“Yeah, okay. Sure. Next year,” I said, throwing the journal on my desk like a piece of hot garbage.
Her face fell as she stepped out of my way. Our bubble felt smaller, and not in a good way.
I woke up in the morning with an empty space next to me. Monday had left. As expected from the silent treatment I gave her the rest of the night. I flopped, tossed, and turned. I didn’t want to fight. I wasn’t mad at her. I was mad at myself. Now I wouldn’t see her for a whole seven days. I wouldn’t have a chance to apologize.
A fit of giggles floated upstairs.
I tiptoed to peer over the stair banister at Monday and Ma, hugged up under the red throw. Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer on the TV, a smile on Ma’s face, and a bowl of cereal in Monday’s lap. Ma kissed Monday’s temple, pushing her braids behind her ears. She glanced up at me and smiled.
“Morning, Sweet Pea. Come watch the movie.”
Monday tensed, peering over as I thumped down the stairs. I sat on the other side of Ma, snuggling under her armpit. Ma grinned and kissed the side of my temple like she did Monday’s.
“It’s nice to spend the morning with my two girls.”
Monday beamed at her and focused back on the movie, passing her half-eaten bowl of cereal in my direction with a smirk. An offer. An apology.
I grinned and accepted. “Thanks.”
January
Maybe I’m not the best person to talk about the bruises.
See, I’d seen a couple on Monday, here and there. But I never gave them much thought. They were always followed by the most practical excuses. I mean, kids bruise. We roughhouse, we jump, we run, we fall, and then we bruise. Sometimes we even scar. So if I did see a bruise or a cut, it meant nothing. Just another star in the sky.
I read a report that said there were over two dozen scars on Monday’s body when they found her.
One Year Before the Before
Monday stumbled into homeroom, her legs shaking with every measured step.
“Morning, Monday,” Ms. Valente said from her desk, checking off her attendance sheet. “How was your break?”
Monday swiped a white tongue across her chapped, trembling lips, books squished into her chest. Ms. Valente looked up, her face softening.
“Monday? Everything okay?”
“I’m fine,” she mumbled, barely audible, before shuffling to a seat next to me. Ms. Valente stared at her for a long while, studying her the way you would take in a stranger. Monday clutched her desk as if she thought it would be ripped from under her. Her braids were fuzzier than I’d ever seen them, the ends unraveling and dry. Maybe she forgot to oil her scalp before bed.
I whispered, “Big news?” You okay?
Her bloodshot eyes flickered over, not responding.
Ms. Valente stared at her with a wary eye. She opened her mouth just as the bell rang, then shut it.
Monday carried on like a zombie, shuffling through the halls, blindly bumping into people, sitting motionless in classes, not even bothering to lift a pencil.
“What’s wrong?” I pleaded during lunch. “What happened? Did Jacob do something again?”
Nothing. No signs of life. Tired of talking to myself, we sat in silence. Her eyes roamed around the palms of her hands, tracing the lines with her pinkie, her lunch untouched. Where is this coming from? I wondered. She seemed fine when Grandmamma let me call her on Christmas. Was she mad at me?
By the end of the day, I bolted for the library. She must be sick, I told myself over and over, soothing my anxious nerves. She’ll go home, sleep it off, and will be better tomorrow. I wasn’t halfway when I noticed a shadow following me on Good Hope Road and stopped short.
“What are you doing?”
Monday blinked up at me. The most response I’d seen her have all day. “Library?”
“But . . . where’s August? You just gonna leave him?”
She froze as if I’d said something terrifying and stuttered through an answer.
“He’s . . . sick. Mom . . . kept him home.”
That would be her answer for weeks. Every time I asked about him, he had some mysterious illness that kept him bedridden.
By the end of the month, Monday morphed back into herself but still dodged any questions about him.
“What’s up with August?” I asked on the way to the library, walking over piles of black snow, the icy breeze breaking through my gloves.
“He’s sick,” she said, stuffing her hands in her pockets.
“Dang, still? Y’all been to the doctor yet?”
