Getting to Happy

by Terry McMillan

  “You two like each other a lot, then, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Onika says.

  “Yes, Mom, I mean Auntie,” Shy says.

  “Look, girls, I just want you to know I think it’s healthy when you acknowledge who you like.”

  They look a little surprised and not sure if Bernadine is saying what they think she’s saying as she heads on into Onika’s purple and sky blue bathroom, places the purple and blue towels over the rack, picks the damp ones off the floor and tosses them into the basket.

  “Mom, why aren’t you like freaking out?”

  “Why should I be freaking out?” she says, standing in the doorway.

  “Well, just because.”

  “Just because my daughter happens to like girls?”

  “Yeah, my parents would flip,” Shy says.

  “Well, I’m not going to flip or freak out. Plus, I wasn’t born yesterday, Onika.”

  “I can’t believe you’re not angry or anything.”

  “What’s to be angry about? Just don’t get too comfortable. I’m still your mother. Now go back to sleep. I’m making your favorite omelet in the morning. Shy, I thought you were going to call me Mom while you’re here?”

  “I will. I mean I am, Mom.”

  “Are you a vegetarian, too?”

  She shakes her head no. The two of them look as if they’re the ones who’re thunderstruck. As she turns to leave, the girls sit there frozen in place. Bernadine isn’t shocked. In fact, she’s grateful this is finally out in the open. Maybe now her daughter can feel good about who she is and stop hiding it. After she closes the door, Bernadine wonders if John knows.

  At nine-thirty the following morning Bernadine drags herself out of bed, goes to the grocery store then stops by the lender to pick up a set of loan documents. Thanks to James, she’s almost broke. For the past couple of years she’s been living on the fumes from her divorce settlement, and what was left of her investments is almost depleted. Bernadine has never been in this position before. She has just enough money to cover her expenses for nine or ten months. She’s scared.

  If the bank doesn’t give her a loan or she can’t come up with a major source of income between now and then, she may be forced to put her home on the market. She’s lived in this house for twenty-five years. Her kids grew up in it. Of course, she’s been thinking about downsizing since they went away to college and only come home for holidays, and not even full summers anymore. She doesn’t need all this space. But what if she were to get grandkids?

  The court had granted her title to the house free of all encumbrances on top of almost a million dollars. John could afford it. He owned a software company. Still does. The settlement allowed Bernadine to quit her job as a controller at the real estate investment company where she’d worked for years. And rather than start the catering business she’d thought about having one day, she used a good share of the money to open a café: Bernadine’s Sweet Tooth. She invested the rest. But that was fifteen years ago. Before James/Jesse.

  She doesn’t miss her café. For fourteen years, Sweet Tooth thrived. She’d served the finest coffees and teas and personally baked most of the soulful specialties: blackberry cobbler, peach cobbler, sweet potato pie, bread pudding, banana pudding, rice pudding, lemon meringue pie, Seven-Up and Sock-It-to-Me and Red Velvet cakes.

  After James/Jesse, her attitude toward Sweet Tooth changed. The baking became monotonous. There was no more joy, no delight in running the café. It was hard work. There was also no room for variation: a sweet potato pie was a sweet potato pie. A peach cobbler had to be a peach cobbler. As much as she was grateful for all the years it was profitable, Bernadine closed the café four months ago. Business had been steadily falling off. With four years left on the lease and the rent at $3,800 a month, it no longer paid for itself. Times had changed. People were more conscientious about what they ate. She was selling sugar.

  When she gets home, Bernadine is surprised to find the girls already gone. Onika has left a note: “Mom, thanks for understanding about me and Shy. You have no idea how good this makes me feel. After you left my room last night, we were both blown away by your very cool attitude about us. I love her. And she loves me. We’ll see you later. Love, O.”

  What the hell is she talking about? I love her. And she loves me. Bernadine is wondering if she went into Onika’s room last night, what in the hell it was she witnessed. She honestly couldn’t remember anything except getting up this morning to go to the lender. She’d seen their backpacks and assumed they made it in okay. Yesterday evening, when she hadn’t heard from Onika by seven, she remembered taking a sleeping pill and lying down to take a nap so she’d be awake by the time they got there.

