by L. Divine
“You’re kidding. Nellie’s a virgin?” Jeremy looks as surprised as I did when I first found out. Nellie carries herself like a grown-ass woman, but underneath her bougie exterior she’s really a prude.
“She’s not only a member of our club, but she’s also the president.” Mickey used to tease us all of the time about our status, but I’m proud to be a card-carrying member, and so was Nellie until Tania and Laura came along. Now I don’t even recognize my girl.
“Well, that’ll change quickly if she keeps hanging out with Laura. Virgins aren’t allowed in that clique.” I wonder if Nellie knows about this prerequisite? If she were still my friend I’d feel obligated to tell her. But I’m out of it now. She’s on her own with this one.
“She’s still your friend, Jayd. Nellie’s just tripping.” My mom doesn’t even take holidays off from invading my mind, I see. “And hurry up and get home. You need to rest before you hook up my hair tomorrow.”
“Mom, I’m not even doing my own hair tomorrow. I’m taking the day off.”
“Girl, please. If you want to eat, you’ll get those combs out and get to it.”
“Fine, Mom. Consider it my gift to you.”
“Why, thank you. Now, remember what I said about Nellie. If those girls mean her harm, you have to let her know. If she doesn’t listen, make her. Bye.” Why is it always my responsibility to do right? Just once I’d like to flip out like Misty or Nellie, damn who it ends up hurting. But I want to eat breakfast so I’ll think about taking my mom’s advice, for now.
“Everything good?” Jeremy asks, settling into a cruising speed. He rests his right hand on my thigh like he used to when we were dating. I’m tempted to move it, but I don’t mind so much.
“Yeah, it’s all good. Just thinking about tomorrow.”
“Stay in the moment with me for a little longer, if you don’t mind.” And that’s just what I’m going to do. I look at Jeremy’s olive skin, his loose curls falling over his chiseled cheekbones, tempting me to kiss him softly all over his face. Jeremy allows me an escape from my world in more ways than one. And tomorrow’s going to be a day that can’t come slow enough. So I’ll enjoy the rest of this moment before it’s gone.
It’s a tradition for my mom to make me whatever I want to eat for breakfast on Christmas morning. It’s the best gift she can give me, especially since—for as long as I can remember—Christmas Day has always belonged to my dad. I requested Belgian waffles this year, but I already know that’s not happening because she didn’t make it to the store, with all of her holiday partying and whatnot. But from the sounds of her banging away at the dishes in the kitchen, something’s going to be made this morning and I’m glad because a sistah’s hungry.
After Jeremy dropped me off last night, I came upstairs and fell out on the couch. I didn’t hear my mom come in, but I know it was hella late because I didn’t get home until well after one in the morning. It makes me wonder if Karl sleeps over when I’m not here. I know they spend most of their time at his apartment, but I’m sure a change of scenery must be nice for the two of them.
“Jayd, heat the skillets, please,” my mom says, swishing around the kitchen wearing her old pink robe and a bright flower-patterned scarf tied around her head. She and Karl are spending the day together with his family while I’ll be in Compton. Speaking of which, Rah texted me about stopping by with Rahima for a minute before heading over to his grandparents’ house, but I’m sure my dad’s picking me up early. Maybe we can link up later on while I’m in the area.
“What are we making?” I ask as I intuitively take the two large cast-iron skillets out of the lower cabinet to the right of the stove. Whatever she’s making, she’ll need these to make it good. Mama gave these skillets to my mother when she got married. It’s the only thing my mom took from my daddy’s house when she left him. According to both my mom and Mama, cast-iron skillets are the secret to great cooking and healing.
“Banana pancakes with fresh strawberries. I had some when Karl took me to Tahoe for Thanksgiving and have been craving them ever since.”
“Cravings? Is someone expecting?” I tease, rubbing my mom’s flat belly. From the looks of her body, no one would ever know she’s had a baby.
“Hush yourself, child. You know I had my tubes tied after I had you. And after all the hell I raised with Kaiser to get them done back then, I’d better not have any buns cooking in my oven.”
