by Love Belvin
“What’s your grandma’s name?”
Her face hardened in confusion. “Which grandma? I got three.” She held up three fingers.
I guided her. “Your daddy’s mother?”
Keyonna’s head whipped damn near backward to her grandmother. “Her? Oh! Tabitha.”
“Tabitha what?”
She laughed at my strictness. “Lee, like my daddy.” Her palm opened on her chest, chipped pink nail polish on splayed fingers. “Like me.”
“And who’s number forty-three?”
“What?” her mother asked defensively.
Keyonna’s barrettes clanked when her head fell to the side. Ignoring her mother, I maintained a narrow gaze on the seven year old. That was for seconds, until her pretty cinnamon face opened in a bright beam.
“Oh! Bush.” Keyonna’s head tossed back in laughter as the room reacted with varying sighs.
“Oh, shit,” her mother breathed, clearly not knowing her daughter was in possession of that particular knowledge.
She had no idea.
I raised a single brow. “I think his mommy gave him more names than Bush, princess.”
Giggling again, she recited, “George. George Walker. His daddy name Herbie.”
That made me laugh. “Herbert.”
“Yeah! Herbert. George Herbert.”
“Bush,” I corrected.
“Bush!”
The crowd grew in my mother’s living room. We were minutes away from saying grace to eat. They seemed to enjoy the routine Keyonna and I recited since she was able to speak and retain information. I’d told Brick the girl was exceptionally bright, but I didn’t think he got it. A brain with this level of absorption should be exercised. Unfortunately, her father was married to the streets, and her mother’s goal was to stunt on all of Brick’s babies’ mothers.
“And what number is he?”
Her eyes paced my face as she considered it. Keyonna put up four little fingers, and I waited patiently, expression schooled. “Forty-three—no!” She slapped her forehead. “Forty-one. He old.” She laughed.
“He’s old,” I corrected.
Giggling, she argued, “That’s what I said.”
Charm. She had it. Not only was she smart, she was charming. Her trajectory in life be damned, my little cousin was lighthearted and capable of being anything she wanted to be. She was still innocent and receptive to good. My mother taught a class on “The Dimming of Black Girls” due to trauma. Abuse and lack of resources sucked the life out of so many of our sisters, and according to my mother, it often happened around Keyonna’s age. But Brick’s daughter, who I was sure saw too much in her young years, was still innocent.
Was NormaJean this bright-eyed at this age? I was sure Aivery had been. She still was. What about Tori? That thought gave me pause. She’d seemed too converse with adversity. What dimmed Tori? Had she been born strange or did circumstance—trauma—play a part in shaping her dark personality?
Bizarrely enough, my phone vibrated. It was a BBM from the strange girl herself.
Tori: I’m good. About to pool together some cash to get something to cook now.
Anxiously, I replied right away.
Me: What’s on the menu?
“Aye!” Keyonna shouted playfully. “What’s wrong with you?”
That woke me out of my thoughts. I also remembered they had to go. Keyonna was only spending Thanksgiving morning with us. Her mother, Precious, had to hurry home to care for her grandmother, who was basically bedbound.
I reached for my wallet in my pocket while balancing her on my thigh. “I know you gotta go,” I played annoyed. “So, I’ll let you go with some change if you tell everybody in this room who your favorite uncle is.”
My relatives reacted to that, engaging with her. While I knew I wasn’t Keyonna’s biological uncle, it would be years before she did. That’s how many times I’d been referred to as uncle and godfather since she was born. Brick made it that way; Precious, too.
Keyonna took in all the pressure as she continued giggling and snaking her fingers together anxiously. “That’s easy, Uncle Ashton.” Her tiny index pushed into my chest. “You, silly!”
This time, I broke character and laughed hard as hell. “Okay.” I tried catching my breath. “But I’m sure my momma gave me another name, too!” I feigned offense.
I knew she’d recited my name earlier, but I preferred her giving first and last names when answering. It reinforced memory, in my opinion.
Her expression dropped as she computed. “Your other name not, Lee, though.”
