by Tya Marie
“Kelsey, you don’t have to go in with me,” he said, running his hands through my hair and planting a kiss on my forehead. “I've been through this more times than I can count. It’s only a follow-up to see how things are progressing. They take a toll on Normani…”
“Daddy, let me be here for you. For the both of you,” I said, intertwining our arms.
Normani reappeared right on time, her makeup freshly reapplied although her red eyes told her secrets. Daddy placed a comforting hand on her waist, guiding her down the hall as well. We entered the last room on the right, a huge office with a gorgeous view of Central Park. An older woman came from behind her desk, greeting my father and Normani with a warm handshake. Her eyes fell on me last, and I felt my cheeks heat with shame.
“Dr. Collins, this is my daughter Kelsey,” Daddy introduced me with a nudge of his shoulder. “Kelsey, this is Dr. Collins, the woman who is going to make sure your old man stays here for plenty more years to come.”
“Nice to meet you, Kelsey,” Dr. Collins said, greeting me with a handshake, her eyes never leaving mine. “Your father speaks so highly of you. Please, have a seat…”
Three chairs sat in front of Dr. Collins’ immaculate desk. Not a single sheet of paper was out of place, which was to be expected of a neurologist. Normani reached into her purse, pulling out a leather bound notebook, handing it over to Dr. Collins. Daddy placed his forehead into his hand, shaking his head from side-to-side.
“I’ve updated my log of Uriah's activities. His tremors are growing more frequent and I think we may need to consider medication,” Normani said at the same time Daddy cut in with, “Dr. Collins, I am fine, and my wife is overreacting. I don’t need to go the medicine route.”
I could tell by Dr. Collins’ smile that this was a regular occurrence. She took it in stride, saying to Daddy, “Uriah, has there been an increase in tremors?”
“Not…” He trailed off at a stern glare from Normani. “Not enough for me to consider medication. You said exercise can ease the symptoms; I'm still hitting the gym on the regular, and I'm sure as long as I stay consistent I’ll see an improvement.”
Normani buried her face in her hands. “Uriah, we’re expecting a child in less than six months! How are you going to help me if you can't even hold your child without dropping him or her? If the medication can stop the symptoms, why not take it!”
“Because taking it feels like…it feels like I'm giving up. That I'm saying the disease has won,” Daddy admitted, unable to lay his eyes on Normani, who was openly sobbing. “I still got more fight in me. I've worked too hard to get where I am to succumb to this disease. I refuse to.”
The rest of the appointment was spent with Dr. Collins offering her expert opinion on the next steps Daddy could take for treatment. Normani pulled out another notebook, this one red and white, to take notes, her hair falling into her face as she jotted down everything the doctor said. I held his hand the entire time, squeezing it to let him know I was here and not going anywhere any time soon. While they planned the next appointment, I excused myself to the bathroom. Ducking into the last stall, I plopped down on the closed toiled seat, placing my head between my legs and taking deep, calming breaths. Soon the tears began to fall, soaking the knees of my jeans.
“God, I know I've got a lot of nerve calling on you right now, but my family needs you more than anything. If something happens to my father, I’ll lose my mind. All the time I had to spend with him and I spent it hiding…” My throat closed up, cutting off any words I had left and replacing them with sobs.
I heard Dr. Collins’ voice through the walls, joined by the voices of Daddy and Normani. If I didn’t return in a few more minutes, someone would come looking for me. Rising from the seat, I grabbed a wad of toilet paper, dabbing at my eyes as I unlocked the stall. A woman stood in front of the sink, washing her hands as if she were preparing for open heart surgery. Taking a few awkward steps toward the sink, I mimicked her, pumping some of the expensive hand soap into one hand and using the other to create a rich lather using the tepid faucet water.
“Chamomile tea,” the woman said, aiming a small smile in my direction. “It doesn’t erase the bad feeling you’ll get every time you come here, but it’ll help just a bit. The receptionist has this fancy chamomile tea she keeps for special patients. Tell her Arden sent you.”
