Black Girls Must Die Exhausted: A Novel for Grown Ups

by Jayne Allen

  “Oh yes! That’s right sweetheart,” Granny Tab said. “Well, you could just get pregnant, couldn’t you? There’s all kinds of new fangled stuff these days and girls don’t even have to get married anymore. You see, I didn’t have that option back with your dad. Of course, I was much younger than you when I got pregnant, and there were a lot of other…circumstances.” She paused, getting lost in an arriving memory. I let her continue. Granny Tab didn’t talk about her life back in West Virginia often, so when she did, I didn’t dare interrupt. She continued with her reverie, smiling at me. “I know I’ve told you how I met your grandfather. Honey, the times were so different back then. It was totally forbidden, you see, for the races to come together at all. In West Virginia, we were well entrenched in segregation. So, when I saw your grandfather down on Main Street and he smiled at me, that great big handsome smile, I knew it was trouble. He took a risk, just with that. He wasn’t supposed to you know—as a black man, he wasn’t supposed to look at, let alone smile at a white woman. But he did.” A wide smile broke out on my grandmother’s face, so big that it made her pause. I saw the blush come to her cheeks almost as if she were back in that very moment, feeling the same temptation from a taboo gesture. She brought her hand that had been resting on the table up to her face and leaned forward to continue like she was telling me a secret. “I’d see him around, here and there, and he’d always sneak me that same smile. It became like a secret that we shared, just the two of us. And oh boy, I was mischievous too! My best friend, Evelyn, was a colored girl who managed to live next to us—next door. That’s the word we all used back then, colored, I still remember her that way. Our schools were segregated, but our neighborhoods weren’t. In high school, she would sneak me to the colored dance parties with her, and I’d be the only white girl there! I had such a good time, Two, and I learned all the dances! And your grandfather…oooh, he was the best dancer of everybody. Just the best—and we just danced and danced—handsome devil,” she said with a giggle that she invited me to share in. “And then when I fell pregnant with your father, I was only 19. I couldn’t tell anybody—my daddy would have killed all three of us, I just knew it. Daddy wasn’t a bad man so much, but he was as prejudiced as they come, just like everybody back then—didn’t know any better. And Evelyn got to go off to college, but I had to come out to California. Your granddaddy joined the Service out here so that we could live together and raise your father. It was one of the only places in the country where we could be, you know, be black and white together. It wasn’t so much legal back then.”

  “Got to give him credit for that!” Ms. Gretchen said, rejoining us with ice cream that she handed to me as she sat. “As my daddy always said, ‘a man that ain’t got no plan for you, ain’t your man.’ That’s how it was back then, the men had responsibilities and they knew when it was their turn to step up.”

  “Amen to that Ms. Gretchen!” I said, laughing and taking the ice cream she offered me as she sat down. I wanted to hear more about Granny Tab’s life, but Ms. Gretchen had broken the spell. “I wish that was coming from the men I know!” I joked. “Looks like I’m gonna need to have a baby soon, or probably more likely, freeze my eggs.”

  “Honey, hush! Well, what about that nice young man you’ve been seeing? What’s his name, Mike?”

  “Marc.” I said. Yes, I’ve been dating Marc about a year and a half now.”

  “And what’s he waiting for?”

  “I can’t say Ms. Gretchen. I’m ready, but he says he’s not. Not yet.” I attempted to be lighthearted, but the gravity of those words made me look down at the table, avoiding the assessment reading in Ms. Gretchen’s eyes. I felt a warm flush rising in my cheeks.

  “Well,” Granny Tab interjected quickly, “you two are still young…it’s better to do it the right way from the beginning than have to undo it down the road. You can’t undo a baby…or, who you have one with,” she said, drifting off again. That last statement triggered my curiosity. Was she talking about her own experience? Neither Granny Tab nor my father spoke much about my grandfather. It was so infrequent that he seemed more like an apparition of several generations back, than a person that was once in my near-immediate family. I knew that they had split sometime when my dad was young, but it always seemed strange that he would just disappear. Still, no one spoke of it, and I knew better than to ask.

