by Kate Stewart
“You missed a great party, Jade,” Amir finally says while serving himself another helping of everything. “Grip’s release party, I mean.”
“Girl, it was incredible.” Ms. James beams with pride, her eyes set on her son.
“Yeah, sorry I couldn’t make it.” Jade doesn’t sound sorry to me. “I guess you supposed to be a big deal now, huh?”
Grip bends a longsuffering look on his cousin and keeps eating without responding.
“Anybody can sell records,” Jade continues. “But is it quality? I mean, is it real hip-hop?”
Grip tightens his lips, but there’s otherwise no sign that what Jade says bothers him. I’m beginning to understand the dynamic between the cousins better now. Knowing about the incident with Jade and the police officer when they were kids, and Jade missing her chance to apply to the School of the Arts, I think she’s jealous. And Grip knows it, but his guilt eats away at him, so he let’s her get away with things no one else would.
“Grip’s shit is legit, Jade,” Amir says. “You still haven’t heard the album?”
“I’m sure I heard everything he has to say before,” Jade says. “No one’s original anymore.”
“Grip is.” It’s out of my mouth before I think better of it. I really wish I’d thought better of it, because everyone, including Grip, turns a collective stare on me.
“I just meant, um . . .” I bite my lip while I collect my thoughts. “Grip’s writing is excellent. His lyrics are incredible. As a matter of fact, the reviewer from Rolling Stone called the album innovative and revelatory. It’s still the number one album in the country, and actually not just anyone can sell records in this market. In a climate where sales are down everywhere, Grip’s are up. And that’s because his work is stellar and resonates with a wide audience.”
Grip’s mouth tips at the corner, and I know he’s laughing at me the way he and Rhyson always do when they say I love everything Grip writes. I do. And I probably sound like an infomercial, but it’s all the truth.
“It’s good, Jade.” Ms. James addresses Grip’s cousin, but her eyes rest on me, a little softer. “And you know I’m old school. I don’t cut no slack, even for my own son. If it was weak, I’d tell you.”
“And at this party I missed,” Jade says. “Did you perform with Qwest, your girlfriend?”
She throws it out as a challenge, a dare to Grip to explain our situation.
“Qwest and I did perform,” he says simply. “But she isn’t my girlfriend anymore.”
A bubble of silence swells, and Ms. James pops it with her next words.
“What do you mean?” She looks like Grip just kicked her puppy. “But she was just—”
Her eyes meet mine, and she cuts herself off, leveling her mouth into a flat line and pouring another glass of tea for herself.
“Ma, I told you not to get attached like that,” Grip says softly with his eyes on his plate. “It just didn’t work out.”
He looks at me, taking my hand under the table and linking our fingers on his knee.
“I’m with Bristol now.”
Shit. Fuckity shit.
Looking for something to do, I pour more gravy over my mashed potatoes, drowning the poor side dish. I’m so flustered my hand shakes and I spill the thick, hot liquid in my lap.
“Oh!” I scoot back from the table, fanning the scalding spot on my thighs.
“Are you okay?” Grip grabs a napkin from the table and starts mopping at my lap.
Embarrassment and discomfort constrict my throat until I can’t swallow or breathe. I manage to stand under the weight of everyone’s scrutiny and choke out a few words.
“Where’s your bathroom?” I gesture to the spot on my dress. “I’d like to clean up a little.”
Really I just want to get out of this room where it feels like I’m being bludgeoned with their stares.
“Right through there.” Ms. James points down the hall, her voice flat, her eyes sad.
“Thank you,” I whisper, moving in the direction she indicated.
“Can I help?” Grip follows me into the hall. “Do you need—”
“No, just go back.” I don’t turn around because I don’t want him to see the tears in my eyes. The stupid tears of rejection. I knew she wouldn’t like me. Why was I not prepared for this feeling? “Please. I’m fine.”
I know he’s still there. His concern wraps around me from behind. I feel his solid warmth at my back and his breath in my ear.