We turned off our faucets at the same time. Arden handed me a piece of tissue. I took my time drying my hands, knowing once I was done I would have to leave. Arden placed one of her cinnamon colored hands over mine, taking the napkin and tossing it out for me.
“Who are you here for?” she asked.
“My father.”
“Cancer?”
I shook my head. “Parkinson’s.”
“How long did he hide it?”
“With him, who knows? All I know is that his condition is growing worse, and I don’t know how I’m going to help him through this when I can barely keep myself together,” I confessed, taking a few steps toward the door. “Sorry to weigh you down with this. I’m sure you’re here for your own family member. You don’t need to hear about—”
“I don’t mind,” Arden said, holding on to my hand with one hand and rummaging through her purse with the other. She pulled out a business card similar to the ones I collected from politicians back in DC. “You see, it’s part of my job to care. Give me a call if you ever need a listening ear.”
Arden released my hand as the bathroom door opened. Normani appeared, stopping short at the sight of us. I placed the card into my jacket pocket as I turned to greet her. Arden excused herself with a polite wave, leaving the two of us alone.
Normani motioned between me and the door. “Is everything good? She bother you?”
“No,” I replied, walking past her to the door. “She was being nice, offering me some tissue and stuff.”
“Kelsey,” Normani said, taking a step in front of the door, “I’m sorry for not telling you the entire truth. He didn’t tell me either. His ties started going missing. One by one. He would leave the house without one and return wearing one. I ignored it, thinking he would tie it himself in the car. Then he started wearing loafers. He grew out his beard, his line ups at the barbershop were more frequent.”
This time it was my turn to lend a piece of tissue. Normani accepted it graciously, dabbing at her eyes. “How did you find out?”
“He hurt himself chopping vegetables. Damn near cut off his index finger. The doctor required him to sign off on some paperwork and he insisted that I bring him his stamp. I told him no, to just sign the papers.” She took a steadying breath. “His hand went berserk. Three months he hid it from me. Hurt my heart…”
“Thank you,” I said, rubbing my throat to get rid of the lump growing inside of it. “Thank you for being there for him while I was off being a spoiled brat. For being on him about his health. I'm sure you're the one who found this amazing neurologist; thank you for taking care of him the way I should have. I love you, Normani.”
For the duration of their relationship, I spoke of Normani with fondness, calling her everything from “bomb” to “the best.” Today I had to acknowledge that without her, I was not sure what my life would be like. She had done more for my father and myself than either of us could ever repay her for. I hugged her, rocking her as she broke down crying, rubbing her back and whispering in her ear that it was her turn to relax. I would be the strong one for now.
__________
The hum of the subzero freezer was the soundtrack of my midnight snack session. In front of me were empty plates from last night’s spread: steak and homemade mashed potatoes, string beans, fried cauliflower, and Granny’s famous peach cobbler ready for my consumption. She only made it for holidays, family events, and whenever someone could use some cheering up. Today that person was her. We headed to her house after the leaving the doctor’s office. Daddy came clean to her as well, spurring Granny to keep her hands busy for the rest of the day. Like me, she
wanted to know if every test had been done, and was hurt at the answer. My grandmother was one of the strongest people I knew; seeing her hurt made me hurt. I couldn’t sleep, which led me to the kitchen where I ate my troubles instead of pouring them.
“I see I'm not the only one who couldn’t sleep.”
Daddy stood in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, watching me with a grin. He ambled over to a spot at the kitchen island, grabbing a spoon on the way, digging into the other side of the pint. I pushed the large slice of peach cobbler to the middle of the table within reaching distance for both of us. We spent the next ten minutes devouring the dessert, slipping in and out of our own worlds long enough to check one another. My eyes kept finding Daddy’s hand, waiting with dread for it to tremble. It didn’t. He had a few more bites of cobbler, a spoonful of ice cream from the bowl I made, and dropped his spoon in defeat.