My head swung left and right. “No, it’s not.”
“Why?” Keyonna’s forehead creased.
“Because like you, I have my daddy’s last name.”
“Oh.” Her face was still tight. Keyonna didn’t get that although there were so many Lees in the room and I wasn’t, that I was still her family. Her uncle. “But your other name is Spence.”
“Spencer, yes.”
She smiled. “Ashton Spencer.”
I nodded, chest expanding with love and pride. One day, I’d have children of my own. I couldn’t imagine leaving them prematurely through death. I didn’t want them lost in this world without me. I wasn’t sure what good Brick still being among us would have impacted Keyonna’s in life, but I pledged, mutedly, right then and there to remain in her life and be a resource to her. She deserved a better future than her trajectory predicted. A better one than Precious could give her.
As I handed her a fifty-dollar bill, I addressed my mother over Keyonna’s head. “Did you make that call to your connect at Ellis Academy?”
My mother nodded. “She said I should hear back right after the holiday.”
“Cool beans.” I lifted Keyonna from my lap while standing to my feet and kissed her cheek. Her little body wiggled, tickled in the air as she laughed deliriously. “You go be great, princess Keyonna. You better sharpen up on those presidents,” I admonished.
Laughing, she ran over to her mother.
“Alright, the food is ready,” my cousin announced. “Let’s meet in the dining room for grace so we can dig in.”
My phone vibrated again. Always fucking anxious over that damn girl, my hand rushed into my sweats pocket.
Tori: the best dinner. spaghetti
My nose turned up. On Thanksgiving? What in the hell was her family doing that they piece-mealed a spaghetti dish together for this holiday?
That’s fucked up…
The room was emptying around me as I tapped into my Blackberry.
Me: At your place?
“Bye, Uncle Ashton!” Keyonna bade, waving with one hand while the other was in her mother’s grasp.
“Thank you,” Precious humbly provided.
I saluted her. “Always. Let me know if she needs anything. You know that.”
“Okay! Thank you!”
I watched as my aunt, Tabitha, led them out of the living room to the door.
On my way into the dining room, my phone vibrated again.
Tori: no. my aunt Sonyas house.
That shit didn’t sit well on my stomach. I didn’t know if it was the skimpy dinner or the fact that she didn’t use fucking capital letters at the start of her sentences. Either way, by the time I made it to the dining room, I’d made a call.
“Ma, I gotta make a run. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
Her neck rolled, face tight as hell. “What? Right now?”
“Yeah.” I tried kissing her forehead, knowing that wouldn’t cool the wrath I was ensuing. “I’ll be back to eat. I swear.”
“But where are you going?” She had more bass in her voice, causing attention.
“Going to pick up a friend. I’ll be back.” I tried quickly leaving the room.
That didn’t help her fussing. I heard it until I was out of earshot. I went to my room to grab my keys and threw on a hoodie. By the time I made it to the door, my uncle, June, was there, leaning into the wall. As I approached, he opene
d the door.
“Where is this friend, yo?”
My forehead wrinkled. “Why?”
“‘Cause ain’t nobody letting your ass skip out on no fuckin’ Thanksgiving random-fuckin-ly. Some shit going down?”
I scoffed, stepping into the hall. “Nah. I’m legit picking up a friend.”
He followed me down to the elevator. “This friend in trouble? I need to get the hammer?”
“Nah.”
“Fuck it,” he murmured, ignoring me. “We take my ride. I got a couple in there.”
Shaking my head, I hit the button to call the car.
My mouth watered as I gazed at the picture of Samantha’s Thanksgiving plate. It was topped with turkey, ham, macaroni and cheese, greens, potato salad, and coleslaw—that must have been her mom’s side. Still, it looked awesome. It didn’t help that I was hungry. The problem was, she wanted me to send her a picture of my plate. As much as I was looking forward to dinner, I wouldn’t dare send her a picture of spaghetti on Thanksgiving.
So, I typed back that I was still waiting for dinner to be served. God, I hated being a weird human. It seemed all wrong.
