Tiny Imperfections

by Alli Frank

  I drop my purse in the kitchen, take off my shoes, and spread my toes. A few deep breaths and I wonder if this is how sheep feel when they realize they are being led to slaughter. I grab a handful of pistachios from a bowl on the counter and head down the hall.

  “Hey, baby, can you fold a few towels for me?” Aunt Viv leans in for a kiss. I grab a basket of towels. This lady doesn’t know what’s coming for her. “You have a good day? I picked up a meaty ham hock on my way home, gonna make us some soup with those navy beans I been soakin’ since this morning. My bones need some warmin’ from a chill I haven’t been able to shake all day.”

  “Soup sounds great.” I fold two towels perfectly and Aunt Viv gives me a nod for a job done to her satisfaction. “Aunt Viv, have you given any thought to how you want to celebrate your fifty years at Fairchild?” I ask as casually as possible while holding up a sheet between us to hide my terrified face.

  “Good Lord willin’ and the creek don’t rise, I will celebrate with a fifty-first year at Fairchild. That’s what I’ll do.” I knew at some point in this conversation a creek might be rising, I just didn’t know it would happen so soon.

  “Yeah, but I mean, don’t you want to do something special to celebrate this year? Let’s be honest, that school would have sunk into the Bay long ago if you hadn’t been there for the last five decades holdin’ it up.” I’m working the flattery angle.

  “Josie, you tryin’ to make me sound old?” Aunt Viv purses her lips at me and places a hand on her hip. “I suppose it would be nice to go to the Mission and try out Alba Ray’s with you and Etta and maybe Louise” (Aunt Viv’s best friend slash nemesis from her card game). “Alba Ray’s is s’posed to be good, though I’m not sure how ’cause I read somewhere that none of those boys who started the restaurant are from Louisiana, so what can they really know about cookin’ Cajun? You gotta be born with it in your soul. But, I’ve been craving me some crawfish étouffée. You know I don’t like cookin’ crawfish at home. Can’t get rid of that stank for days.”

  “Well, that sounds nice, Aunt Viv. Etta and I can definitely take you and Louise to Alba Ray’s, but I was thinking a little bigger, maybe something more along the lines of a party.” I keep my voice upbeat and cheerful, hopeful she will follow suit.

  “A what?”

  “You know, Aunt Viv, a party, a celebration, a reason to get dressed up. Maybe something special at Fairchild. Invite families and alumni from throughout your career who would love to honor you.” As it comes out of my mouth I know it sounds as bad as I think it does.

  “Now why would I want to go prancin’ around some Fairchild party pretending to be fancy? Have you lost your mind? Ain’t no one wants to go celebratin’ some old woman. I’ve just been making people their lunch all these years; I wasn’t savin’ their lives.”

  “Ask any tired, hangry teenage boy at Fairchild and they’d probably say feeding them is saving their life.”

  “Don’t go back-talking me, Josephine Bordelon. You live in my house, you do as I say. There will be no party, you hear me straight? You act like you don’t know nothin’ about me. I raised you, and as an adult I can’t get rid of ya’. You act like you don’t know me at all. Where has your common sense gone, child?”

  This is going exactly as horribly as I was expecting it to. Time to throw down the raw truth.

  “Truth is, Aunt Viv, I was just being nice asking if you want a party. There is going to be a party and there is nothing we can do about it. Nan’s been planning it since before winter break. She’s calling it Viva la Viv. She’s thinking a Miami nightclub kind of theme. I’m afraid she thinks New Orleans and Miami are more or less the same thing. I tried to talk her out of it, I really did, but she insists and she’s not backing down.” There, it’s out. I take two steps back just in case Aunt Viv comes out swinging.

  “You tryin’ to tell me that twig of a thing beat you? Please. I know when you tryin’, Josephine, and I know when you’re not tryin’ hard enough. Whether there’s a party or there’s not I AIN’T GOIN’. And that’s God’s honest truth. A party—ridiculous. Now get out of my way. I gotta put this laundry away and talk myself out of wantin’ to wring your neck.” Aunt Viv snatches up the laundry basket and heads down the hall. I follow after her, a little miffed now that she didn’t even give the party one split second of thought.

