All the Things I Meant to Tell You

by Tiffany L. Warren

  “It sounds like you don’t think I should do this.”

  “I do not believe you will get the peace and empowerment you seek this way.”

  “You’re telling me not to do it, then?”

  “I do not make choices for you, Twila. This is your work.”

  It was my work, and it was my revenge. And Dr. Mays was right. It was one hundred percent my choice on what to do with the information.

  I just wished I knew what that choice was going to be.

  Chapter 22

  HAHNA

  On the entire drive to North Carolina, I wondered if I should warn Sam about my family. Several times, I almost started the conversation to let him know they were nothing like me. I could tell he was nervous about meeting them, but he need not be.

  “So, this is your uncle on your mother’s side or your father’s side?” Sam asked as we passed the WELCOME TO NORTH CAROLINA sign.

  “Uncle Joe was Aunt Sherrie’s husband, and Aunt Sherrie is my mother’s sister.”

  “I see. Do they have any children?”

  “No. I spent enough time over their house that they treated me like a daughter.”

  “Who else am I going to meet? Your father? Siblings? Cousins?”

  I felt a headache starting right behind my left eye. I hated talking about my complicated family tree. But, I guess if I’m going to be with Sam for the foreseeable future that I should probably tell him the basics at least.

  “I haven’t seen my father in twenty years,” I said. “So, if he comes to this funeral I would be surprised.”

  “Why haven’t you seen him? Or is that too personal?”

  “No, not too personal. He got remarried, moved to Alabama and acted like we never existed. I don’t even know if he told his new wife he even has a daughter.”

  “He and your mother must’ve had a strained relationship,” Sam said.

  This made me laugh. Strained was the mildest word that could be used to describe the relationship between my two parents. But even though my father was the one who’d disappeared, I didn’t blame him for that. Rochelle wasn’t someone a man, or anyone for that matter, could stay around. She didn’t allow people to show her love without somehow throwing it back in their faces.

  “But your mother should be here, right?”

  “We’ll see. She and Aunt Sherrie are close-ish. I don’t have siblings. My mother’s first cousin Yolanda and her kids may be there too. They live in Shady Falls and all work at the pickle plant.”

  “Everybody works at the pickle plant?”

  “Pretty much. I think one of my younger cousins is a letter carrier, but the pickle plant employs that entire town. You’ve seen Shady Falls pickles in the grocery store.”

  Sam nodded. “Those are some good pickles. The relish too.”

  “Mmm-hmm. My mama called herself getting away from the pickles and Shady Falls when she was sixteen. She ran off with some man to Goldsboro.”

  “She ran off to the next town?”

  I laughed. “Exactly. She ain’t even run far enough away.”

  “It was a start, I guess. New scenery.”

  “Except the new scenery looked exactly like the old scenery. She ended up working at the grocery store instead of the pickle plant and she met my father at a pinochle game at someone’s after-hours spot.”

  Sam chuckled. “It sounds like your family will give me good material for my next book.”

  “You will have material enough for ten books.”

  I pulled off at the exit for Shady Falls, and felt my anxiety heighten. Dealing with my mother was never fun, and Aunt Sherrie was sure to be a mess. At least we were staying at a hotel instead of at Aunt Sherrie’s five room house.

  After driving a few miles, I turned onto an unmarked dirt road. Sam’s eyebrows shot up.

  “Are you sure this is the road? There’s no sign,” Sam said.

  I laughed. “This town has a total of two stop lights. The main roads have street signs, but this isn’t a main road.”

  It was an ongoing joke of Shady Falls residents that they were one step above a one stoplight town. But the joke was on them, because there wasn’t much more than that extra traffic light. There was a library, a movie theater, a diner, five churches, and a couple of hardware stores. And of course, the dreaded pickle plant.

  “I swear I couldn’t wait to leave here,” I said. “I was so happy to go to Spelman. The entire community helped me go, too.”

  “I bet your mother was proud.”

  I nodded. “She was. She bragged to everybody here and in Goldsboro.”

  “She ever think about moving to Atlanta to be closer to you?”

