“How?”
“Because I didn’t bring you around too early. Shit, I’ve broken a family record.”
“Mmm… What number am I?”
My eyes pop open. “Does it matter?”
“You’re damn right it matters. I don’t want your folks looking at me like I’m girlfriend of this year.”
I lift my head, grinning at what I now realize is nervous chatter. “I can’t believe my confident, no-holds-barred girlfriend is worried about meeting my family.”
She rolls her eyes and disappears into the closet. I hop out of bed and follow her, poking my fingers at her underarms until she giggles.
“What’s the rush?” I ask. “It doesn’t take three hours to get dressed. And you didn’t have to make anything.”
She wraps her arms around my neck. “Excuse me for wanting to make a good impression.”
I show appreciation for her consideration with a kiss. She releases her embrace and darts to the bathroom to wash the cream away. I want to join her in the shower so I can fondle her wet breasts. But, there’s nothing sexy about the smell of lye or loose hair and cream being flung all over the shower and my body. I’ll just enjoy the few minutes I have alone to close my eyes in bed.
A quarter past eleven, we drop Shannon off at Juanita’s house and pick up Tasha before heading to the gathering. Tasha tags along every year to eat and gossip with my cousins. When we arrive, Mama is standing at the stove with her two sisters, too focused on mixing spaghetti sauce to pay any attention to Deidra or me. She gives Deidra a fast “hey” and a weak “thank you” for the casserole. She’s cooking, so we leave the kitchen.
This year’s gathering is smaller than ever with about twenty-five people in attendance. I greet my family and introduce Deidra to those who show interest. Big Ma is ecstatic to see us. She pulls us to the dining room table to talk and show-off her new flea market capri set and jewelry. Then she complains that her daughters are too slow in the kitchen. “If I was in there,” she brags, “y’all would have full stomachs by now.”
She voices more complaints before complimenting Deidra on her pretty smile. “How your family doing?” she asks. “I pass by the funeral home every Sunday on my way to church. Y’all keep the grounds so nice and neat.”
How does my grandmother know that Deidra is kin to the Carter dynasty? I’m two seconds from questioning her when the obvious hits me. Her chattiness makes it easy to forget her dementia. “Big Ma, this is Deidra… not Kayla.”
“Okay, baby,” she responds. “Let me go in this kitchen and see if they need my help.”
Big Ma shuffles along and I apologize. “Her mind comes and goes.”
“That’s okay. I guess that ex of yours made a lasting impression, huh?”
“Anyway, come with me.”
Deidra follows me to the backyard to meet Daddy. He’s sitting down but managing the grill, drinking beer with my uncle and male cousins. He gives us welcoming hugs and pulls up two additional chairs. Then he turns his attention to Deidra. “Put a ring on it, quick,” he says.
“Daddy!” I say as everyone in earshot laughs.
“This young lady,” he says, pointing with the bottle, “has made me a believer. She’s a keeper.” He tips the bottle to me. “But I can’t expect you to make the first move.”
“Amen,” Deidra says.
I’m well aware that a little over a year ago, I was content with being single— that I abandoned the possibility of love. But he doesn’t have to slap the past in my face or embarrass me before multiple people.
I could probably stand a few more of his playful remarks if my whorish second cousin wasn’t salivating over Deidra. He’s standing around, inching his way closer to where we’re seated. “Okay, Daddy,” I say and escort us away.
In the house, I part ways with her and head to the kitchen to snitch on Daddy. I know my parents well, so retaliation is easy. “Mama, your husband is way past his limit.”
“I’ll take care of it.” She drops her oven mitten and marches to the backyard.
Satisfied, I join Deidra, Tasha, Shonda, and two more of my cousins in the living room for a round of margaritas until the food is ready. I sit quietly— unhappy about the way this first meeting has already panned out— as they dish about coworkers, friends, and family. They’re telling so much of other people’s business that Shonda and Deidra find out they have a mutual friend.
“How do you know her?” Shonda asks.