“Baby, it’s okay,” he whispers.
I take a step forward, putting distance between my back and his tenderness, which will only break me down more.
“Grip, just . . . I’m fine.”
I don’t wait for anything else before I step gratefully into the small bathroom. As soon as I’m behind the door, hot tears stream down my cheeks. I’m a fixer. It’s what I do for a living. I fix everything for everyone, but there’s nothing I can do to fix my skin. To fix the fact that everyone wants Grip with Qwest, and I can’t ever be what his mother wants me to be. I know what she means to him and that he wouldn’t be the man he is today without his mother’s influence and guidance. That he disappoints her by loving me burns more than the gravy I spilled in my lap.
I allow myself a few moments of the lavatory pity party before wetting my napkin and wiping the dress, which is probably ruined. That’s the least of my concerns, though. I splash water on my face until it looks sort of normal and steel myself to go back out there. It would be wonderful if Ms. James and Jade liked me, but they don’t. I tell myself that Grip likes me, he loves me, so it doesn’t matter.
I’m walking up the hall but stop when I hear my name.
“And you tried to tell me you and Bristol was just friends. Like I’m blind, dumb, and stupid,” Jade says sarcastically. “You a trip, cuz.”
“Oh, I’m a trip?” Irritation coarsens Grip’s words. “Why?”
“You weren’t satisfied with the fancy loft and the motorcycles and the cars and flying around on private jets,” Jade says. “You just had to go and get you a white girl, didn’t you? She’s the last piece for your collection.”
“Jade, lower your voice,” Ms. James says softly.
“No, Jade,” Grip snaps. “Shut the hell up,”
“You had a queen but just had to go get you a Becky.” Jade loads her voice with contempt before pulling the trigger. “Just like all them other niggas. Forgetting where they came from.”
“I haven’t forgotten a damn thing.” Grip’s words scrape against each other like iron sharpening iron, slicing into the thick air filling the house.
“Forget who they came from.” Jade presses on like he didn’t speak. “Like the sisters need another reminder that we ain’t good enough. Ain’t pretty enough. You sorry ass sellouts gotta stay true to form and choose them every time you get a little cash.”
“My being with Bristol has nothing to do with you or anyone else,” Grip says.
“Doesn’t it?” Ms. James counters softly. “I’m sorry, but Jade’s right.
I didn’t raise you to be a cliché, Marlon. Some man who thinks he needs a white woman on his arm to be successful.”
“If you think that’s what I’m doing,” Grip replies softly, disappointment heavy in his voice. “Then you don’t know the man you raised at all.”
“I know you had a good woman, a beautiful black woman who understands where you come from,” Ms. James replies. “Who understands our challenges and knows how to support you.”
The incident with Officer Dunne haunts me. How Grip had to guide me. Calm me. Correct me. How I had no clue about any of it. She’s probably right. I didn’t even know what DWB stood for, much less recognized it when it was happening. Qwest probably would have had Officer Dunne in his own cuffs when it was all said and done.
“And last we heard, you were with Qwest,” Ms. James says, her voice unapologetic. “Next thing we know you bring her in here uninvited and unannounced like some trophy we should put on the m
antle. What am I supposed to think?”
“A trophy, Ma? Come on. This is me,” Grip fires back. “Maybe I should have handled it differently and eased into it, but this is happening, whether you found out today or later.”
“But you chose today to rub her in our faces,” Jade cuts in.
“I’m not rubbing anything in your face,” Grip says. “You’re a part of my life. Bristol’s in my life. I just want you guys to get to know each other.”
“We should at least give her a chance,” Shondra speaks up for the first time.
“Shondra, don’t act like you don’t feel the same way,” Jade says. “When that basketball player got married last week, first thing you asked was did he marry a black woman.”
“Well, I like Bristol,” Shondra says, not addressing the reminder of what she said before. “She’s good people, and if you want to be with her, Grip, I got your back. It’s fine with me.”