“But I’ve heard of them growing back together, especially with daughters of Oshune. I read one story about it in the spirit book, too.” My mom looks unimpressed by my knowledge of the subject and, from her glaring green eyes, I think she’s ready to change the topic completely. I must’ve struck a nerve.
“What was that all about with you and Mama yesterday? I tried to probe your mind but you had some sort of block up. I didn’t know you could do that.”
“So you did notice,” I say, remembering the shared vision back to when Mama was a baby. “I don’t know what it was. Mama said my powers are growing if I can see what she sees.”
“I thought it was something like that. It felt strange not being able to talk to you mind-to-mind. Don’t do that again,” she says, pushing me out of the kitchen now that I’ve done my part.
“I didn’t do it on purpose. Don’t you think if I could control it, I would?” I walk out of the kitchen, ready to get my day started. I need to shower and get my outfit together for today before I start on my mom’s hair. Nellie would be envious of my mother’s long, jet-black hair. You can’t buy it in any store. Mama says my mom’s hair is just like her mother’s hair. And, from what I saw yesterday, it is.
“You also need to call Mama before she leaves for the shelter,” my mom says, not wasting any time practicing her powers, which only work on me.
“I’m standing right here, Mom.”
“I know that. I’m just checking to make sure you didn’t figure out a way to keep me out, at least not yet.”
“Not yet. And we can call Mama when I get out the shower. My daddy’s supposed to be here at noon, which only leaves me two hours to get everything done.”
“Well, get moving because my hair’s going to take some time, girl. And I want you to trim my edges too,” she says, like it’s nothing. Damn, that’s going to take another twenty minutes on top of the hour it’ll take just to get all of that hair pressed and flat-ironed. “You can eat while you work, girl.” What a Christmas this is turning out to be.
After downing my breakfast and hooking my mom’s hair up, we called Mama and now I have less than five minutes to get dressed before my dad gets here. I don’t have time to iron, and my clothing choices are severely limited. I knew I should’ve brought all of my clothes with me while I’m at my mom’s. One day I’ll live in one house, with my own room and dresser drawers to match, I pray. Before I can decide between the less wrinkled of my two outfits lying across the couch, my phone vibrates. My dad doesn’t waste any time when he’s ready to go.
“Jayd, why aren’t you downstairs? You know I hate waiting,” my dad says, almost shouting through my small cell. I can’t wait to get a better phone, but for now I’m grateful to have my cheap one.
“Sorry. I had to do my mom’s hair real quick and it put me behind. I just need to put on my shoes and I’ll be right down.” I quickly choose the pink-and-white sweat suit and put my pants on two legs at a time. Maybe if I’m real slow he’ll leave me behind, but I wouldn’t bet on it. My dad likes to show off his children any chance he gets. My brother and sister are grown, so they show up at their own discretion. Too bad I’m still a minor; otherwise my ass would be missing in action more often than not.
“Get a move on it, girl,” he says. Through the phone I can hear him open the car door and light a cigarette. I wish he’d stop smoking. “You couldn’t do her hair last night?”
“We weren’t here.” Not that it’s any of his business. He’s so bossy. I thought Christmas was supposed to be chill. For me, the holiday has always been mor
e drama than it’s worth. Speaking of which, Rah’s text comes through and I’d rather read it than be grilled unnecessarily by my dad. Rah’s still pissed at me for chilling with Jeremy yesterday. Oh well. I can’t please everyone and I’m not about to start trying now. “I’ll be right down.” I’m ready to hang up and check my text, but my dad would rather bitch at me than let me go.
“Hurry up. It’s bad enough I had to leave the party at my house to come all the way out here, and I don’t want to take too long getting back. Everyone’s waiting for us.” Just how he likes it, no doubt. We finally end our call and I check my text message real quick before putting on the rest of my clothes.
Merry Christmas again, Jayd. Hope to see you tonight. Call me when you get back to your mom’s and hopefully we can all chill. And would you mind hooking a brotha’s braids up? You know I got you. Love, Rah.