  “I don’t know if I’ve ever asked her that. I send her money every month, but I was much closer to my grandmother than I am to her.”

  “I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

  I laughed. Rochelle was definitely going to like Sam. He was tall, dark, and fine. She was probably going to flirt with him and embarrass the hell out of me.

  At Aunt Sherrie’s house, there were about six cars, meaning we’d gotten there with the rest of the family and well-wishers. This was a good thing, because all the focus wouldn’t be on us.

  My cousin Tennessee was on the front porch smoking a joint. Someone must’ve stressed him out inside, because he wouldn’t be smoking at Aunt Sherrie’s house otherwise. Aunt Sherrie was a church mother, head usher, and on the nurse’s guild at the Apostolic Holiness Church.

  “Uh-oh,” I said as I parked behind three cars at the edge of the front yard.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “My cousin is smoking weed. Must be drama happening inside.”

  “Maybe he just wanted some weed.”

  “Nah. Aunt Sherrie calls weed the devil’s cigarette.”

  Sam burst into laughter. “Well, what are regular cigarettes?”

  “She didn’t like those either, but she used to be Baptist before she got saved for real, and Uncle Joe wouldn’t give them up. He said if Jesus liked him at the Baptist church when he was smoking then he ought to still like him at the Apostolic church.”

  Sam had disintegrated into full-blown laughter with tears, snorts and knee-slapping.

  “Pull yourself together,” I said trying to contain my own laughter. “My uncle died. We can’t go in there giggling.”

  “Okay. Okay. Tell me how your uncle died. That will help me get the laughs out of my system.”

  “No, it won’t.”

  “What? Why?”

  “’Cause he had a heart attack while he was screwing his mistress, the pickle ho.”

  Sam’s whole body shook with laughter, and I just sat there biting my bottom lip. I knew we both had to stop, and I also knew the pickle ho story would make Sam laugh harder. Maybe, I just wanted to take away some of the anxiety I felt coming here. Laughter helped with that.

  Tennessee walked up to the car, with the still-lit joint hanging from his lips. I lowered the tinted window so he could see inside. He smiled when he saw it was me.

  “Big cuz!” Tennessee said. “Get on out the car so I can hug you. Let me not drop no ashes on this whip.”

  Tennessee put his joint out as I opened the door. He hugged me tightly and swung me in a circle. It’s funny how much he and his sisters loved me since I was gone off to school before they were even born. They knew me as their rich cousin in Atlanta. The one who came down on holidays with expensive presents, and who paid college tuitions, and who kept family members from being evicted. Oh, and the one who paid for funerals.

  I loved them too, though. Especially the youngest of those three, Dakota. She was a lot like I was, except she didn’t make it to college.

  “Are Dakota and Indiana here?” I asked.

  “Dakota is. Indiana off chasing behind one of those baby daddies. You know how it go.”

  “Yeah.”

  “This yo dude?”

  Sam had gotten out on his side of the car and held up one hand to wave at Tennessee.<
br />
  “I’m Sam. Yeah, I’m her dude.”

  Tennessee laughed and walked around the car to hug Sam too. Tennessee had put on weight since the last time I saw him, but he was still tall and still handsome. Cousin Yolanda was always hailed as the pretty one of the family and both Dakota and Tennessee had her looks.

  “Ooh, he that shiny dark,” Tennessee said after hugging Sam. “You African or something? Big cuz done found an African prince.”

  Sam cracked up. “I’m Haitian, but I was born in Florida. Also, not a prince.”

  “Well, my cousin is a queen, so she need more than a prince anyway, ya dig?”

  “I dig.”

  Tennessee patted Sam on the back. I guess that showed his approval. Sam seemed to be enjoying himself already, so maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea.

  “Y’all got here just in time for dinner. My mama cooked, so you know we bout to grub.”

  My stomach growled in anticipation of Cousin Yolanda’s food. She was the designated holiday meal preparation person. No one ever thought about trying to make cornbread dressing, macaroni and cheese, candied yams, potato salad, or greens if Yolanda was cooking. If they did, their little contribution would sit on the table untouched, or worse, consumed by the folks who showed up late after all the good food was already gone.