  It was that fucking sleeping pill.

  Now she feels shaky. Apparently she’d acknowledged to her daughter she was fine with her being a lesbian—which she is. Bernadine has suspected it for years, but didn’t want to ask Onika. She always felt if it was true, then Onika would tell her when she was ready. Now she has. And Bernadine missed it. All because of a stupid sleeping pill?

  Bernadine is ashamed and afraid because all this self-medicating has turned her into a different person. Where’s she headed if she keeps living like this? She does not want to entertain that thought. She wants her life back, that much she does know. The one she’s in charge of. She’s tired of keeping the pain of the past present. Doesn’t want to keep missing out on the good things. Bernadine begins shaking her head back and forth until she feels dizzy. When she stops, an image of John Jr.’s stupid guinea pigs pops into her head. The ones she accidentally left out in the sun. They spend their whole lives running in place. Bernadine shakes her head one last time. She has no intention of ending up like them.

  Fourteen Years

  On the morning her doorbell rang, Gloria was in the backyard, on her hands and knees, pulling weeds and digging in dirt. She removed her cowhide gloves, wiped the sweat from her brow, took a sip of her Pepsi and yelled, “Be there in a second!”

  Gloria whistled and skipped up the three steps because she was happy. It was her and Marvin’s anniversary. For the past fourteen years they were guilty of filling each other’s lives with so much love they often thanked each other for it. And no matter what day of the week their anniversary fell on, Gloria always took two days off from Oasis—her hair salon—and let Joseph and the girls run things. Right now, Marvin was over at Clarkson’s Nursery buying flats of ocotillo, red yucca and baja ruby fairy dusters along with mulch and Bumper Crop. For at least a decade, they marked their anniversary by planting a single hue of flowers indigenous to the desert. This was their red season.

  The soles of her rubber boots were caked with mud so Gloria kicked them off before entering the kitchen. She could smell the oxtails beginning to stew in the Crock-Pot she’d filled with water and garlic, onions and celery, and probably a dozen spices. This was Marvin’s favorite dish. On their anniversary, she always gave him what he wanted. Last year Gloria gave him an iPod and since Marvin loved him some Marvin Gaye, she had Joline—the little white girl who does weaves down at Oasis—load it up with every song he ever made. Lately, he’d gotten addicted to John Legend so Joline was about to add all the songs from his CD except number five, which was about cheating. Marvin didn’t agree with that one.

  Gloria walked through the family room. Thanks to Marvin—with the help of Savannah’s handy husband, Isaac—the two had brought this fifty-year-old (as of 2005) ranch-style house complete with one-foot-square tiles and skylights, white oak floors and distressed wood cabinets, along with plenty of smooth granite tops. The house was small, not big enough for more than one adult houseguest, since only a daybed fit into one of the three bedrooms. Gloria had fixed up the other room for her three grandkids when they slept over.

  Before she reached the front door, she could see a few long-stemmed birds of paradise and pink ginger peeking through the glass. Gloria was tickled. Marvin always had them delivered early. Wanted her to know
she was still being wooed. It’s definitely date night. They’ll have dinner around six. By candlelight. A couple of glasses of champagne and a bubble bath. By candlelight. Then they’ll turn the lights on to read their cards to each other since neither of them can read without their glasses. Gloria will wear a pretty nightgown. She’s thinking about the crimson one, since she’s managed to maintain the size fourteen she walked her way down to from an eighteen. She’ll spray his favorite cologne in the air and then walk through it. Marvin will wear his plaid cotton bottoms and a white undershirt. By nine o’clock they’ll most likely curl up under the covers and watch Titanic—or try to—since they’ve never managed to make it to the end. Over the years, Gloria has thought about fast-forwarding it, but then that would feel like cheating. Besides, they know how it ends.

  Gloria opened the door and glanced over the delivery boy’s shoulder. She smiled at the boat parked in the driveway. As soon as Marvin had left this morning, she called Tarik to drive it on over. He had hidden it in his backyard for two days. The small Mexican boy didn’t look a day over fifteen and couldn’t be an inch over five feet. There was a hint of black peach fuzz below his nose and he was the one driving that van, so what did she know? “You are Gloria Matthews?”