“We went to high school together,” Deidra explains. “But she wasn’t trans back then.”
“Nia, you remember Marsha when she was Marshall?”
“Mm-hmm,” I answer and sip.
“What’s wrong with you?” my other cousin asks.
“Girl,” Deidra says, “she’s mad because your grandmother thinks I’m Kayla.”
My cousin laughs. “Ooh, I couldn’t stand her high-yellow, uppity ass! That’s what you get for paradin’ Kayla ’round here like she was the best thing since sliced bread. Now our old loony-ass grandmother is gone keep rubbin’ her in yo’ face. Thank God you dropped her and upgraded ’cause ain’t nothin’ worse than a black bimbo ruinin’ your day. Damn, I hate I missed that conversation.”
My cousin and I haven’t shared an amicable relationship since middle school. I haven’t been in the mood for her big mouth for over fifteen years, and I surely won’t build a tolerance for it today. I head to the bathroom to avoid confrontation. If she has anything else to say about the matter, she is free to say it behind my back.
I didn’t think my time here could get any worse until we gather to eat. Mama forgets to place Deidra’s sweet potato casserole with the spread.
“I thought it was dessert,” Mama says in her own defense.
Everyone who lives on this side of the Mason-Dixon Line knows that sweet potato casserole is a versatile dish. I disregard her sudden ignorance and warm the casserole while everyone else fixes plates and begins to eat.
I can’t pinpoint everyone that ate some of the casserole by the time we’re done eating, but I know for sure Mama didn’t taste one bite of it. And if I collected ten cents for every cold look she has shot Deidra since we walked in the house, I would have an extra $1.70 in my wallet. I hold my tongue, though. I don’t want to shed light on something Deidra probably hasn’t noticed. I wait until Mama walks toward her bedroom to follow her and raise the subject. She rests in her lounger and takes the clip off her long, salt and pepper hair. She removes her flats and says, “Grab my house shoes.”
“Did you try the casserole?”
“You know I don’t experiment with food.”
“Mama, I’m too old for this.”
She narrows her eyes.
“You know what I’m talking about,” I say. “I’m too old for you to ignore who I am. I’m too old for you to ignore my relationship. And I’m definitely too old to go through this with you year after year.”
She exhales and looks at the dresser. Our framed family photograph hasn’t departed the left corner since it was taken in 1998. My brother and I are standing behind our seated parents. We’re color coordinated. Red tops, dark bottoms. Smiling. Together. That’s the last year we were truly a family.
“What do you want from me besides the life and love I tried my hardest to give you?” Mama asks.
“I want you to act your age.”
“Hold up! Don’t get beside yourself, Nia. I’m the mother.”
“Then act like it.” If Mama thinks I’m excusing her behavior for the sake of maternal privilege, she’s wrong. “I don’t have room in my life for people who don’t respect who I am or who I love. I know that sounds harsh, but it’s a truth I live by.”
Mama drops her head for a moment. “Why does it have to be all or nothing with you?”
“That’s the way you raised me,” I remind her and hand over the house shoes.
Mama stays clear of us for the next hour or so but makes an effort to say goodbye before we leave. “It was good to meet
you, Deidra.”
“You too, Mrs. Ellis. The food was so good. Thanks for cooking. I know it’s exhausting.”
Mama leans back on her heels as surprise surfaces on her face. “I can’t remember the last time somebody stood in my house and thanked me for cooking.”
“Did you like the sweet potato casserole? It was my first time making it.”
“It was good,” Mama says with a smile. “And the more you make it, the better it will get.”
Mama isn’t in the running for parent of the year, but at least she ends our visit with a cordial goodbye to Deidra.
Once home, I kick off my sandals and fall to the bed as Deidra searches her iTunes playlists. She selects a Neo Soul artist and stretches across the bed with me. We could have gone out with Tasha and my cousins, but I didn’t feel up to more interaction with people. Thankfully, I have a girlfriend who doesn’t mind staying home on a Saturday evening to keep me company.
