Truly Madly Royally

by Debbie Rigaud

  “I’m not changing that part again,” Skye whines, and I watch her drop her head, which lands with a thud on her desk like a felled tree. The top of her headscarf fills the screen, and I find myself mesmerized by the blue-and-gold hieroglyphics print.

  I’d like to stay on with her, because it’s fun and it keeps my mind off Owen. I don’t tell her about my urge to call him. Or about the fact that I am buzzing wondering what he wants to show me tomorrow.

  Skye is still head down. We both should have finalized our acceptance speeches by yesterday. We have that specific summer goals schedule we put together months ago. It isn’t too realistic, but it’s still a good way to stay on task. Come fall, when we’re elbow deep in college applications, we’ll be too busy to organize every detail of our personal vs. school vs. career goals.

  “Okay, it’s time for a break.” I let her off the hook.

  She pops her head up whack-a-mole style, suddenly full of energy. I shake my head at her.

  Since middle school, this is how it’s been between me and Skye. We hold strategy meetings like we’re on some workplace TV drama until one of us is too tired to go on. We used to compete against each other, up until some point in seventh grade, when we finally realized we were on the same team. It helped that we became interested in two very different fields. I think it was about the time we realized talking to each other about our dreams and plans somehow helped make them come true. Like workout buddies, we push each other, keep tabs on our progress, hold each other accountable. These strategy rituals have led to some pretty amazing results.

  I hear the timer on the oven go off.

  “The brownies are ready.” I hop to my feet, laptop in hand. “Let’s head to the kitchen.”

  “Who are you bribing or buttering up this time?” Skye asks.

  Skye knows all my tricks. She’s watched me buy or whip up sweet treats for my volunteers and would-be volunteers. Free food is the next best incentive to money. It’s the quickest way to get people to sign up, donate, pitch in, whatever. I’ve learned so much about the power of baking. And even though people like Skye figure out the treats come with a catch, my strategy keeps on reeling them in.

  “I’m not bribing anyone. At least not this time,” I say. “Just making a treat for the kids at camp.”

  I carefully pull out the hot tray, leave it on the stovetop to cool down for a few minutes, and take a seat at the kitchen island to finish my chat with Skye.

  “Aaay!” Zach walks in with a skip in his step. He’s wearing his blue EMT uniform, all ready for his night shift. “Something smells good!”

  “Don’t touch—they’re for the kids,” I warn him. “Skye, don’t you just love his timing?”

  “Where’s Skye?” Zach hovers over my brownies and doesn’t seem interested in my answer.

  “She’s on video chat because she’s in Atlanta for the summer.”

  That somehow captures Zach’s interest. He makes his way to my laptop.

  “A to the T to the L, whaddup, fam?”

  A strange squeak-grunt combo is the only response heard, but we can’t be sure it came from Skye because she’s no longer on-screen.

  “Yo, Skye, we can’t see you,” says Zach.

  “This is my phone call and you come here talking about ‘we,’ ” I chastise him. “Skye, you there?”

  I almost get vertigo looking at the shaky footage of her ceiling. Is this call suddenly on mute?

  Maybe she can’t hear us.

  “Did you drop the phone or something, fam?” asks Zach, chuckling.

  “That’s so strange.” I’m starting to worry. I try one last time. “Skye, please answer.”

  “I’m right here!” She’s back on the phone, but this time without her headscarf. And is that pale pink gloss popping on her lips?

  “There she is.” Zach leans his forearm on my shoulder and bends over for a closer look.

  “Ouch!” I shrug his arm off.

  He pulls up a stool and sits next to me. “Skye, I might be heading to Atlanta for a week this month. A medical resident at my job is heading to a Morehouse alumni event and he wants to introduce me to a few people there,” he says.

  “Oh, that sounds cool.” Skye bats her eyelashes.

  “Yeah, that sounds like it could lead to a good opportunity,” I tell Zach.

  “I mean, I’m just lucky these dudes want to let a little homie tag along,” he says.

  Skye keeps the fluttering eyelashes thing going. It kinda looks like she’s nervous, but I can’t call it. Something is definitely off.

  Zach notices it, too. “Hey, Lady Skye, if you have something in your eye, make sure you flush that out with cool water.” He’s dropped his swag and is in medical mode. Show him an open sore, a cut wound, or even a toilet full of barf and Zach won’t be able to look away. People tell him he’d be perfect in the ER, the place where stomach-churning gross scenes play on repeat.

