No, he’d said. That’s not stupid.
He liked that she said ‘small-minded’. It was a word he knew, of course, but had never used. Had never applied to anyone, though the moment she said it, he could think of many contexts where it was relevant, even to him.
Prophet pulled Breonna closer, and wrapped his arms around her middle, her back to his front. She shoved her ass further, nestling it into his groin.
“You sure you don’t want to …?”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” he said. “Let’s just go to sleep.”
He felt the same hint of sadness he had before. The tiniest display of kindness and Breonna offered herself to him. As if kindness always came at a cost.
Sliding an arm beneath her, and the other over her, Prophet held her in a kind of bear-hug. He even kissed her on the side of her neck. And then he closed his eyes. Breonna wasn’t even there in his mind. Instead, images of Jada danced behind his eyelids.
5
Then
“Wear the yellow one,” Dee said. “That color suits you. Wish I could wear yellow.”
Dee was much fairer in complexion than Jada was, than most of their family were, a fact she never stopped remarking on. Though some people might have believed it gave her some advantages, Dee was not part of that school of thought. She tanned herself almost obsessively, and often, Jada caught her looking at her extended legs, grumbling and complaining at their paleness.
Desiree was the only offspring of Jada’s sole uncle, Jimmy, on her father’s side. He had been first to come West from the Carolinas. While doing factory work, he met and married a young, Mexican woman, Loida. They had a short and tumultuous relationship, and only one child, Desiree.
When Loida left Jada’s Uncle Jimmy after only five years, returning to her home country, thoroughly disenchanted with the American dream, she left her daughter behind as well, to be raised by her overworked father. The result was that Dee, a little too pretty for her own good, wound up raised mostly by the streets.
Jada’s parents allowed her cousin in their home because, well, family was family. And since she was without a mother, “the poor girl” as Jada’s parents often referred to her, wasn’t entirely to blame for much of what she had become. She wasn’t much older than Jada but had decades’ worth more experience and a reputation for making bad choices, most of them involving boys, and on occasion, much older men.
Going to the mall, though, was innocent enough. They never interrogated Dee as much when she wanted Jada to go with her on daytime excursions.
Jada shrugged the yellow top over her head, checking the result in her full-length mirror.
“Why do you love him?” she asked, watching Dee tugging on her tight jeans, jumping up and down to work it over her hips.
“Manny?”
“Who else? Of course Manny. You guys are always fighting.”
“Shut up. We don’t fight all the time.”
Jada opened her eyes wide and shook her head in disbelief.
“Dee, I’ve met him a handful of times and you’re always fighting. Right now, you’re fighting.”
“We’re not fighting. Because I got rid of his ass.”
Jada rolled her eyes. “Okay.”
When Dee and Manny were in the middle of drama, her only-slightly-older-in-years, but much-older-in-developmental-stages cousin seemed to find much more time for her.
“Is he going to be at the mall?”
“I don't know,” Dee said unconvincingly.
“I bet he’s there.”
“If he’s there, that’s his own business,” Dee mumbled.
But if Immanuel was there, then maybe ...
“I think I’ll wear these palazzo pants,” Jada said, yanking them off the hanger in her closet. “They make me look like I actually have hips.”
Dee cackled. “Oh no they don’t either.”
~~~
There was A sideshow at Foothill Square. Sideshows, a uniquely Oakland phenomenon, were organized mostly through word-of-mouth. A bunch of guys brought their cars to open areas like parking lots or intersections that didn’t see a lot of traffic and performed stunts, some of them dangerous to drivers and spectators alike.
About thirty cars were on display this afternoon; shiny, ornate and colorful mostly classic American cars, modified with enormous chrome mufflers, shiny rims with spinners and doors that opened vertically. Owners preened and posed next to their vehicles as though someone might take their picture, waiting for their chance to show its horsepower, or the tricks it could do.
Only once they go to the mall parking lot did Jada realize that Dee never had any intention of them shopping, hanging out and eating in the food court, which was what she pictured when her cousin told her where they were going. Instead they were standing in the heat watching drivers perform doughnuts and other crazy maneuvers, the smell of burned rubber permeating the oppressive summer air.
Though the crowd mostly consisted of guys, lots of girls were there as well, maybe to support their guys, or to meet new guys. A few seemed to have genuine interest in the cars, but Desiree was not one of them. She looked around as she dragged Jada through the crowd, impatient, and apparently not particularly happy to be out of the house at all. Something she had been planning clearly wasn’t coming to fruition.
Then, in a cluster of guys admiring a bright-white Grand Torino, Jada and Dee caught sight of Immanuel at the same time.
Knew it, Jada thought. That’s what this little field trip is about.
She didn’t have time to feel too sour about it though, because right next to him was Prophet. He was examining the car with everyone else, running his hand over the sparkling finish, leaning in when someone popped the hood and peering at the engine.
When he stood upright again, he turned his head suddenly to the left as if he felt her stare.
His eyes flickered a little when he saw her. But Jada couldn’t tell whether it was just from surprise, or with pleasure. He nudged his brother and Immanuel glanced over as well, looking pleased, but also a little resigned when he saw Dee.