She strokes my back for a while and says, “It’s over.”
“Praise God.”
“Your mom was throwing some deep, dry shade my way.”
“So you noticed?”
“Am I blind? And were your exes that bad?”
“It’s not them… or you. My mom just struggles with my sexuality. She even blames Jacoby for turning me lesbian.”
“Was the sex that bad?”
I laugh.
“You don’t disappoint in the bedroom,” she says. “He knows this, and he’s jealous that I get to have every bit of you to myself.”
“Ugh! That’s history. You know I don’t wanna talk about sex with Jacoby.”
“You don’t want to admit that he misses that pus—”
“Baby!”
“Okay. But seriously, he’s in love with you, Nia. That’s why he’s always attacking me.”
“That’s not true,” I counter.
“What’s not true? That he’s always attacking me, or that he’s in love with you?”
“We’ve never had those kinds of feelings for each other.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m positive.”
She lifts an eyebrow. “Anyway, what’s the root of your mom’s struggle? Religion?”
“Not really. She’s still holding on to the fiancé-wedding-child-picket fence-life she envisioned for me.”
“A mother should want more than a hetero fantasy for her child. I can testify that the reality of that fantasy is full of deception and displeasure. I’d never want that for Shannon. I’d never want her to live parts of my life. A mother should hope that her daughter can live the majority of her days in happiness, no matter who she’s with. In this world, that’s a lot to ask.”
We fall quiet and let an orgy of drums, horns, and guitars titillate our voyeuristic ears. The sounds weaken my defenses. I know Deidra’s feeling the same way when she wiggles closer to hold my hand. The moment is a seamless prelude to lovemaking, but I want more than her body. I crave her emotionally. So I open my mouth after three songs to ask, “Why did you stay with him so long?”
Her eyes shift to the wall. “When I got pregnant, I didn’t expect to be a single mother. I was in love… and hopeful. But Shannon’s father— and I use that word lightly— decided in my last trimester that he could delete us from his life. I haven’t seen or heard from him since he made his decision. I met Eric when Shannon was two weeks old and he’s been her father ever since.
“By that point, I was sick of my dad and grandma shuffling me back and forth year after year. I didn’t want my baby to experience that. I wanted a better life for her. I knew Eric would do whatever he could to give us everything we needed and more if I legally committed to him. So, the day after my eighteenth birthday, I married him. The next day, he joined the Navy. We left Memphis and I acted like I was happy with him for thirteen more years because I believed I owed him a fair share of my life for taking care of us.” She pauses and rubs her eyes. “Before I left with him, I had never traveled past Memphis or either side of Mississippi. Relocating means a lot to a girl with nothing but a baby. Things were good at first, but a woman should never feel indebted to a man… It just goes against the natural order of things.”
I reflect on her words. They give insight into the woman she was with him, as well as the woman I’ve fallen in love with. I’d never hold her love hostage. I want her to love me according to her terms— not obligation.
Another song plays before I ask, “Does Shannon know?”
“No,” she whispers.
God. I’m speechless.
We listen to a song with lovesick lyrics before she speaks again. “I also stayed with him because my idea of motherhood was doing everything opposite of Pat. I had to give Shannon everything Pat never gave me. I had to raise her and love her and provide her with a two-parent household and stable family, his family. I tried so hard not to be like Pat that I lost myself. And whenever I thought about her living a happy life when I was sometimes miserable, I hated her.
“You know, when Pat called and told me about her diagnosis, I smiled. I literally smiled. And then I thought ‘payback.’ She got cancer because she didn’t raise me. She got breast cancer because those are the same breasts that should have nourished me. My thoughts were crazy because I couldn’t think past the anger. I can laugh about it now, but in the moment, it drove me temporarily insane.”
She exhales and I do too. She drops her head on her arm and allows the music to soothe her spirit. A few minutes later, she says, “Do you think Pat used you?”