“Well, it ain’t fine with me,” Jade says.
“Jade, come on now,” Amir interrupts. “You don’t even know Bristol.”
“So what are you, Amir?” Jade challenges. “Another nigga with his nose wide open for this white chick? You know they freaks, so she might take both of you at the same time.”
“Dammit, Jade!” Grip slams the table, rattling the plates and making the glassware sing a dissonant note. Anger edges his words. “You don’t talk about her like that. What the hell is wrong with you? With both of you? You can’t just be happy that I found someone I love? No matter if she’s black, brown, white, whatever?”
“Love?” Ms. Mittie scoffs. “Once the novelty wears off, we’ll see about love. For you and for her. Not to mention you’ll undermine your credibility with a lot of people who saw ‘Queen’ as their song, our song. You’ll lessen the impact you could have had in the community.”
“Just because I love someone of a different race doesn’t mean I’m not passionate about my own,” Grip disagrees sharply. “About the causes that affect my community or the things that need to be said on our behalf.”
“Well, you should ask yourself would she even give you a second look if you weren’t who you are now?” Jade spews. “Would she have given you a second look if you weren’t rich, famous? If you were just another nigga washing her car or changing her oil?”
I’ve sat here and taken this. Every insult, every assumption, every preconceived notion fell on me like a bag of stones. My arms are heavy with them. My neck, bowed. My back about to break. After all it took for me to even admit I loved Grip, the fears I had to overcome to be with him, I’m about damn tired of being doubted and judged and dismissed. I walk into the room, and for the first time, feel like myself. Feel like the girl I know Grip needs at his side.
“Bristol, hey.” Grip tries to fix his face so I don’t realize what I’m walking into. Tries to make this less uncomfortable for me, but it’s too late. I’m well past discomfort.
“First of all,” I start softly, spreading my glance between every one at the table, but ending with Ms. James. “Let me just say dinner was delicious.”
Contrition darkens her eyes, but she doesn’t look away.
“I’m sorry you heard all of that, Bristol,” she says. “You’re a guest in my home, and that isn’t how I treat guests.”
If Qwest had come here today, she probably would have been welcomed not like a guest, but like family. I remember the ease between her and Grip’s mother at the release party. Like they had known each other for years even though they had just met. Jealousy stabs my heart. It’s familiar, this stupid longing for someone’s love, but I still hurt when it’s withheld.
“I came here not sure if I should say sweet potato or pumpkin, kale or collards.” I continue, shrugging and laughing a little. “Hell, I’m still not sure. I had no idea what to expect, but that was some of the best food I’ve ever had in my life.”
Grip looks at me like he wants to check me for a fever or slip me a Valium.
“Also,” I say, turning my glance to Jade. “You don’t have to wonder if I would have given Grip a second look if he wasn’t rich or famous because I fell in love with him when he was neither.”
I look at Grip and don’t give a damn that they can all probably tell how gone I am for him.
“He was sweeping floors and living in an apartment that quite possibly should have been condemned.”
The jagged line of Grip’s mouth softens just the tiniest bit, and he doesn’t look away from me and I don’t look away from him.
“It took me years to let Grip know how I felt, not because I didn’t think he was good enough for me, or because he was black. I can honestly say I never cared. He spoke to me in poetry and listened to my opinions and argued with me when he didn’t think I was right and admitted when he was wrong.” I smile, remembering my first night here in LA when we talked half the night away. “I started falling for him the day we met.”
I look to his mother, whose mouth is hanging slightly open.
Good.
“You’re right, Ms. James. I don’t know how it’s been for you, for your family. Our challenges may be different, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t known struggle. I may have grown up with plenty of money, but I know what it’s like not to have.”
My mother’s coldness, my father’s infidelities, my brother’s distance all mock me, reminding me that no one in my family ever wanted me as badly as I wanted them.
I look at Grip’s mother frankly, openly, a small smile pulling at my lips.