As they came closer, Dee made a sound in the back of her throat, like a grunt. She was gearing up for a fight. Still, Jada couldn’t bring herself to care about the scene that was about to be made. All she saw was Prophet.
By the time he was close enough to speak, his face had slipped into an unreadable mask.
“Hey,” he said.
Jada couldn’t tell if he really was as indifferent to her being there as he seemed, or whether he was just a good actor.
“Wha’s up, Dee?” Manny was playing it cool too.
“Nothin’s up,” Dee said, sourly. “You didn’t even have to come over here and talk to me, Immanuel. You could’ve just kept right on steppin’.”
“You know I’d never do that shit,” Manny’s voice had become smooth and syrupy.
Jada’s gaze found Prophet’s and he bit back a smile, like they were sharing a private joke. Taking few steps toward her, he blocked her from the warring couple.
In just a few moments they would be warming up, accusations slipping from between Dee’s lips, denials from Manny’s. There would be a storm, and then the calm reconciliation. And round and round they’d go.
Prophet put his hand on her arm, gently urging Jada farther away from that action and toward the cars.
“This is a much better show,” he said, pointing in the direction of the latest stunt.
A guy dressed in white from head-to-toe was ghost-riding a Buick Regal, climbing out onto the hood and standing on it to pop-and-lock in slow-motion while his car rolled forward, driver-less. Jada pretended to care about the spectacle and tried not to focus on her hyper-awareness of his hand touching her.
“What’re you doin’ out here?” he asked.
“Why do you keep asking me why I’m at places?”
“Why you keep comin’ to places where you shouldn’t be?”
“And why do you think you have any idea where I should be?” she
returned, genuinely annoyed now.
They said nothing for a few beats, watching as a black car with flames painted on the sides now rolled into view, bouncing up and down, rims spinning counterclockwise.
“Where’s my shirt?”
Jada turned to look up at him. “I’m keeping it,” she said, sticking out her chin.
Not only had she kept it, she hadn’t washed it. Because it still smelled like him. Smelled like he smelled right now.
“Okay,” he said, shrugging. “Consider it a gift.”
“It’s not a gift if you asked for it back.”
“I want you to have it,” he amended.
Turning her attention toward the show again, Jada took a step back when one of the cars, a new entry into the action, made a wide arc, for a few seconds seeming like it might careen out of control and into the crowd. A few girls shrieked and jumped back.
Prophet took her arm again, gently pulling her a few paces further away.
“I’m sorry you’re so disappointed I showed up today,” she said, feeling stupid for saying it.
But him asking why she was there stung a little and she wasn’t the kind of person who could hide that. She knew she would probably obsess about it later.
“I’m not disappointed.”
“You seem disappointed.”
It felt to Jada like they were like radio operators, sending messages on different frequencies and frustrated that the other person wasn’t receiving them.
“I’m not.”
“Then …”
“I don’t care about watching this,” he said suddenly, indicating the car show. “Do you?”
Jada looked up at him and shook her head.
He led her to sit in a shaded area, under the awning of one of the nearby stores. On the curb once again.
About thirty feet away, Manny and Dee were in the thick of their argument, Dee getting up in his face, gesturing wildly, Manny unmoving, impassive, allowing himself to be cursed out.
“Déjà vu, right?” Prophet said.
Jada nodded. “She really loves him, though.”
“That what love looks like?”
“I think it makes people passionate. And sometimes even stupid.”
“Well, they’re definitely stupid.”
Jada laughed. “You don’t think that’s love?”
They watched as Manny grabbed ahold of the tail of Dee’s shirt, tugged it gently, and she suddenly stopped shouting, stopped gesticulating. For a moment they just stared at each other, then Manny tilted his head to one side, leaned in, kissed Dee’s neck.
Prophet shrugged. “What do I know?”
“Okay, so let’s say that’s not love. What would it look like to you?” she challenged.
“It would look like … someone inspiring you to be your best self.”
“So … not hollering in your face in a shopping mall parking lot?” Jada said.
“Hey, you know your cousin better than I do. Maybe that’s her best self.”
Jada nudged him hard in the ribs. He laughed.
“Dee does love him. She just hasn’t seen too much of how that’s supposed to look.”
“How ‘bout you? Have you seen how it’s supposed to look?”
She nodded.
“I think so. My parents are still pretty sweet to each other. My father brings my mother a cup of tea every night in bed. He massages her feet when they’re sitting on the couch watching television together. And sometimes, when she gets excited about a thing, it could be anything, I see him get excited too. Just because she is.”
“Sounds like the real deal to me,” Prophet said.
The sun disappeared fleetingly behind a cloud, and the light was dimmer for a few minutes. Dim enough that they could look directly at each other without shading their eyes.
Jada reached up, suddenly brave, and traced one of the parts in his cornrows, letting the tip of her finger start at his hairline, following the path all the way to the nape of his neck.
“I really hate these,” she said.
He smiled, and there was a momentary recognition of a shared emotion between them. He swallowed, and his Adam’s apple bobbed.