Anyone reading his texts would say that he was sprung on me, but his sincerity is still questionable in my book. I know he loves me, but not enough to choose me and make me a priority in his life—after Rahima, of course. And when do I get a break from doing hair?
“Never if you’re good at your job. Which, apparently, you are,” my mom says, answering my question without my actually asking it.
“Mom, you’ve got to stop doing that,” I say to my mom, who’s in the kitchen, before checking myself in the mirror one last time before heading out. My puffy ponytail sitting on the top of my head is cute, but I do look like I’m going to another powwow by the beach instead of a family Christmas dinner. Lucky for me I learned a long time ago that it doesn’t matter what I show up wearing. The folks on my father’s side will always find a reason to hate on a sistah.
“Tell Karl I said Merry Christmas, and y’all have fun.” I grab my purse and jacket from the coat rack and check for my daddy’s Christmas card in my purse before opening the front door.
“Yeah, you too,” my mom says with a sly grin before she spreads herself across the couch: my usual spot. She knows she’s pushing it. “See you in the morning, baby.” I shut the door and jog down the stairs where my father has parked his car, blocking the long driveway. Why does he have to be so obnoxious?
“Hi, Daddy,” I say, giving him a hug and handing him his card. He can’t say I never gave him anything. I’m pretty good at making sure everyone gets a card from me for the holidays, but not every year. Sometimes a sistah just can’t afford it.
“Hey there, girl. It took you long enough.” He looks me up and down and I can feel the speech about my attire coming, but I’m sure he’ll wait until we’re in the car before he bites into me.
“Yeah, my bad. Perfection takes time.” What else am I supposed to say? My mom is flyy and he knows it. And I look pretty cute if I do say so myself, especially considering I didn’t have much time to prepare. I’m wearing the yellow rhinestone Bebe sandals Jeremy bought me awhile back, complementing the gold glitter on the sides of my pants and jacket perfectly.
“Tell your mama I said Merry Christmas,” my dad says, unlocking the doors to his Infiniti as I walk around to get in. He should give me this car and buy himself another one, but I know that’ll never happen.
“She says the same thing,” I say, lying to save face.
“What happened to your hair?” My dad looks at my natural do and crinkles up his nose in disapproval. Here we go.
“I came out a black girl, that’s what,” I say, closing my door and fastening my seatbelt. The sooner we get there, the sooner I can leave.
“Couldn’t you fix it up nice? It’s Christmas, for God’s sake. The whole family will be there.” He backs up out of the driveway and heads toward the 105 freeway. I need to pay attention to where we’re going from now on since I’ll be driving soon. Bus routes are completely different from driving directions, and I can already see my ass getting lost.
“Well, God and I had a little chat and she’s cool with the natural me.” My dad looks unamused by my reasoning as he speeds down the highway. I love the way this car drives.
“That’s blasphemy, Jayd, and on the Lord’s birthday, too?”
“Did you check that out with Jesus, because I think he was actually born sometime in the summer.” My daddy rolls his eyes at me because I know he knows I learned that in historical Bible class at the school he sent me to. I did a report on the real birth date of Jesus, and the teacher at Family Christian had to give me an A, even if it did debunk their traditional teachings.
“I know you know God ain’t no woman,” he says, switching to a jazz station to calm his nerves, I assume. He once told me I make his blood pressure rise, just like my mother and grandmother do. I guess it’s still true. “What’s your grandmother teaching you over there?” If he only knew how loaded that question really is.
“The truth.” My little comment silences him for the rest of the ride to Lynwood, and that’s the best gift I can get at the moment. I love my daddy, but we rarely see eye-to-eye on anything. If I say the sky is blue he’ll say it’s purple just to prove me wrong. Mama says it’s because we’re totally opposite signs, me being an Aries and him a Libra. I’m sure she gave my mother the same warning, since she’s the same sign as I am. But, for whatever reason, my mom didn’t listen and now we’re all stuck with each other. Oh well. If nothing else, dealing with drama in my own family has made my skin thick and it’ll have to be extra strong to get through this dinner.