  “I am, indeed.”

  “Bueno. These flowers for you.” He handed the tall vase to her but it was obvious it was too heavy. “I take in for you?” he asked, first with his eyes.

  Gloria stepped aside. “Thank you.”

  “Happy birthday to you,” he said, as if he’d memorized it.

  “Oh, it’s not my birthday. Anniversary!”

  “Si!Concrashulations!” he said proudly.

  “Muchas gracias!” She ushered him across the room to the nook, where he set the vase in the center of the white table. The tissue paper around the base was wet but she didn’t care. “Muchas gracias,” she said to the boy again, and signed the delivery receipt. As he turned to leave, Gloria reached into what she called her everything drawer and pulled out a ten-dollar bill. “Wait! Tip for you!” she yelled as if he were deaf.

  The young man looked shocked when he saw it was a ten. He took a step forward as if he wanted to hug her but knew it was inappropriate. This woman had made his day. And night. He knew he had made hers, too.

  After he’d gone, Gloria remembered she’d forgotten to take her blood pressure medication again. She took her daily aspirin before she went to bed. She’d had a heart attack back in ’89, right after she met Marvin. This was when he became her personal trainer and nutritionist. He saw to it Gloria walked almost daily and ate wisely. The only time she cheated was during holidays and their anniversary. She was looking forward to having a little gravy this evening.

  As she lifted the top off the oxtails, Gloria knew it would still be a couple of hours before she could add the carrots, tomatoes and butter beans. Butter beans? She didn’t see any of those cans on the counter because she hadn’t taken any out of the cabinet. Shoot. She called Marvin.

  “What’s going on, baby?” he said, singing it like Marvin Gaye.

  “Yes, Mr. Gaye, would you mind picking up a few cans of butter beans on your way home?”

  “I thought you were my butter beans?”

  “I am, but I’m not in a can. How soon before you think you’ll be finished?”

  “Are you rushing me, woman?” he asked, trying to sound harsh, which was almost impossible. “I’ll be there when I get there!”

  Gloria tried to hold back her laughter. “You know Tarik and Nickida are planning to stop by for a hot minute in about an hour or so with the kids. They made us something.”

  “I hope she didn’t have to cook it.”

  Nickida doesn’t have any cooking skills. Gloria and Marvin haven’t been able to figure out how they’re all still alive. She refuses to follow a recipe, and Gloria has tried to teach her the basics since her own mama apparently forgot. Nickida still can’t make a decent tuna sandwich. Even eggs give her problems.

  “The kids made it,” she said while stirring. “Something out of clay. Again.”

  “Then make some room on the shelf by the fireplace. It’s funny how these masterpieces never seem to break, huh, baby?”

  “I’m telling you the truth, but they’re our grandbabies and our house is their museum. So there you go.”

  “Didn’t you hide that volcano that looked like a perforated green penis?”

  “I sure did,” Gloria said, and started laughing. “I have to find it. It was too hard explaining to folks. I keep forgetting to pull it out when they come over. But they don’t seem to notice. Anyway, that beige eruption that sat on the tip of it fell off and broke into so many pieces I cut my toe on it. I cannot for the life of me remember where I hid it. Anyway, baby, are you finding some pretty ones or is that a silly question?”

  “It’s a silly question, Lady Glo. It is truly amazing how many different shades of red there are. God wasn’t joking when he made flowers. And you, Baby Girl. Happy anniversary one more ’gain. Anyway, I’m about to start loading the truck. I have one more little stop to make, and do not ask me where that might be. I’ll swing by the grocery store right afterward. I should be home in the next forty-five minutes to an hour, tops. If that’s okay?”

  “That’s fine. Marvin, I hope you remember what I asked you not to do?”

  “I can’t hear you!”

  “I’m not kidding, Marvin. Don’t you spend a dime on me! Do you understand?”

  “I can’t hear you! Did you say you’re gonna drop a dime on me?”