“Who you over there texting on that fancy Blackberry, Tori?” Treesha asked, pulling groceries from the bag. We’d finally gotten food to cook. It had taken hours of trying to get people to put in for it and collecting their money. Thank God Ashton had given me that money at the airport, or I’d be shit out of luck. The money my mother finally gave was still on her table. I wanted nothing to do with it. “A boy or a girl?” She grinned.
Fueling her silliness, I answered honestly. “A girl.”
“She the one who got you that phone, or your boxing coach in North Jersey?”
Toya snickered, pulling out pots and pans.
“Neither,” I replied.
“Somebody else?” Toya froze, reaching into the cabinet.
“Hell, yeah,” Renata chimed in. “Tori got somebody sniffing up her ass at that ritzy school. Got her them dope ass clothes!”
Now Treesha was frozen over my aunt, Sonya’s, kitchen table. Only her eyes moved to take me in from head to toe, though I was sitting. “A guy or girl?”
I rolled my eyes, finishing up the message to Samantha.
“A guy, bitch.” Renata swept up the plastic bags to put them into another grocery shopping bag, storing them all.
“Oh, shit,” Treesha whispered. “You like him? Like…like him?”
I shrugged, eyes on my phone like something was grabbing my attention. There wasn’t. I just didn’t want to talk about this. It was nothing at all. Nothing I understood, at least.
“I think he like her, too.” Renata bragged.
“No, he don’t!” I snapped.
“Well, damn, Tori. You ‘on’t think a nigga—or a bitch—could like you?” Toya challenged. I shrugged, rolling my eyes again. “It ain’t like you ugly. Shit.” She scoffed. “You always had a bad ass body, no damn belly—”
“And them fuckin’ titties for days!” Treesha broke out laughing. They slapped palms. “I remember I used to stuff my bras with socks in middle school because I wanted my titties to look like yours.”
“They got a point, Tori.” Renata’s tone was more gentle. “You’s a good-looking girl. You just gotta open up. Talk.”
“I do talk,” I argued. “Y’all think you can drive me up to New Brunswick so I can catch my flight tomorrow?”
“When?” Treesha asked, mouth wide open.
“Tonight. After we eat.” My attention was finally on them. I couldn’t stay down here another night. “I can pay you.”
“How much?” Treesha asked like she had a car. But I had to take her seriously. Sometimes, Renata would let her take her car out.
I shrugged. “After chipping in for food, I got like thirty dollars.”
“That ain’t gone fill up no tank to go up to North Jersey and come back,” Renata returned.
“It’s all I got.”
“That’s what?” Toya asked. “Two hours.”
“It ain’t that long.” I shook my head. “It’s like an hour forty-five minutes.”
“One way, though, T.” Renata’s tone was apologetic. She wasn’t going to do it.
“Tell me more about this guy from Blakewood and, if somebody’ll keep NeNe for me, I’ll do it,” Treesha challenged.
I sucked in a deep breath, leaning back in my chair. “He’s tall, real tall. He’s a football player…the star on the team. Everybody knows him.”
“He the big man on campus,” Renata added.
“Oh, shit!” Toya clapped her hands.
I found myself rolling my eyes a lot. “It’s not that serious.”
“So he ain’t poppin’ up there?” Treesha asked.
“Well…” My head bobbed. “He is, but it’s just not that serious. He got me a phone because I’m like the poorest person there.” I knew that wasn’t all the way true, but it felt that way with Ashton, Aivery, and their West Beverly High crew. “He felt sorry for me, so he bought me a phone.” I shrugged. “It’s probably refurbished.”
“Re-what?” Toya asked.
“Nothing. It’s not that big of a deal,” I sighed again. “He probably does it for other girls.”
“So, the nigga a player, Tori?” Toya wouldn’t drop it.
No amount of deflecting could make me lie. “No.” I shook my head. “I ain’t say all that.”
“Then what is he?” Treesha demanded, clearly entertained that there was somebody who had caught my attention, or I’d caught theirs.
He’s someone else’s boyfriend!