  “Aunt Viv, did it ever occur to you that I did try to get Nan to back down from the party? That I tried to tell her you aren’t exactly the celebrating type, that maybe she could try to think of a less public way to honor you? But she wants this party. She wants a reason to show off the school and her generosity and herself to decades of alumni. You are a convenient reason!” I realize this sounds harsh, and I take a moment to shift gears back to the rational. “At the end of the day, Aunt Viv, Nan’s our boss and we’ve got to do what our boss tells us to do, and she’s telling ME to make sure I get YOU to this party. I have college tuition to pay the next four years and it would be nice if you could retire someday soon and I could take care of the both of us. So you see, I CAN’T get fired because my stubborn old mule of an aunt refuses to show up at her own party!” I should have left the mule out of the conversation.

  “I’m not gonna go, Josie, so you best figure out another way to keep your job. A party, what a waste of money. That school could use the money for the party I never asked for in the first place to help some child and his mama pay for a Fairchild education. That’s what I would want to mark my fifty years at Fairchild, to help some mama get her child a good education. If anyone had even had an ounce of common courtesy to ask me what I want, that’s what I would’ve told them.”

  Ouch. Yet again, Aunt Viv is right, on too many fronts. Why didn’t Nan or I ask Aunt Viv what she wanted to commemorate her anniversary at the school back in September? Why was the only possible public recognition a party? The least I could have done is force Nan to ask Aunt Viv how she would like to commemorate fifty years. At her fingertips, Aunt Viv was able to come up with an idea that would contribute to the school community and not waste its financial resources on Grey Goose vodka and mediocre merlot.

  “Damn, Aunt Viv, that’s a great idea, that really is.” Aunt Viv is looking right at me like No shit, Sherlock. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask you directly how you would want to celebrate this milestone. I’m even more sorry I didn’t work harder to get Nan to ask you directly. Your scholarship idea is so good that I promise to work on it. I want to make this happen for you. I will do everything I can to make this happen for you.” I pause for a moment and reach out for Aunt Viv’s hand to seal the promise. She reluctantly takes it and smooths the top of my hand with her other palm, forever the reassuring adult of our household. “But in the meantime there’s still going to be a party and you’re still going to have to g—”

  “Aunt Viv, Aunt Viv, I got an audition at Juilliard!!!! You home? Did you hear me? I got an audition at Juilliard!!!!” Etta comes bounding up the front steps screaming at the top of her lungs. “Aunt Viv, they want me, they really want me! Can you believe it??!!” The front door slams and moments later Etta bursts into our conversation and flings her whole body over Aunt Viv. She doesn’t even notice I’m there. Aunt Viv drops my hand to embrace Etta.

  “How do you know, baby girl?” Aunt Viv asks Etta, the two of them jumping up and down in pure joy.

  “There was an e-mail from the director of admissions, Ms. Sanchez or Santos or something like that, inviting me to come for a live audition on Monday, March 4. Can you believe it, Aunt Viv? Is this the best news ever or what?” As Etta and Aunt Viv embrace again, I catch tears streaming down Aunt Viv’s face. She quickly wipes them away before Etta lets go a second time.

  Etta finally notices I’m standing right there, the woman who gave her life. “Oh, hi, Mama. The car’s parked right out front, can’t believe I scored a prime parking spot. A live audition at Juilliard and I didn’t have to circle the block
five times to find parking, this is like a miracle day.”

  “I’m proud of you, Etta. You deserve that audition and they would have been idiots not to give it to you.”

  “Yeah, but you probably won’t even let me go to the audition since Juilliard’s not Ivy League,” Etta says, throwing a knowing glance at Aunt Viv. That stings.

  “Oh, trust me, she’s gonna let you go,” Aunt Viv pipes in.

  “She is?” Etta doesn’t even try to hide her surprise.

  “Yes. You see, your mama and I were havin’ a discussion before you came in that she needs me to attend a party I really don’t want to go to, but she’s gonna force me to go. That’s okay, though, ’cause in exchange for me going to this party of hers your mama agreed that if you got an audition at Juilliard not only would you get to go, but the three of us would go to New York to make sure you have the best possible audition the good Lord grants you. Isn’t that right, Josephine? Isn’t that what we were just discussin’ before Etta blew in like a hurricane rippin’ through a cane field?”