I close my eyes for a moment. It’s my turn to purge. The possibility has crossed my mind a few times. I refused to confront it until now. “The Pat I knew wasn’t neglectful or selfish. But the more I get to know you, the more that I think she exploited our friendship. I don’t feel like it was beyond our friendship for her to be open with me. So I don’t understand why she didn’t tell me about you.”
“If Pat was honest about me, she wouldn’t have been able to use you as a substitute.”
I let go of her hand. Her words bother me, but what can I do about it?
She places her arm across my stomach, staring in my eyes to make me accept the likelihood of ‘substitute.’ “You’re the daughter I never had the chance to be,” she says.
The weight of her secret, the weight of the truth, and the weight of my role in Pat’s life are overbearing. So I bring Deidra’s lips to mine to initiate what we’re both prepared for; something we control and desire; something no one else influences or uses. Lovemaking to lustful tunes eases the burden of past troubles and confirms everything I hope for in our future together.
36
I EASE OUT of bed just after 6:00, before Deidra drifts out of her sleep. Early morning rising brings out the grump in me. Cooking in the morning seems like more of a chore than a necessity. I, however, keep the annoyances at bay because today is a special day. It’s Deidra’s second birthday with me.
She comes downstairs to fresh-cut fruit and hot food that suits her pescetarian diet. Her birthday begins with a long hug and sweet kiss. As she eats, I nibble.
“What do you want for your birthday, baby?” I’ve asked this question for eleven consecutive days. Last year, I treated her to a weekend of pampering in Atlanta. This year, she’s stubborn.
“This is more than enough.”
“This is something I wanted to do for you. What do you want for yourself?”
She sighs and pushes her finished plate away. “I appreciate this, but August second is not significant to me. It only reminds me of consolation gifts and broken promises from you know who.”
“Well, today is like any other Saturday. What do you wanna do? Where do you wanna go?”
She smiles. Something I said delights her ears. “You can take me to Mississippi.”
“You want me to meet your dad?”
“No time’s better than the present.”
I’m not excited about going down to good-ole Mississippi and being in the middle of nowhe
re. But now that I have a working understanding of her family history, I want to meet her father. Her father and grandmother are really the only family members I haven’t met.
As Deidra drives south, I recall the day she opened the lid on the Rosses. It was last year on a late September day. The entire summer, we shared walks along the riverfront. We attended indie concerts and community fests. Deidra drew energy from being out and about in the world— a trait of a Leo— and I loved being with her.
Every weekend, she treated me to movies and restaurants I would have never considered. I enjoyed sci-fi and Vietnamese more than I had expected. She switched my dial to a mode of continuous anticipation. The more our interactions diversified, the thinner her armor became, exposing me to her infectious strength. She became more complete. The highlight of my day. And she started to trust me. She placed trust in my words, intentions, and presence.
My past relationships never embodied a welcoming dependence. Those wasted times were like business relationships with emphasis on cash flow and material resources. Deidra has challenged me to build a courtship on raw desires.
Our desire for emotional intimacy flourished that rainy September day. After catching a midnight movie, I wanted to culminate the night between her legs. She had other plans.
We relaxed in bed with tangled limbs as a single lavender candle lit our faces. “I had a good time.” Though dim in the bedroom, her eyes beamed. “You’re a fresh breath of air,” she said, smiling. “My grandma’s White.”
I untangled our arms and propped myself up on an elbow. Given that we had watched a historical drama set in the South, saturated with horrific race-relation scenes, her statement didn’t really strike me as odd. In true Deidra-style, however, she spared details about her family until an offbeat moment. Maybe the influence of the movie and the shadows in the room made it easier for her to venture into her grandmother’s life.
I settled down and said, “Okay.”
“My grandmother’s parents were working-class, law-abiding, non-discriminating White folks, until their unwed eighteen-year-old daughter gave birth to a half-black baby in Mississippi in the mid-sixties. No surprise, the baby daddy mysteriously vanished and she was disowned. She ran to the nearest city and landed a job at the oh-so-wonderful Carter Funeral Home, the cornerstone of the community.
The Dawn of Nia Page 17