Although Ashton only seemed that way when I saw him with Aivery, holding or kissing her in public. Even that made me feel things. It was stupid. All wrong, and dangerous. These were the things I couldn’t say because I didn’t understand them.
Feeling defeated, as usual, I shrugged again, turning away. My phone rang in my hand. It was my mother. I stood and started to the back of the house to take her call.
“Yeah, Ma.” I rolled my eyes, knowing where the conversation would go.
I swear, I’d just given out this number to my family days ago, and now wished I hadn’t. Not being accessible had its perks.
“Where you at, Tori?”
The short hallway was dark, all the doors closed, making it quieter back here. “At Aunt Sonya’s.”
“Why?”
“What you mean why? I’m with the girls.”
“Sonya cooking?”
I shook my head. “No. She ain’t here.”
“Then what y’all doing?”
“‘Bout to cook something.”
“What y’all cooking?”
“Spaghetti.”
“Oh. What time you coming back here?”
My eyes closed to a squeeze. “I’m not.”
“What? You staying over there?” she yelled. “Ain’t no damn room there!”
I shook my head, frustrated by not having an answer. Treesha hadn’t officially said yes, and Renata hadn’t approved her sister taking her car for such a long trip.
“I’m trying to figure out where I’m staying tonight. I’m not staying there with you. Not with him being around.”
“Damn it, Tori! That’s why you left the money on the fucking table?”
“I don’t want his money.”
“It’s mine, too! I done robbed Peter to pay Paul to get you that money, and you throw a hissy fit and leave it here? Grow the fuck up, KaToria! Come get this money you claim you need at that school.”
I heard a loud knock on the door. It was alarming, just short of a bang. Were the cops here?
I moved toward the front of the house. “You can keep it. Let’s just start over with the next one.”
“Girl, you ‘bout to be nineteen next Wednesday. Ain’t no damn more checks coming! The extension was only for one year!”
That stopped me in my tracks just as Treesha was going for the front door. The girls all seemed just as curious as I was about the knocking.
But my brain fumbled at the reminder that my father had done his duty in catching up on the back payments of child support. He requested an extra year to keep the monthly payments affordable for him. My mother was right: there was no more money to come after my nineteenth birthday.
Treesha opened the door, and a man whose grizzly figure outframed the doorjamb appeared. He had cornrows going to the back of his head and the skin on his face was two-toned. He didn’t look happy either. I couldn’t hear much of their exchange although my eyes were locked ahead on the two, Toya and Renata around me.
“I’m good, Ma. I don’t want that money,” I returned to my mother on the phone.
“That sound dumb as hell, girl! You gone leave money on the table? You ‘posed to be so broke at school. How’re you gonna take care of them things now?”
Ashton.
The big guy stepped inside the tiny trailer, shrinking it even more. That left room for Ashton’s tall figure to enter. His scowl was even deeper as he swept the crowded space.
“I—I’ll figure it out,” I offered without emotion, but with big confidence to my mother. “I gotta go, Ma.” Without waiting for a response, I ended the call.
Ashton’s hard regard had found me. He looked me up and down, taking in my entire being. This inspection was different from that time in his apartment after my fake date. His eyelids were wider then. And it wasn’t like when I went down on him in the therapy room. His jaw clenched over and over then. This scowl was different.
I swallowed hard, trying to appear cool and unbothered. “What are you doing here?”
My body vibrated beneath my clothes and my mouth went completely dry as my pulse beat so hard, I heard it in my head.
He strolled up to me, chin down, eyes hard. “What the hell do you think?”
He smelled annoyingly good. Too good. I forgot how capable he was of making me feel crazy shit inside. He’d gotten a haircut since I left him at the airport yesterday, his beard trimmed and hairline sharp. Even in a hoodie and sweatpants, Ashton looked every bit of the imposing, larger than life energy he was even at BSU. Some say the cool kids at school are only cool at school. Ashton Spencer defied that. At Blakewood, Ashton was usually South Orange: here in the middle of my aunt’s living room in our trailer park, he was every ounce Newark.