  “Come on,” I said. “My cousin Yolanda could give your Papa Michel a run for his money.”

  Sam grinned. “She must put both her feet in the greens.”

  Tennessee stuck his chest out. “My mama cook her ass off.”

  “I thought the eating happened after the funeral,” Sam said. “Or that’s how my family does it.”

  “In our family, we start eating as soon as they get news of the person dying,” Tennessee said. “I think ’cause cooking gives everybody something to do, and food makes everyone feel better.”

  I remembered how much food we had when my grandmother passed. My aunts and cousins cooked for days, and then the church cooked too. We ate until we damn near burst, so much that we weren’t paying attention to Rochelle’s shenanigans. I didn’t know if I could ever forgive her for pawning my grandmother’s pearls. I remembered being a little girl and looking up at the shiny beads and touching them in the little special pouch where grandma kept them. Those pearls were her most prized possession. The only real piece of jewelry she owned (only because she wouldn’t let me buy her more), and she wore them every Sunday to church. She always said Jesus deserved her very best, and she gave it to Him.

  “Is Rochelle here?” I asked.

  Tennessee nodded. “Yeah, she here.”

  I didn’t like the way he said that. “She showing her ass?” I asked.

  “A little. That’s why I’m out here. She was tripping about my girlfriend ’cause she white.”

  I shook my head. “You left your girl in there with them?”

  “Naw, she had a friend come and get her. Jayden a good girl. She not gone act up around the family, so she left.”

  I felt my nostrils flare a little. I wasn’t in the mood for my mama if she was showing her ass. Because that meant she was drinking. And if she’d already started, she wasn’t going to stop until she passed out on Aunt Sherrie’s couch.

  “Rochelle drunk?” I asked to confirm my suspicions.

  “On the way. Not there yet,” Tennessee said. “She’ll be cool though. She trying to keep Sherrie together.”

  Hearing this took away all the mirth and joy I felt in the car with Sam. This was the family that I expected. This was the Rochelle I expected.

  “Come on, then,” I said. “Let’s do this.”

  “For Cousin Joe,” Tennessee said.

  “Yep, for Uncle Joe.”

  What had started as a cheerful trio walked into Auntie Sherrie’s house a bit deflated. I still plastered a smile on my face, because I knew my aunt needed to see that. I could smell the food from the first step, and my stomach growled louder.

  “Yolanda made those yeast rolls, didn’t she?” I asked.

  “Sure did. Six dozen. I had to help her last night,” Tennessee said.

  “God bless you,” Sam said.

  My cousin laughed. “When my mama starts in the kitchen, if you’re home, you’re helping.”

  I knew that Sam and Tennessee were being polite by letting me walk up the stairs first, but I didn’t want everyone to stop and look at me when I walked in the door. With all the worrying about how Sam might react to my family, I forgot to mentally prepare myself.

  I pushed open the front door to Aunt Sherrie’s house and it was like I’d just stepped through a time machine portal. As the heat from the non-air-conditioned house hit my face, twenty-five years melted away.

  The first person I laid eyes on was my mother. Rochelle was sitting on the couch facing the door, drink in hand and legs spread wide open to where I could see her pink underwear. I cringed and sighed. There was a reason why I only showed up for weddings and funerals these days. It used to be the holidays too, but I stopped when everyone started acting like my regular gifts of sweaters and scarves were cheap.

  My mother jumped up and cackled when she saw me. “Looka here, everybody. It’s Ms. A-T-L,” she said.

  She wobbled over to hug me with her arms outstretched, spilling what looked like her drink of choice, a vodka cranberry. I let her hug me, but I barely hugged back. The drunken version of my mother was more irritating than the sober version.

  I unentangled myself from her when it became too much and went to my Aunt Sherrie. The hug I gave her was real, and so were the kisses I showered onto her face. Next, I hugged Cousin Yolanda, who was as pretty as ever.

  “This your gentleman caller?” Auntie Sherrie asked.

