing over Stevie, waving a spoon in his face.
“I’m gonna curse your children’s children if you don’t mind the carpet and stop making a mess in—”
She stops midsentence when she realizes the child she is berating is not one of her own.
“Stevie’s with me,” I tell her. “And I wouldn’t lay a curse on him if I were you. His dad would sue us for everything we’ve got.”
Stevie nods furiously. “It’s true. He’d feel like he was owed a reimbursement for the fifteen years of parenting he had to pay for!”
My aunt looks him up and down before giving me some side-eye to remind me who’s in charge and walking back to the kitchen. Janae takes her headphones off.
“You gonna be okay?”
Stevie nods unconvincingly, then asks for directions to the bathroom and darts away.
“You better not sleep with that boy in this house,” Janae says. “The last thing your mom needs is a grandchild, and the last thing I need is my mama thinking we’re all acting a fool. She’s already got X-ray vision.”
I lower my voice to a whisper. “We’re friends, best friends. That’s it. He’s not who I like.”
The front door slams and the room fills with the smells of onion and cilantro. Jordan is back from work. She’s a hostess two days a week at Nacho Mama’s, a Mexican restaurant frequented by Columbia students.
Stevie returns from the bathroom and freezes again, but this time, the look on his face mirrors Lavender’s when she sets eyes on Ron after he wins a quidditch match. I’ve seen the expression before; he wore it all through fourth grade whenever we had social studies with Mrs. Applebaum.
“Hi, I’m Stevie.”
Jordan shoos Stevie out of her way, but he remains resolute with love and motionless before her. Janae sits up taller on the couch.
“Thank God you’re home,” Janae calls out, unwilling to move from her preferred spot. “You missed everything. Mama almost gave this kid a heart attack. Meanwhile, I’m just trying to get my Spanish homework done in time to catch Grey’s Anatomy and Nevaeh has some secret boyfriend.”
“Jesus? Nah, he’s not her boyfriend. Not yet,” Stevie says, unaware that each word might as well be a shovelful of dirt on my shallow grave. “Cool dude, though.”
Luckily, before Jordan murders me, Anita comes out of the kitchen.
“It’s time for dinner, and I won’t wait another minute.” She stops and wrinkles her nose at Jordan. “Girl, you better go take that mess off before sitting down in here. You’ve got the whole place smelling like a chimichanga. And get Corinne while you’re up there.”
“It was really nice to meet you!” Stevie squeaks after Jordan as she trudges up the stairs. He turns back to us. “I should head back to the burbs to eat dinner with America’s Got Talent. My dad is definitely still at the office.”
I can tell he wants an invite to dinner here, but I’m not in the mood, not after he put me on blast for the second time tonight.
“Good idea,” I snap.
* * *
—
“I’m officially signed up for the college trip. I borrowed the other two hundred dollars. I’ll pay it back myself,” Jordan announces to the table just as my mom descends the stairs.
“Borrowed from who?” Anita asks through tight lips.
“Me,” Janae says.
Janae has been saving up the money she makes from the odd video-recording jobs she gets on craigslist to buy a real camera, but last week I heard Jordan crying in the bathroom because Anita said they couldn’t afford to send her on the college trip, so Janae must have decided to help her sister out.
Anita’s eyes bulge: overpowered by her children, two against one.
My mom walks the long way around the table and pats my head as she passes, her way of communicating without needing to speak.
“Ow!” I grab my tender skull.
My mom stops with a look of concern.
“I’m fine,” I say, but Anita clears her throat and I know my answer isn’t going to do. “I hit my head when I fainted this morning, but it’s seriously not a big deal. The nurse said as long as I don’t feel dizzy or throw up, I probably don’t have a concussion.”
My mom looks at me, lost, like her ears stopped working.
“Didn’t the school call?” I ask with irritation.
Even my father, who has been possessed by the devil, had the wherewithal to be concerned.
“I—I,” my mom stammers. “I turned my phone off. I was resting. I am so exhausted.”
“Not like you would have done anything anyway,” I mumble under my breath.
* * *
—
Zeke offers me a night off from dish duty to rest after my injury, but I decline once I catch Jordan’s menacing glare. I live to regret it. Tonight, Jordan has appointed herself kitchen supervisor, a role only she is qualified to fill, and after a lengthy hour and a half of cleaning under her watchful eye, I drag my fan up the stairs to bed.
Anita blocks me on the second floor. She stands before me with her hair wrapped tightly in a light blue scarf.
“I don’t know how things worked in your house,” she says, her body shaking as she speaks to me. “But in mine, you are going to respect your elders, especially your own mother.”
The tight screw that has been holding my jaw shut my entire life unhinges with a monstrous crack.
“Maybe you should take this diatribe to your sister, who, in case you haven’t noticed, has given up entirely on being a parent.”
Slap!
Every pore on the left side of my face throbs from the impact of Anita’s open hand. The pain spreads like a grease fire, impossible to combat. Her legs buckle, and she sits on the step as her exhalations grow into deep, devastating sobs. I tower over her, stunned at how small she looks from this angle. This woman, who my grandfather often refers to as “boisterous,” is now hardly audible.
“It’s taken such a long time for us to be near each other again. Growing up, Corinne thought I was too cool for her, but it’s not true. Your mom didn’t care how many guys asked her out, or if she got the lead in the school play; she was happy to just be herself. I always admired that, how she didn’t care what anyone thought. Then she went away to that fancy college with big plans. She was on fire when she met your father. But when she came back…it was like the light inside her had been blown out. Little by little, she disappeared until I could barely recognize her. But I can’t lose her. With Mummy gone, I just…I can’t lose her too.”