“Yeah,” she said, sniffing her running nose.
“And? What they say?”
Monday sucked her teeth. “Why you keep asking about August? He ain’t none of your business!”
The words came out so nasty that they even smelled nasty.
“Dang, you don’t got to talk to me like that! I just asking—”
“And you keep on asking! I told you he was sick! Why don’t you get that? It ain’t like I have to read it for you.”
I froze in the middle of the block.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I cried. “It was just a question!”
She whipped around to face me. “And I already told you! So why you keep asking about him?”
“I guess ’cause . . . he’s your brother and I—”
“That’s right. He’s my brother! He ain’t yours. Just because you can’t have one of your own don’t mean you gotta be sweating mine!”
The negative-two-degree air ripped holes through my lungs as I gasped.
Monday winced almost immediately. “Shit, Claudia, I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.”
“Whatever,” I snapped, brushing by her.
“Fine, whatever. Do your own homework, then!” she screamed, storming off in the opposite direction.
“Fine, I will!”
Our first fight, and I had no idea what I’d done wrong.
The Before
On Martin Luther King Day, the church hosts its annual soup kitchen. Feeding close to three hundred people, it’s our busiest day of the year next to Christmas and Easter.
Daddy and the men’s ministry set up large tables and chairs in the community room while the teens decorated and handled cleanup. The media ministry manned the DJ equipment, playing gospel hits in between the choir’s short performances.
Of course, Ma was in charge of the kitchen and I had no choice but to be one of her sous chefs. Like a big factory with everyone dressed in plastic aprons and gloves, we took our places in the assembly line, seasoning chicken, chopping vegetables, baking rolls, and napkin-wrapping utensils.
In the past, Monday would come help. She loved cooking next to Ma and had a knack for keeping the kiddies occupied.
“Ms. Pearl, how’s my greens looking?” Ma shouted over the busy assembly line, pulling out a pan of chicken. Her hair frizzed from the heat of the hot stoves. We’d been at it since dawn, the dining room not scheduled to open for another hour.
“Almost done.”
“Ms. Janet,” someone yelled. “The rice is done.”
“Great, we just about ready,” Ma said, pouring gravy over the chicken. “Sweet Pea, watch how thick you cutting them carrots. We don’t want them too big and run out.”
We had enough carrots to feed the entire city—I should know since I cut them all.
“Yes, Ma,” I mumbled, wiping the sweat off my brow with my sleeve.
“And smile! These folks got a lot more to mope about than you.”
The guilt card always wins. I grinned wide enough to show all my teeth.
“Ooo, child, don’t scare them!” Ma shook her head with a smile, wrapping a free arm around my shoulders. “Come here, let me show you something right quick.”
Ma led me over to the window, looking out into the parking lot. A line had formed, starting from the door out the gate and down the street. Folks stood out in the freezing cold, in jackets as thick as plastic bags with clothes that could stand for a few w
ashes. Others were draped in thick gray blankets. Daddy, along with some of the other church members, passed out steaming cups of hot coffee.
“See that? That could be me and you out there. Some of those families, they not homeless but haven’t had a proper meal in who knows how long. Think of all the good you’re doing these folks.”
Recognizing some kids from Ed Borough mixed in with the adults, my heart sank, picturing Monday standing out there with them.
“So remember, Sweet Pea, just ’cause someone got a roof, don’t make it a home. We don’t have everything, but we have a lot to be grateful for. You understand?”
Ma squeezed my shoulder, and I squeezed back and nodded.
“Alright, Ms. Allen, let’s wrap up those buns. Keep them nice and warm. Doors are about to open, people!”
With the buffet tables set, the Sternos lit, and the food laid out, Ma gave Daddy the signal. The doors opened, and a stampede rushed into the community room, directly to the buffet. Ma spooned out slices of chicken and ham at the start of the line while I passed out rolls at the end. Folks were so . . . thankful and happy. Ma talked to just about everybody, striking up a warm conversation and sending blessings. She’s never treated anyone different because of where they came from or what they had.