  “You can’t undo a baby, but you can undo a marriage!” Ms. Gretchen sang back to us both. “I’ve done it twice. Both two sorry soul good for nothings—weight on my shoulders. Good riddance!” she said waving her hands in the air. “There’s no reason that Marc shouldn’t be trying to marry you, Honey!”

  I laughed. “You would think, Ms. Gretchen. But he’s on his own schedule I guess.” Hearing my own words made them harder to deny.

  “You guess?” Ms. Gretchen said, raising a penciled-in eyebrow. “You should know, Honey. And he should let you know. Like I told you, my daddy said to me as soon as my little boobies started to sprout and those boys came sniffin’ around, ‘Now Gretchen, a man that ain’t got no plan for you ain’t no man at all. And he’s definitely not your man, you hear? Real men got plans for the things important to them. If he ain’t got no plan for you, then you ain’t what’s important.’ And I never forgot that. I might have married the wrong men, but I didn’t ever have trouble getting asked.”

  I couldn’t help but realize that Ms. Gretchen had a point. Marc and I hadn’t spoken much over the past couple of weeks, but I was going to see him in just a few hours. Although, I would say, if I had known his true plans for us then, sitting at the table with Granny Tab and Ms. Gretchen, maybe I would have skipped that dinner.

  Chapter 9

  I don’t know why I was so nervous getting ready for my date with Marc. The scare had passed and, unless I planned to bring up “planning” of any sort, the evening would be just as routine as any other. What I needed was for it to not be routine. I needed him to see me as more than just an option and simply a possibility for his future. Was Marc stringing me along? Wasting my time even? I pushed the thought of Ms. Gretchen’s words back in my mind, but they had been haunting me from the moment she said them…”a man that ain’t got no plan for you…” But, Marc was my man. He was my man that I loved, that I was attracted to and the person I knew I could spend the rest of my days making a marriage and family with. Could that be enough for him? I spent a little extra time on everything, an extra touch of eye liner, a little bit tighter dress, and the sexier stilettos that were a little less comfortable, but more undeniable. Marc might not have had a plan for me, but I’d be the one with plans for that evening. It had been a long two weeks since we had last seen each other, so I was eager to reconnect beyond the phone calls, text messages and occasional naughty video chats that had kept us integrated into each other’s lives.

  Instead of picking me up, Marc wanted to meet directly at a restaurant, not too far from my place downtown. Perch, which sat high up atop one of the office buildings had a great patio for open-air dining and an upstairs for dancing. This was exactly the kind of evening I’d hoped we’d be having and a welcome departure from my thoughts of babies and promotions and down payments that I could likely kiss goodbye. What I needed, and what Marc and I needed, was to have fun. When I walked in, I saw him sitting at the bar. He seemed nervous, playing with the callouses on his hands, his thumb rubbing against each of them, one at a time. I guessed he also had a rough couple of weeks at work. I gave him a huge smile, and headed in his direction. He stood up and wrapped me with his arms in a way that I welcomed like water falling on a neglected fern.

  “Wow Tab, you look great!” he said, pulling away from me slightly awkwardly. I tried to linger close to him a little longer, telling him he not only looked good but also smelled great. And he certainly did. We made small talk together until our table was ready. Once we were seated, over dinner, I told him about Lisa’s continual insistence that I prioritize the women’s issu
es group over my own concerns. And, I told him about Alexis’ birthday dinner that was coming up, extending their invitation to him. At that, his brow furrowed and he reached for my hand.

  “Tab, um, about that…I just don’t think it’s a good idea that I go.”

  “What?” I shot back in shock. “Babe, why not?” I asked with the full innocent ignorance of a deer caught in the headlights of a trailer truck. My mind started reeling and I could feel my chest tightening.

  “Look, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about our last conversation. And, I’m just on the fence about everything. I’m not ready. I don’t think I can be ready any time soon…and…I don’t want you to miss out on your life and the milestones that are important to you.” My breath stopped in my throat. And all of a sudden I lost my appetite. In spite of the sick feeling creeping into my stomach, I allowed myself to reach instinctively for my glass of wine. My other hand, I pulled away from his.