“I remember back in my day I could eat this and still have room for a cheeseburger special from the chicken spot,” Daddy said with a nostalgic laugh. “Maybe that was because I was always on the move, running the streets with Koi…”
“And you probably had the munchies,” I added, giggling at how Daddy's face lit up with recognition.
“You are absolutely right. Granny caught me outside smoking with some niggas from up the block one time. She beat my ass for two blocks. Needless to say, that was the last time I smoked outside. Kept my shit on the low ‘cause it wasn’t block boys I had to worry about—it was my grandmother’s friends.”
I snorted, sending ice cream shooting halfway up my nose. Daddy handed me a napkin, shaking his head as I blew my nose. The sticky smell of vanilla would likely follow me to sleep. I finished off the last corner of ice cream, and went to work on the slice sized piece of pie left.
“I gave you my brains, my good looks, my charisma…and my stress eating,” Daddy said, lowering his fork. “Kelsey, I don’t want you losing sleep over me. I lose enough. The reason why I didn’t want to tell you was because you’ve built an entire life for yourself in DC. You're working, traveling, everything I dreamed of you doing, and you shouldn’t have to put it on hold for me. I appreciate you staying long enough to come with me to the doctor, but you're free to go home, baby girl.”
“Can I be candid, Daddy?”
“Of course.”
“DC isn't home; it’s a hideaway. The life I thought I had there was torn apart in less than twenty-four hours. Morris cheated on me, Samira and I are in this awkward place, and if I return I’ll feel just as lonely as I did here. What I'm searching for isn't in a place”—I placed my hand over my heart—“it’s in here.”
Daddy held my face between his hands, planting a kiss on my forehead. He placed his against mine, and we stayed like that for what felt like forever. His lips parted, and he asked, “Are you moving back home?”
“Yeah,” I said, and I could feel a shift inside of me. “I'm coming home.”
__________
I stood in the center of my living room, watching as movers trudged out of the luxury condominium with my belongings, packing them onto a truck that would deliver them to my new apartment, a cozy condo along the Williamsburg waterfront. Daddy wanted me to move back in with him and Normani, a sweet deal that would save me a lot of money in the long run, but if I was going to officially start over in New York City I needed my own space. We reached an agreement—I would do weekends, including Sunday dinners at their place—that made everyone happy, including Granny. She was ecstatic at me moving back home, so much that she planned a large Sunday dinner and invited everyone, including Briana, who agreed to show up in the name of repairing broken family bonds. A feat that would have been impossible months ago, however, Daddy’s illness was bringing about miracles at a paramount time.
“You can load that box into my car,” I said to the mover as he lugged a box labeled “plates,” which really contained my luxury purses. “The same with the garment bags and boxes beside it. Anything with pink tape goes straight into the car.”
The mover answered my order with a nod of his head, carrying the large box out the door as Samira entered the apartment, her jaw dropping at the scarcity of furniture. I waved her over, extending a cold bottle of mineral water, fresh from my now empty fridge. She accepted, untwisting the lid and taking a sip as she walked through the apartment. My bedroom was the last room to be packed up, with my headboard and wardrobe occupying the most time. Samira returned with tears in her eyes, blinking them back to keep them from ruining her makeup.
“Kelsey…”
“I know, it’s abrupt,” I replied with a shrug of my shoulders. “I had a good time here, made a lot of wonderful memories, most of which include you. Sam, I know I'm not the greatest friend in the world—I'm not forthcoming, sometimes I make the worst decisions, and I'm selfish as fuck—but you still held me down in spite of the bad. I wanted to thank you for being a friend when I needed one, Sam. I'm going to miss you.”
Sam held her arms out as if to say what the fuck. “Are you serious? You call me over here to end our friendship by using you moving as some type of cop out. Kelsey, I didn’t want us to be over, I wanted you to be real with me the way you were with Peace. He's a stranger to you—doesn’t know you from a hole in the wall—and you're open for him. How do you think it made me feel to find out the real reason for your behavior through a bathroom stall?”