Throughout the day, the kitchen crew hustled to replace the empty pans. When I finished with the bread, I walked around, refilling cups of iced tea and coffee. The little kids ran in circles, reminding me of the way August and Tuesday used to play. Thinking of August, I ran upstairs to the nursery, grabbed a handful of broken crayons and a stack of paper from the bin. Clearing off a table, I dropped the supplies and watched as the kids’ faces lit up. I drew silly shapes in pen and showed them how to color in the lines. It felt good to make kids laugh again. I know Monday hated how I checked up on August all the time, but if Monday was like a sister, then August was like a brother. I missed them both. I missed that part of my family.
Dad stopped by our coloring station, grinning. “Hey, Sweet Pea, your mom is looking for you.”
“Okay. Can you stay with them? Make sure they keep the crayons off the walls and on the table? Teach them how to stay in the lines.”
He chuckled. “What makes you think I can stay in the lines?”
“Yeah, you right. Just keep to the simple stuff,” I giggled and ran off, slipping behind the buffet.
“Yes, Ma?”
Relieved, Ma nodded at Ms. Shonda next to her.
“Oh good, take over for Ms. Shonda. She needs to drive her mother home. And grab that tray out the kitchen, will you?”
“Here, let me help you,” Ms. Shonda said, and I followed her to the kitchen. “I was watching you out there. It was real nice what you did for those kids.”
I shrugged with a grin. “Just keeping them busy.”
Ms. Shonda pulled the last tray of chicken out the warmer.
“And where’s your cousin? You know, the one you used to bring here every MLK Day?”
“Oh, um, that wasn’t my cousin. That was . . . is my best friend.”
“Well, where she at? She was real good at dealing with the babies.”
“She’s . . . at her dad’s. I mean, her aunt’s,” I said, backpedaling. Because even though that’s what everyone had told me, it felt like a lie. A big, fat lie.
I rushed back to the buffet next to Ma and took Ms. Shonda’s place.
“Not too much now, just a nice spoonful,” Ma directed me. “Don’t want to weigh down people’s plates.”
Luckily, the line began to thin out until there were only a few people left to serve.
“Hey, Ms. Swaby.” Ma beamed.
Ms. Swaby. Such a stick-thin, fragile old woman, I questioned whether I should weigh her plate down and if she’d have the strength to carry it.
“Hey, Janet, how are you?” she asked, a bright white smile on her smooth dark-skinned face.
“Doing just fine. How about yourself? Haven’t seen you since Thanksgiving.”
Ms. Swaby was one of the church elders who prayed the hardest and loudest during Pastor’s sermons. She took a long, deep sigh. “Well, I was doing okay. Until them eviction notices came around.”
“Oh no! Not you too,” Ma gasped. “I’ve been hearing about them.”
“Yes, ma’am. Been living in Ed Borough my whole life and never had no problems. Now they coming around serving everybody. This city has it out bad for us. They’ve wanted that land for as long as I can remember. Rather throw us all out and start with a clean slate than fix a broken toilet.”
“Well, what are you gonna do?”
“Pastor is calling an emergency meeting with the city council, to see how he can help us.”
“You’ll let me know how I can help too, okay? Ain’t right to put folks out they homes like this.”
“Thanks, Janet, that’s real sweet of you,” Ms. Swaby said, making her way down the buffet line. “Pray for us in the meantime.”
“Yes, ma’am, I surely will. Oh! Ms. Swaby, quick question for you. Have you seen . . . Monday Charles lately?”
The spoon nearly slipped out of my hand and onto the floor.
Ms. Swaby stood in front of the greens, thinking hard. “Monday Charles? Oh, Patti’s daughter? Yeah, I think so. Got that crazy blond hair now, right?”
I coughed up air and kept my eyes down, trying not to shed tears in the rice.
Ma exhaled, plastering on a fake smile. “No, ma’am. She did that a long time ago. Ain’t likely to do it again.”