  I had momentarily forgotten about Sam, still standing at the door with Tennessee. I turned to him and smiled.

  “Yes, everyone, this is Sam. Sam this is everyone.”

  Laughter erupted in the room. Probably because I didn’t even know everyone in here. There was a man posted up next to Cousin Yolanda that I’d never seen, and a whole bunch of folks that probably worked at the pickle factory.

  “She done brought her man to meet us?” Rochelle asked. “Well, lemme get a look at you. Must be special, ’cause she ain’t never brought nobody home.”

  Rochelle wobbled over to Sam and he gave her a chaste hug. She laughed.

  “I ain’t gone bite ya,” she said.

  Sam gave a fake smile. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”

  “Ma’am! Oh, he got good manners,” Rochelle said.

  “Rochelle, leave that young man alone and sit on down,” Yolanda said. “Deacon Jones ‘bout to bless the food.”

  I rushed over to Sam and found a place for us at one of the eight or nine card tables erected in Auntie Sherrie’s living room/dining room. It was really one room that was separated only by the back of the sofa. We were packed tightly, and it was stifling hot, but that part I expected.

  Deacon Jones waited until we were settled in before he started to pray. He sat his hands right on top of his belly until we stopped moving chairs and stepping over people. That’s because his prayers were a big production, and he wanted everyone to hear them. I just wished he’d hurry. I was hungry, and once folks started eating, no one would be worried about me or Sam.

  “Dear Lord, our Father God in heaven,” Deacon Jones said in his loud, booming, behind-the-pulpit voice, “we want to thank you for bringing us all here today. Even though, we are here to celebrate the life of our dearly departed friend, husband, and family member, Joe. Lord, please allow us to remember all of the good times we shared with Joe. He wasn’t a perfect man, but he was a good man. And that is what we choose to remember about him.”

  I glanced at Auntie Sherrie who rocked back and forth in her seat. I couldn’t tell if she was sad or angry, or if Deacon Jones’s prayer brought up good memories or a reminder of how Uncle Joe had died in the throes of passion with another woman. Rochelle had one hand on her back and her drink in the other. Couldn�
�t even set down the liquor during a prayer.

  “We are here to encourage our sister Sherrie,” Deacon Jones continued. “To let her know that while you, oh God, will the send the Comforter, we will also stand in the gap. Lord, help her know we’re holding her up. We are here for her in her time of need and sorrow, like she been for so many of us. We ask all of this in the name of Jesus we pray. Amen.”

  Before he even got the last syllable out good, folks swarmed the table with the food. Sam rose from his seat, but I pulled him back down.

  “We’re not eating?” he whispered.

  “Yes. But wait. I always wait until the first round is done.”

  Sam relaxed in his seat. “Is that wise? These folks look hungry.”

  “Yolanda cooked enough to feed a whole congregation. We’re good.”

  Tennessee and Dakota sat across the table from us. Looking at Dakota’s butterscotch complexion and curly hair was like looking into a mirror.

  “My twin little cousin,” I said as I leaned across the table to hug her.

  “We missed you, Hahna. Why you stop coming down for Christmas?” Dakota asked.

  I nodded toward Rochelle who was standing in the food line dancing. Shaking her hips that needed to be contained in a girdle.

  “Yeah, well, we need you,” Dakota said. “Hi, Sam. I’m Dakota.”

  Sam smiled. “Nice to meet you.”

  “She’s right, you know,” Tennessee said. “When you come around big cuz, you make the rest of us think we can do something outside of here.”

  “You don’t need me for that. Both of you are hella smart. You can get out of this town anytime you want.”

  Cousin Yolanda sat down at the table next to us with a handsome man I hadn’t seen at any of my holiday visits.

  “Hahna baby, we met your gentleman caller, so I want you to meet mine. This is Danny Bailey. Danny, this is our rich Atlanta cousin. She does something with computers, not sure what, but she’s running thangs in Atlanta.”

  Danny waved, since he wasn’t close enough to shake hands or hug. “It’s good to meet you both, rich Atlanta cousin, and her gentleman caller, Sam.”