  “Marc, what does that even mean? Are you talking about wanting a baby?” My thoughts went back to the 9-year-old me standing in the kitchen with my parents, learning of their split. I felt the same helplessness and hoped that my voice could hide the whine I felt mounting inside. Why? Where are you going? I wanted to ask. Instead, I tried to maintain my composure, to be an adult. Maybe he was saying something different. I searched his face before continuing with the tinge and cadence of desperation creeping into my words, “I told you I do…but, eventually! It doesn’t have to be today, Babe—where’s this coming from?”

  “Tabby, I just don’t know if I see a future for us.” I think my heart must have stopped. “It’s been a year and a half—we haven’t gotten any closer.” I stopped breathing. “We still see each other what, once, twice per week?” My mouth dropped open. “I’m not a central part of your life any more than you are in mine.” He reached for my hand again while I sat frozen and wide-eyed like a statue of salt. “I love you, but I don’t know that I’m in love with you…I don’t know that I can be. Maybe I can’t be with anyone.” I sat in stunned silence and finally turned my head to look off into the distance for a moment of privacy to process. I could hear my breath start to stagger, which meant that the tears were on their way. All I could think of was escape.

  “Could you excuse me for just one second?” I said to him. “I’ll be right back. I need to…go…I need to go to the restroom,” I said, as I stood to get up. While my normal composure was breaking, I wasn’t going to give him, and especially not the rest of the restaurant, the spectacle of me crying. What in the entire fuck just happened? I didn’t understand. Marc and I had had an honest talk two weeks ago. I told him my situation and my preference, but I hadn’t applied any pressure. Maybe he didn’t understand and some clarity from me could help ease his concerns? That’s what I wanted to believe. Yes, that’s it. This is just a misunderstanding. With my tears dried by washroom papertowels, I started to let hope flood into me on my return to the table.

  “Is this something that we can talk about?” I asked as Marc returned to his seat after helping me with mine. Still a perfect gentleman…on paper.

  “Sure, we can always talk about it,” Marc said. “But I’m not sure that would change anything about how I feel. It’s been on my mind for awhile.” For how long, Marc? How long? “And then, when you said the thing about the eggs and the babies, it’s like it all accelerated my thoughts.” I blinked at him, still absorbing the shock of the situation. I struggled to keep my mouth from dropping open again. I couldn’t believe that he was doing this. He continued, “I mean, I’m just at the start of my career and, please don’t take this the wrong way, but…I’ve got a lot of options…I’m getting more attention than I ever imagined and…I’m just not sure. I’m not sure about anything. I don’t even know if I want to get married.” This I couldn’t even process. We had reached a place beyond my comprehension. I had done everything but beg him for our relationship.

  “Marc, where is all of this coming from?” I asked, feeling the heat rising in my face. “We’ve always said that one day we’d both like to have a family. One day. Are you saying you want to date other women? You want to fuck them? Is that what you want?” I could hear my voice getting shriller, louder, but there was nothing that I could do to control my rising panic and mounting anger. I never spoke to Marc this way, but this was past my limits.

  “Tabby, I don’t know what I want. That’s just it. I don’t know. And I think that right now, you need someone who knows. And, I just can’t be that guy.”

  “Marc, I didn’t say that.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “I didn’t. I didn’t. That’s not what I meant—it’s just…I have to decide about, you know, this,” I said, gesturing with my hands toward the direction of my womb. Marc said nothing, other than letting out an exasperated sigh and took a sip from his wine glass, avoiding eye contact.

  “Is there someone else?” I asked.

  “No, Tabby. No. Not someone else. I’m not a cheater.” Then what are you, motherfucker? I wanted to ask. The air between us was pregnant in the way that I was not, heavy with the words spoken and the weight of those unspoken. I just couldn’t imagine letting it end this way.

  “Marc, I love you. I’m in love with you. I’ve given you 18 months of my life—of my 30’s! There’s not someone else I want to be with. What’s so wrong with ‘us’?” I pleaded, with increasing awareness of my surroundings and the fact that I’d been emotionally ambushed.