Prophet was very still. Like he didn’t want to move, in case he startled her. When he did move, it was to touch the end of her long braid, resting over her shoulder, then to lift it as if testing its heft. Jada held her breath.
When he dropped it, he did so abruptly, like he had momentarily forgotten his senses and was now in full possession of them once again. He leaned slightly away from her, so her hand no longer touched his nape.
“You really shouldn’t be out here,” he said, shaking his head.
This time, it didn’t bother her because it felt like he meant the opposite.
“How’d you do on that AP English paper?”
“Aced it.”
“For real?” Prophet narrowed his eyes.
“I’m actually a very good student.”
“I believe it.”
“So why don’t you believe I aced it?” Jada asked, feigning offense.
“Okay, so what’d you say in it?”
“What was my thesis you mean? Well. I sort of stole your idea.”
“What idea?”
“About why we call certain movements radical.”
Prophet grinned and nodded. “What’d you say exactly?”
“That maybe calling some African American movements ‘radical’ is a kind of prejudice. Just what you said.”
“Is that what I said?”
“Yeah, you did.”
“But you made it sound much smarter than I did, I bet.”
“I think you’re pretty smart.”
“What makes you think I’m smart, Jada … Hey, what’s your last name anyway?”
“Green. What’s yours?”
“Carter. Like the President.”
“Like the President.”
“Yup. His people probably owned my people back in the day.”
Jada spluttered.
“What?” Prophet laughed. “Am I wrong?”
“Well, there’re lots of Black Carters, so his ‘people’ must have owned a lot of slaves.”
“Word,” he said.
The sideshow was beginning to clear out. They never lasted very long because sooner or later, cops showed up and ordered everyone to get moving; sometimes they issued citations. Dee and Manny were still deep in conversation and had ambled toward Eastmont Mall, looking like they were about to head inside.
Prophet stood and offered Jada his hand, pulling her up so they could follow.
“Y’know what else?” she said.
“What else?” He dropped her hand as soon as she was standing upright.
“I’m usually not all that confident in English. In writing stuff, I mean.”
“You’re in AP. How can you not be confident?”
“I mean, I have to work extra hard at it. I like cry and stuff over my papers and spend all this time on them and never think they’re good enough.”
He smiled. “You cry over your English papers?”
“Sometimes, yeah. But this time? This time I felt good about it. I think you kind of inspired me.”
“You’re welcome,” he said.
Jada smiled. “How ‘bout you?”
“How ‘bout me, what?”
“With school.”
“I’m done.”
“You … graduated early, or …?”
“Nah. I left early.”
“You just dropped out?”
“Tested out.”
“Tested …”
“Yeah.”
“Wow.” She nodded. “So, you are smart.”
“Smart is a relative term, Jada Green, he said ruefully. “Sometimes the life I lead just seems really, really dumb.”
If she believed he wanted her to, she would have asked what he meant by that. But she was pretty sure she already knew the answer.
6
Now
“I
feel like marriage is back in fashion.”
The thought is out of her mouth before Jada can censor herself. Looking around the café as they eat, she notices more couples. And when she checks their hands, there are rings on ring-fingers.
“Was it ever out of fashion?” Ibrahim asks.
“You were away for a while. You missed a couple trends,” she jokes.
And to her surprise, he smiles back at her.
After their one heavy moment, they went on to order lunch—a plant-based burger for Ibrahim, a salmon salad for her. The food is fair. Not exceptional and not worthy of the prices. But the atmosphere is pleasant, and Jada can see where Free Range has become a neighborhood hang-out. Families probably come here to feel like they’re getting out of the house but without straying too far from home.
“What else did I miss?” he asks.
The question feels loaded. She studies him for a while, thinking about her answer.
Does he want light, or does he want heavy? She has plenty of heavy.
He missed the many times she cried in the bathroom, pressing a towel to her face, and once going so far as to stuff her mouth with it so Kaleem wouldn’t hear her from the next room.
He missed the early mornings when she waited in the kitchen for their son to return from his runs, literally wringing her hands. Kaleem ran no matter what, having first asked for permission, insisted and then defied her to continue doing them, even though he now had to do them alone.
And Ibrahim had missed the late nights when she curled her body around a pillow that she covered with one of his shirts, trying to imagine that he was still next to her. And the other nights, when her body was humming, throbbing, aching with the need to be touched, and she resorted to the sorry substitute of touching herself.
And he missed—thank God, he missed—the one time she had almost allowed herself to be tempted into emotional and physical intimacy with another man.
“You didn’t miss much,” she says, finally. “It was an uneventful ten years.”
“You lost your parents,” he points out. “That’s not uneventful.”
A pang hits Jada in the center of her chest.
Her parents both went in quick succession, only seven months apart the way couples like them often do. Her father went out in a dramatic fashion, having a massive public heart attack while waiting for his brakes to be done at an auto repair shop; and her mother had gone quietly, peacefully and in her sleep. Jada had been the one to find her.
Courtship: A 'Snowflake' Novel Page 5