“You were eavesdropping?”
“If you call not leaving my friend alone with a strange man she doesn’t know eavesdropping, then yes, that’s what I was doing! Unlike you, I'm in this friendship 100%! You gave up like you didn’t give a fuck, and now you call me over here for some weak ass goodbye?”
I rubbed my eyes, working to center myself. “I find it crazy how you can hear the story of what I went through and can still be blind as to why I didn’t want to share it. Five ‘me’s. All in relation to how you feel. Have you considered that I never opened up because it wasn’t good for me? The reason why I opened up to Peace was because I felt like he could understand me because—”
“He's a murderer? A criminal? A savage that should be behind bars?”
“No,” I croaked, shaking my head in disappointment. “He hasn’t judged me. Whenever I talk to him I don’t get ‘DC ladder climber’ like the rest of you. Or privileged. I get human. I've been looking for someone human to relate to. Yes, you have been a good friend to me, Sam, but you think you're entitled to my feelings, my innerworkings, and you haven’t earned that right.”
“And a stranger has?”
I began to play with my fingers, something I did whenever I was nervous. “You know the truth, Sam. What have you done since then?”
“Research.”
“How much do you know?”
Sam took another sip of her water. “The same amount I've known since I met you. That you were the target behind the Sweet Sixteen Massacre. How your father was imprisoned on kingpin charges. The rest is conjecture.” Her eyes met mine. “I looked you up a long time ago, Kelsey. Nothing I read in any of those articles determined how I would treat you. None of it. You claim I've judged you, but you did the same to me, except worse. I was trying to be a real friend. You’ve been nothing more than the self-centered brat people call you behind your back.”
“Glad to know how you really feel,” I said, nudging my head at the door. “Now you can get the fuck out.”
Samira didn’t wait for a second request. She stomped out of my apartment, stopping long enough to look over her shoulder at me, shaking her head as if to keep from speaking the one last bit on her mind. I neither wanted or needed to hear any more of her unspoken “opinions” on me. The moving crew was in the middle of hauling out the last box when Peace appeared, his dark eyes taking in the empty apartment. He stopped a few feet away from me, hands behind his back as he bobbed on his heels, studying the messy bun my hair was in to the worn Stan Smiths on my feet. I wore a chunky sweater and mom jeans, choosing comfort over being cute, though now I wished I had done t
he opposite.
“I guess I'm a little too late to ask you out to dinner?” Peace said, tucking a stray stand of hair behind my ear. “Family calling you home?”
“Life is calling me home,” I said, and I meant it. “I've enjoyed my time here, but I've done everything I can. I think it’s time for me to start the next phase of my life.”
Peace rubbed his beard, absorbing my words. “I feel you on that. After my release, I've been playing around with the idea of settling elsewhere…”
“Well if you feel that restless, you should consider making that move. Unless you have someone holding you here…”
He shook his head. “There is no one.”
Peace closed the space between us, his intoxicating scent creeping up my nose and making my knees grow weak. Why did this man have this effect on me? Even he could see it in the way I began to nervously wring my hands, a nervous sound between a chuckle and hiccup escaping me. I took a step back to regain my composure, choosing to play hostess instead of flustered teenage girl. Peace closed the distance with one step of his Bruno Magli loafers. There was no escaping him, and to be honest, I didn’t want to. This might be the last time I ever saw him again.
“I called you over here to thank you for being such a good friend to me in the brief amount of time we’ve known each other. I don’t have a fancy wine basket, but I have this,” I said, reaching behind me for the gift bag I packed earlier. “It’s my father’s favorite scotch. I didn’t buy it for you because you remind me of my dad, I mean you do remind me of my dad a little, but not in a creepy way. Did I just say that out loud? Fuck, I really told you that out loud. Listen, I'm not crazy or trying to be weird, all I wanted to do was say—”