  “I love you too Tabby. I just…” Ms. Gretchen’s words echoed in my mind, playing over Marc’s hollow ones. If a man has no plans for you…then…he’s not your man… I watched Marc’s mouth move, but heard nothing that mattered. Looking at him now was like looking at a complete stranger that I’d only seen for the very first time tonight. I noticed the small scar underneath his right eye, partially covered by his long black bottom eyelashes. I saw a little sparse patch in his beard and the grey hairs crowding in like white-headed dandelions in an otherwise carefully manicured lawn. I looked up at the thinning spot at the top of his otherwise immaculately cut hair, with a fresh edge up. Someone else’s man, my mind kept telling me. He loves me? He doesn’t love me. Not possible. Love wouldn’t bum rush someone in the middle of an otherwise comfortable relationship. Love doesn’t do that. I’m not saying that I needed Marc to be the man of my dreams, or ride in on his white horse to save my fertility options, but he could have at least given me some warning. Then again, maybe that was why—why the distance during the week, and why he wanted to meet me here tonight instead of pick me up. I bet there was even a reason why he wore the stupid outfit he wore. Why he picked that shirt and those jeans. It all hit me, these realizations like repeated gut punches. There was a word for what this was, I just couldn’t think of it.

  After I checked out mentally on the conversation, Marc made no effort to reel me back in. He hadn’t come to negotiate. He’d come to execute. When the conversation reached a lull of no more words between us to say, he asked me if I wanted to order dessert—as if I could possibly still have an appetite. I told him no and that I really was ready to leave. He offered me a ride home, which I accepted only to ride in silence the few blocks back to my place. I guess I entertained the extra time with him just to see if he was going to change his mind, or tell me that this was his very dumb idea of a joke. That moment never happened. He walked me to my door and told me he’d call me next week to check on me. I gave him a close-mouthed feeble laugh, while I can’t believe you, asshole burned through my eyes. When he went in for a hug goodbye, I limply brought my arms around him, and placed my palms weakly on his shoulders. I didn’t want him pressed against me—I didn’t want to feel his body, I didn’t want to want him. Not anymore.

  I got upstairs and melted onto my bed with all of my clothes still on. I didn’t even have the energy to take them off, not even my shoes. I found fetal position, curling my body around my womb, the place where all of this began. I
closed my eyes, too spent to think, too shell-shocked to allow tears, too numb to process. All I could think of was the Sunday dinner at my dad’s house that I had unwittingly agreed to attend because my grandmother asked me to. There was no way I’d do that now. I reached over for my phone that was lying next to me on my bed to compose a text.

  Me: I’m not going to be able to make it to dinner tomorrow. Sorry, emergency.

  To my surprise, my dad responded almost right away. I had no idea he was still awake.

  Dad: Everything ok?

  If I had a different dad, or maybe if there had never been a Diane, I’d have answered that question differently. I’d be a girl who’d call her dad in tears about the boy that broke his baby girl’s heart. And he’d console her and tell her how special she was no matter what that boy said or thought and that she could always count on her dad no matter what. That could have been, but it wasn’t. Not for my dad and I.

  Me: Yes, fine. Just something got sprung on me at the last minute.

  Dad: The girls would have really liked to see you.

  Diane’s kids.

  Dad: Me too.

  Me: Next time, promise.

  Me: Love you.

  Dad: Love you Two

  And as I drifted off into a forced and restless sleep, it dawned on me exactly what that word was that I searched my mind for at the restaurant. It was the exact word I was looking for with Marc as he performed a calculated and surgical extraction of my beating heart from my chest. The word that floated around in my mind like an amorphous fog clouding all of my other thoughts. That word took form and revealed itself just then. It was, betrayal.

  Sunday morning, it was early and I gripped my steering wheel tightly. I just had to get to one place. I had woken up from a terrible bad dream that Marc had broken up with me. Except it wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t a dream at all. I had no desire to talk to anyone, not my mom, not Laila, not Alexis. Just to get to the one place that had always been my respite and shelter when the storm hit. This time, home wasn’t on Fairfax, home was at Crestmire.