“I was so nervous coming here today,” I tell her, my voice barely clearing a whisper. “I wanted you to like me. I didn’t want to say or do the wrong thing to offend you, but now I understand that it isn’t about anything I say or do. You’re offended by who I am, by the things I can’t change about myself. As I listened to you, I heard a pain that, you’re right, I’ve never experienced. And for a moment, I said maybe they’re right. Maybe Grip does need to be with someone like Qwest, but that was only for a moment.”
I lift my chin, will it not to wobble, and will my words not to shake.
“Grip told me he wanted you to meet the real Bristol. Well, the real Bristol doesn’t give up on the people she loves.” I shrug, biting the inside of my jaw and blink rapidly, but a tear still escapes down my cheek even though I swipe at it impatiently. “I don’t know how to. I can’t stop loving your son. You wonder if I’ll leave him. I won’t, and if he leaves me he knows I’ll probably chase him.”
I allow myself to glance at Grip, but his familiar grin is not there. His eyes are sober, and I can’t gauge his thoughts.
“And Qwest may understand where Grip is from, where he’s been, better than I do. I can work on that.” I look back to Ms. James. “But I know where he’s going, and wherever he’s going, I’m going with him. So, you and I should get used to each other because I’ll be around.”
I call on the impeccable manners of Miss Pierce’s Finishing School.
“Thank you again for a lovely dinner, Ms. James,” I say. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll wait in the car.”
I brush past Grip, who’s probably going to skin me alive for talking to his mother that way. I rush down the short hall decorated with pictures of Grip from infanthood through high school, through the living room, down the cracked pavement, and to the car. When I yank the door handle, I realize my grand exit can only be so grand with the doors locked.
I’m not sure if Grip will be another five minutes or twenty, but I’m determined not to go back in there, even though I fidget when a few neighbors stare at me leaning against the passenger door. He emerges almost immediately, swift strides eating up the space between the black-barred door to the Range Rover. His face is grim as he clicks the remote to open the car. I scramble to get in and away from any prying eyes. Grip climbs behind the wheel, draws and releases a deep breath, and pulls away from the curb without looking my way once. The quiet is killing me slowly, like Chinese water torture, but with drops of silence.
“Grip, I—”
“Don’t.” His voice comes husky and heavy. “Not yet.”
I swallow my hurt. People say they want the real you, but when you give it to them, they reject you. I should know that by now. I’ve encountered it all my life, but I hoped it would be different with the man I loved. And I do love Grip. He can be angry with me. He can give me the silent treatment. He can try to shut me out, but there’s no way he’s getting rid of me. He thinks he loves me? He hasn’t met a love like mine. My love is Pandora’s Box. Grip snapped my hinges and pried me open. He let this love out. My love has a wild streak. Good luck trying to tame it.
I didn’t pay attention on the way here, but I do recognize we’re not getting on the 5. Just two minutes from his mother’s, Grip pulls behind a building that seems completely abandoned.
He’s quiet, eyeing his hands on the wheel. I brace myself for his anger, his displeasure. I don’t know what I expect to see when he finally glances over at me, but it isn’t the look on his face. A look that says he loves me. A look that says he’s proud of me. He says so much with just a look, but I want the words. And after a few moments he gives them to me.
“That was amazing,” he says softly. “You’re amazing. There’s nobody else I’d choose.”
Relief and gratification burst in my chest and push out on a long breath.
“You’re not . . .” I swallow the lump that’s refused to leave my throat since I heard the truth of what they thought about us, about me. “You’re not mad?”
“At you?” He rests his elbows on the steering wheel and drops his head into his hands. “If anything, I’m mad at myself. I was so eager for you and my mom to . . .”
He trails off, shaking his head and grabbing my hand, linking our fingers on the middle console.
“I messed up.” His eyes offer an apology. “I put you and my mother in an awkward situation. I should have handled it differently.”
“It’s okay. Hopefully in time . . .” A fragile laugh slips from me. “Like I said, I’m not going anywhere.”