  “Well, that’s not exactly how I remember the conversation, but there are a few small truths to what you’re sayin’.”

  “I believe that’s EXACTLY how the conversation was goin’ if you want me to attend this party of yours, Josephine.”

  “Aunt Viv, it’s not MY party, it’s YOUR party that Nan is insisting on throwing for you.”

  “Oh and one more thing, Josephine, if there’s going to be a party in my honor I want Dr. Golden there. If it weren’t for him there would be no me to celebrate. Although if I die before this ridiculous party then I suppose I wouldn’t have to go now, would I? But, since I don’t really plan on dyin’ I guess we’re goin’. To the party AND to New York. You can bring Lola as your date.”

  “I thought Etta would be my date.”

  Grabbing Etta’s hand, “No, Dr. Golden AND baby girl are my dates.”

  “Mama, we’re sittin’ here talking about a party where the three of us are going to be all dressed up and lookin’ FIIIIIINE as all get-out and you thought you’d take me as your date? That’s just . . . sad, Mama. Sad, sad, sad. Take a risk, Mama, find a date.”

  “Not Roan!” My clan yells at me in surround sound.

  What’s sad is that, once again, I’m the odd woman out in this threesome. And I’m the one stuck with the bill for our trip to New York. “Aunt Viv, how do you think we’re going to pay for this Bordelon family vacation?” I ask pointedly, annoyed that my own aunt and daughter are expertly manhandling me.

  “Oh, I imagine you’ll figure that one out, Josephine. I trust you’ll get that all laid out nice and neat if you know what’s good for you,” Aunt Viv says, caressing Etta’s hand but looking directly at me with a steely stare. “Whew, all this party and trip takin’ talk has got me kinda hungry. Etta, you want to walk with your aunt Viv to Allstar Donuts?”

  “Mama, are we really all going to go to New York together?” Etta’s excitement is on overload. This news has forced her to allow me to join in on their two-way family celebration.

  “Sounds like we are,” I say, not taking my eyes off Aunt Viv.

  “Yes! Aunt Viv, let’s go get apple fritters to celebrate! Can I tell you what I’m thinking about doing for my different dance pieces at the audition? I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since I opened the e-mail! I’m dying to tell someone, and you’ve seen everything I’ve done, so you can help me!” Etta is talking only in exclamation points. This is the happiest I’ve seen her since the stress of her Fairchild senior year began to ramp up in October. Admittedly, Etta’s sheer joy is contagious, and I start to think a trip to New York with all three of us might be fun. That is, until I remember Aunt Viv’s varsity, A-level, never-knew-she-had-it-in-her, devious negotiation skills.

  “Hey, Aunt Viv,” I call after her as she’s putting on her jacket.

  “Yes, Josephine.”

  “I’m telling Dr. Golden you’re eating donuts and he’s not going to be happy with you. This IS NOT part of your post–heart attack health plan.” Jesus, what am I six?!?!

  “Tattletale! You just concentrate on telling him to come to my party. And remember, if he can’t come, deal’s off. Can we bring you back a donut so you have something to nibble on while you find our flights? I ain’t never been to New York and I can’t wait to go. You think we’ll have time to see a Broadway show or maybe those Rockettes?” Aunt Viv chitchats with Etta like schoolgirl besties as they head toward the door.

  “Stop spending money we don’t have!” I yell after them. How, in a matter of ten minutes, did this party I never wanted to happen, and Aunt Viv surely never wanted to attend, end up costing me a trip to New York? Is there any way I can expense our plane tickets to the party?

  “While we’re gone you need to stir the soup. And put some cream on those hands and elbows of yours, Josephine. Bordelon women don’t do ashy. We don’t want you embarrassin’ us in New York, isn’t that right, Etta?” I swear I detect Aunt Viv humming Frank Sinatra’s “New York, New York” on the way out the door.