“Hmm. Really? I could’ve sworn I just saw her yesterday.” The thing about church elders is they have the worst memories. What they say happened yesterday could have happened three years ago. “Then, hmmm . . . well, I guess I’m not sure. Ain’t that something? And they don’t live but a couple of doors down.”
Ma winced a smile. “That’s okay, Ms. Swaby. Don’t trouble yourself.”
“I’m sure she’s fine. Ain’t no one love her babies like Patti.”
“You right about that. Thanks anyway!”
“Alright, now. Take care.”
Ma continued serving, but I could see through her tight smile and worried eyes that she was also busy thinking.
“Whew, what a day!” Daddy said, collapsing on the living room sofa. We didn’t finish cleaning up until close to ten at night.
Ma turned on the lights in the kitchen, unpacking her seasonings, placing them back in the pantry. A yawn escaped me as I flopped down next to Daddy.
“You did good today, Sweet Pea,” Daddy said, hugging my shoulders.
“Thanks, Daddy!”
“Claudia, don’t get too comfortable on that sofa,” Ma hollered from the kitchen. “Go on upstairs and get ready for school.”
“Yes, Ma,” I sighed. “Good night, Daddy!”
“Good night, Sweet Pea,” Daddy said. “I’ll drop you off in the morning.”
Exhausted but still on a high from the day, I rushed up to the bathroom. It felt good to be useful for a change. To take my mind off my problems, which seemed so trivial in comparison to everyone else’s. Plus, it was fun being around all the little kids, coloring and making up dances.
Ma’s voice carried upstairs just as I started the water for my bath. “Baby, something don’t feel right.”
“Right about what?”
“Monday.”
“Lawd, Janet. Not this again.”
I closed the bathroom door, letting the water run, and tiptoed closer to the stairs.
“I know, I know. But . . . baby, we ain’t seen her in months. She didn’t come by for the holidays or nothing. Seem strange, don’t it?”
“Not to me,” Daddy huffed. “There are thousands of people in this city that I don’t see every day.”
“That ain’t the same thing and you know it. Don’t it feel different around here . . . without her?”
“Different how?”
“Just . . . quiet,” Ma struggled. “Like something’s . . . missing. We been so busy with work and
Sweet Pea’s schooling stuff.”
“And that’s what we should be focusing on. Sweet Pea’s schooling. This ain’t nothing to mess around with. High school, college . . . that stuff is important. Not what’s happening with her little friend.”
“But it don’t make much sense how she done fell off with Sweet Pea like this.”
Daddy sighed. “Okay . . . I didn’t want to say this before. But maybe it’s time.”
“Well? Say what’s on your mind.”
“People change, Janet. Even children. And maybe . . . well, maybe she didn’t want to be friends with Sweet Pea no more. Maybe they had a falling-out or something we don’t know about. Maybe them rumors from last year . . . got to her.”
“Naw, I can’t see that happening. Those two were thick as thieves.”
“But it does happen, Janet. Especially with little girls. One day they the best of friends, the next day they enemies. Y’all know how . . . temperamental y’all women can get.”
“Hmph. Oh really, sir?” Ma chuckled.
“Baby, you know what I mean. I can’t even tell you how many friends my sister Peggy ran through over the years. She played that ‘And if you don’t do this or that then I’m not your friend’ card more times than I can count.”
Ma didn’t say anything. I hoped she’d speak up. To tell him how Monday and I were different—we were sisters. But her silence felt like betrayal.
“I’m just saying, maybe it’s time Sweet Pea made some new friends,” Daddy offered. “Stop putting all her eggs in one basket. She needs to be more social, instead of staying all cooped up in the house like some old maid. And she’s good with people! You should’ve seen her today! Hostess with the mostess. If Monday were around, I don’t think she would’ve talked to half the people that walked in there today. They’d be in a corner, talking in that funny language they made up.”
Ma sighed. “I guess you’re right. I just never expected this. Not from Monday.”
“Well, sometimes the people we love the most can hurt us the most. Claudia’s about to be in high school, and she’ll need to learn that disappointments are just part of life.”
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