4
Holiday Haters
“It’s alright love/
I let a hater hate.”
—MAINO
When we get to my dad’s house, cars are parked everywhere. His block’s already tight and there’s only parking on one side of the street, so my dad always reserves spaces by stacking cars in his driveway and blocking as many parking spots as he can on the street. The neighbors are hip to my dad’s game, but he still gets away with it every year.
“Dad, do you ever consider that your neighbors might want to use some of the parking for their families?” I ask as he pulls up into his driveway, blocking the sidewalk. It looks like the entire cavalry has shown up for the festivities. The smell of turkey, macaroni and cheese, sweet potato pie, and rolls welcomes me out of the car. Whenever my stepmom gets in the kitchen there’s sure to be a crowd.
“They can park around the corner. I’ve been here longer than any of these folks around here and they all know it,” he says, taking out a cigarette to smoke before going inside. That’s one positive thing I can say about my dad: he could care less what anyone says or thinks about him. I guess I got my “no hater” genes from him, too. Too bad I have to use them to deal with his family as well as the rest of the haters in my life.
As we walk up the driveway and toward the front door I can see inside where everyone’s eating, drinking and talking. This would be fun if I weren’t the chosen piñata for the party. I’ve got my armor on, so they can bring it. I just hope I keep a cool head and don’t swing back. Before I can get in the door good the comments start and my ears are already on fire.
“The child’s saving grace was her hair, but I see she’s let that go too,” one of my drunk aunties sitting on the couch whispers loudly to another one, who’s more drunk than she is. They’ve really got their nerve talking shit about me when I can smell the vodka on their tongues from across the room. As much liquor as there is up in this place, if the next-door neighbors light a match this whole house will go up in flames.
“Well, you know she got that from her mother’s side,” they continue as if I’m not standing right here. I haven’t even got all the way in the house yet and they’re already hating. How did my mom ever deal with this shit?
“Too bad she didn’t get their eyes. Between those green eyes and that chocolate brown skin Lynn Marie’s got, she had our little brother sprung off her hot ass for years.”
“I wonder if she’s gained weight.”
“I wonder if her mama’s still up to no good.”
“I wonder if she’s found another man yet.” My au
nties are enjoying a good laugh at my mother’s expense. My mom has always resented the fact that the night she and her sister met my daddy and Jay’s daddy, my daddy’s sisters didn’t bother to tell her that he had a pregnant wife and young daughter at home already. And my mom was so desperate to get out of Mama’s house and away from Esmeralda’s crazy ass that she didn’t bother with a background check on my dad and his family via the neighborhood. I bet she’ll never make that mistake again.
“Would you like for me to call her and you can ask her yourself?” My question throws my aunts off guard, and they actually stop playing cards and look up at me, like I’m the one out of line. Damn, this family’s got its nerve and then some.
“Young lady, we know your mama’s number.” They look at each other and suck their teeth.
“And we also know you don’t have to call her if you want to talk to her. Or has she lost her powers and her man, too?” What the hell do they know about my mother and her gifts?
“My mother hasn’t lost anything,” I say, defending her without telling her business. I’ll be damned if they’re going to sit up in here and talk about my mother in front of me. I know she’ll appreciate that.
“Yes I do, little one. But don’t waste any more of your energy on them. Your daddy’s folks are notorious ashe stealers. Don’t give in to their negativity, Jayd. Wear your crown, girl, and forget about them. They can’t harm you or me if you learn to block them out.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I think back. Mama always tells me the same thing. Ever since I can remember Mama has warned about guarding my ashe—or spiritual energy—from negative people, family included. My uncles—except for Bryan—and I rarely interact for the same reason. It hurts Mama to keep herself at bay from her own sons, but protection is protection, no matter who the person doing you harm is. And most ashe leaches—as Netta calls them—aren’t aware of their negative power and that makes it worse.