  NINETEEN

  The house is up early getting ready for our Saturday. Aunt Viv has cards at Louise’s house and I have my fifth Saturday of kindergarten visit dates at Fairchild. I reach past Aunt Viv for my 32 oz. to-go cup and lid. She’s singing Alicia Keys’s “Empire State of Mind” for what feels like the seventy-fifth time. Her anticipation is endearing, but the tune is getting old. I grab a pear, give Aunt Viv a little pat on the booty, and remind her to wake up Etta in time to shower and study up for her Duke interview at noon. I dash out the door into the San Francisco Indian summer that comes every mid- to late-February—72 degrees and sunny. The whole city is in a good mood.

  I always settle into the chaos of visit-date-Saturdays with a half hour to quietly read through e-mails in my office for anything last minute or urgent (which usually means a panicked parent because Junior woke up with a fever, and is it possible to reschedule otherwise Junior will end up in juvie, unemployable, then destitute and living on the streets, and it will all be my fault). I send Etta a quick text to make sure she’s up.

  JOSIE

  What are you wearing for your interview?

  8:32 A.M.

  Nope. Can’t send that. It’s just begging for a snotty response from a teenage daughter.

  DE-LEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-TE.

  Hope you slept well can’t wait to hear about interview when I get home. Where is it again?

  ETTA

  Guy just texted moved it to 3 @ peets coffee in laurel village I could have slept in.

  8:33 A.M.

  JOSIE

  K. I’ll check in later. Love you. Go back to sleep.

  8:33 A.M.

  Perfect! I’ll be done by three o’clock and I promised to swing by the grocery store for Aunt Viv, so I’ll go to Cal-Mart and casually walk by Peet’s and see if I can spot Etta. I know she’s upheld her end of the college application bargain, but still I find myself worrying about her interview. One minute it’s about her grooming, the next it’s her test scores. Should she share her SATs since they’re so good? A quick spy will calm my nerves. Nothing creepy or overbearing, of course. I won’t introduce myself to Mr. Duke or share a few key facts about my intelligent daughter. I’m not that parent.

  FROM: Yu Yan (Helen) Wu

  DATE: February 16, 2019

  SUBJECT: Liu Twins

  TO: Josephine Bordelon

  Dear Josephine,

  I hope this e-mail finds you well. Mr. Liu has been waiting patiently to hear from Fairchild, per the twins’ attendance. As you can imagine he is a very busy man and he would like to settle the acceptance and tuition payment for Mei and Bai as soon as possible. In your reply Mr. Liu would like to better understand why the tuition is so high as the school does not make a profit. He also asked me to share with you that he has had his assis
tant do research on the neighborhood where Fairchild is located, and it has come to his attention that the house next to the school is for sale. Mr. Liu is willing to buy the house for cash and lease it to Fairchild for market price, so the school can have more space for programming. The Liu’s ayi told him that the school is “compact” and is in need of more buildings.

  Additionally, Mr. Liu would like to know exactly how many sports and extra school activities per week Mei and Bai need to do when the family moves to San Francisco, so they will be appropriately groomed for Harvard acceptance. And if you could advise exactly what sports and what activities would be best that would greatly assist Mr. Liu.

  A check for $73,000 is in the mail to cover tuition as well as a small gift to Fairchild for expediting the application and acceptance process. Please e-mail me when you receive the check, so I may officially inform Mr. Liu that the children are enrolled in school. Lastly, after you have spoken to the head of school please share with me if you would like Mr. Liu to buy the adjacent property and draw up a lease for Fairchild and the Liu Corporation to sign.

  Thank you,

  Yu Yan (Helen) Wu

  EDUCATION CONSULTANT

  ADMIT INTERNATIONAL, HONG KONG

  Ugh, this is neither last-minute nor urgent, it’s just annoying. Did Helen and the Lius not read the detailed instructions on how to apply to Fairchild as an international applicant? All acceptances, U.S. or foreign, are given on the same day and that day is not today. Plus, she wasn’t joking with the small gift comment. Tuition is $36,400. The $200 Liu gift is not going to buy them any influence.

  Today is dedicated to buying local—not imports. In ten minutes six of the most well-bribed rising kindergarteners in the Bay Area will be ushered by their parents across the Fairchild threshold for the finals of the private school admissions Olympics—the visit date with strangers. But, before I tear myself away from e-mail I indulge in a little wishful shade and peck out a reply to Helen.