  Gloria stomped her foot. She knew she was too late. This just meant he wouldn’t be so mad at her for going a little overboard and getting him that twenty-six-foot day cruiser he’d been fantasizing about for the past three years. He needs to fish. And they need to know what it feels like to sleep below the deck on a lake and rock with the waves. Marvin was going to flip. At first he’d be upset. She could hear him now. “Have you lost your mind, baby?” And she would simply say, “Yes, and so what?” And he would say, “It’s beautiful and it’s a dream come true, but I can live without this. We could use this money on a lot of other things.” And she would say, “I know that, but this is what I spent it on. It was my money. Now go on out there and touch it and then stand at the helm and be quiet.” She already had a berth, and this boat was going to get parked in it.

  Plus, Gloria could afford it. The past four years at Oasis had been quite profitable. Since she hired Joline to do weaves for white hair, business jumped. Adding a few more braiders who specialized in natural styles also made a big difference. They’d just recently started cutting and dying men’s hair, since they seemed to spend as much time primping as women did. Metrosexuals is what Joseph said they’re called. Hot-lather shaves had become so popular Gloria had Monique and Twyla specially trained.

  It’s taken almost ten years to update her services and Gloria still can’t keep up with requests for spa treatments. Everybody wants everything waxed. They don’t want hair on their bodies. They live to exfoliate. Crave glycolic peels. They want to be touched, which is why deep tissue, shiatsu and hot stone massages top the list. Cellulite treatments aren’t far behind. And then there are body wraps, scrubs and polishes. Folks want to glow, to leave their worries and dead skin behind.

  For months, Marvin had been helping her search for a bigger space, one that wouldn’t require much work. They knew plumbing would probably be the most extensive thing they’d have to do. Marvin was excited he and Isaac could build those “treatment rooms” with their eyes closed. They thought of them as walk-in closets. However, if Gloria was finally going to have a full-fledged day spa along with her hair salon, they wanted to do it right. Her lease was up in August, eight months from now. So they had a little time. No more strip malls for Oasis Hair & Beauty. Gloria wanted it in a nicer area, one with healthy palm trees and expensive landscaping. Next to a boutique or a hip new restaurant serving food that needed to be explained. Even a Starbucks wouldn’t hurt. So f
ar, no luck. This was just one of many reasons why she bought Marvin that boat. He’d been looking out for her ever since they met.

  Gloria was back outside when she heard her grandkids running on the gravel walkway along the side of the house. They didn’t know how to walk. They sounded like little ponies.

  “Slow down, Blaze!” Nickida yelled. Blaze is four. Nickida yells a lot. She’s six years older than Tarik, which puts her at thirty-eight. She gets on everybody’s nerves except his. Gloria doesn’t know if it’s because she’s so pretty that he tolerates her or because she acts like she needs him for everything. Tarik is forever rushing her to the emergency room. She is such a phony. Even Marvin can see right through her. “What’s she got now?” he always asks her after Tarik explains how Nickida couldn’t breathe or she thinks she’s getting an ulcer. She thought she had cancer on her scalp once but it turned out to be dandruff. It’s always something. Gloria has tried to love her but Nickida makes it difficult. Millions of people hate her because she works in the collection department at the IRS. Tarik is her second husband. She also has a son by her first. Brass is twelve. He lives half-time with Nickida and Tarik and the other half with his dad, Luther, whom Gloria has never met. Brass is cocky, acts more like he’s fifteen, which is why Gloria and Marvin are glad when they come over without him.

  Considering Tarik is a police officer, Gloria wishes he’d apply the skills he uses on the force in his marriage. He never questions anything Nickida does, believes everything she tells him. She certainly knows her power. It’s both sickening and sad for Gloria to see how docile her son acts around his wife. Even Marvin, who has a very high tolerance for bullshit, finds her hard to take in large doses. For this reason, whenever they’re around her, they pretend she’s really sweet and just having a bad hair day.

  “Hi, Gawa!” Blaze yelped.

  “Easy now, Blazie,” Gloria said, draping her arms around this little pint-size person. Blaze, of course, was wearing a blue dress because everything she wears is blue. She refuses to wear pants—and only wears shorts when the temperature is over a hundred.