  “Last week on my morning run, a gnat flew right into my eye,” he says.

  “Oh yeah, that was wild. I remember how irritated your eye was for, like, days,” I say.

  “It was too tiny to get out for hours.” He nods his head. “Hours.”

  I notice Skye has disappeared again.

  Zach shouts louder in case she’s within the vicinity of her phone.

  “I’ll let you go, but during my visit, if I have a chance to say hi, I’ll get your contact info from Zora.”

  “Cool. All right.” We hear Skye, but don’t see her.

  “Other than that, you good down there?” Zach asks as he hops off the stool and stretches his tattooed arms to the ceiling.

  “Uh, yeah, no issues.” Skye’s voice is clear, though she’s still hidden.

  “Good.” Zach nods. “Be easy, kid.”

  Once Zach leaves the area and heads out the front door, Skye is back in view.

  “What was that all about?” I ask her.

  “Stupid fake eyelash got stuck in my eye.” She’s still picking at her left eye.

  “Since when do you wear false eyelashes? And why would you be putting them on on a random night? You going back out?”

  Skye looks embarrassed.

  “Is this the dress rehearsal for your event? Ooh, maybe I should play with a different look, too.”

  “It’s Zach, okay? Geesh, woman, does a neon sign have to fall on top of your head?”

  My brother?

  “Zach? Wait. When did this happen?”

  Ever since middle school, Skye and Zach have been indifferent to each other, at most. Like ships in the night, they passed by each other unnoticed playdate after playdate, sleepover after sleepover, study session after study session.

  “Ignore me. I’ll get over it.”

  “I’m sure you will, but I’m just curious where this is all coming from?” I ask.

  “Ever since he went off to college and got ambition, it’s been a good look on him,” says Skye.

  “Yeah, Ma never thought he’d get there. She was worried Daddy got his grips on him too good for there to be any hope.”

  “Coming through scoring high marks on college biology exams and whatnot.” Skye shakes her head. “Messing me all up.”

  “This is wild. I wouldn’t ever have guessed it.” I lean in as close to the screen as possible before springing back. My animated movements land swaying hair strands in my wide-open mouth.

  “That’s pretty accurate.” Skye is still annoyed by my cluelessness. “You sure wouldn’t have.”

  “And imagine if he does transfer to U of A. You guys will overlap for two years on the same campus,” I say. It’s not something I’m hoping for or against, but the thought comes to mind.

  “Let’s move on and pretend I didn’t just make a fool of myself,” Skye says. “Can we change the subject?”

  “Okay, but just know that Zach couldn’t care less about false eyelashes. If you’re gonna risk poking out your eyeball again, do it for yourself, not for Zach or any other guy.”

  I
bat one of my eyelashes at warp speed, and Skye can’t help but laugh. It’s a beautiful sound that lets me know she’ll survive this crush … and hopefully move on from it.

  “Surprise me,” I tell Daddy. “I’ll stay out here and grab a table.”

  He enters Jefferson’s Ice Cream and heads to the counter with the same spring in his step Zach had earlier tonight.

  Daddy’s been taking me out on ice cream dates since I was a little girl. It’s our way of having alone time. He could be doing this just for old times’ sake, or he could want something. I’m not sure if I can let down my guard yet.

  Since he picked me up a half hour ago, we’ve just been having small talk about the breezy, cooler weather, like friendly neighbors on an apartment building elevator ride. Now I’m sitting at a tiny mosaic-top table watching the fireflies blink, enjoying the people watching from my sidewalk table, but wondering what it is Daddy wants to speak to me about.

  “I got your favorite,” he says when he returns with an ice cream sandwich.

  “Thank you.” I smile but don’t tell him this hasn’t been my favorite since I was in middle school.

  “Consider this a mini celebration for your honor at Friday’s Gala.”

  I always had the sense Daddy didn’t care too much for my community service impulses. Years ago, he caught me donating the fancy leftover meals he brought us after his shift at the country club. He told me it wasn’t a leftover, but a dish he’d made special for me and Zach. I felt horrible, yet confused by his anger.

  “Aw, that’s very sweet of you, Daddy.” I pause and put my hand to my heart now. “I really appreciate that.”

  Of course if Ma were here, she’d be clenching her jaw and crossing her arms, thinking about how her countless daily thoughtful acts don’t elicit half the outpouring of thanks from me and Zach. I still haven’t figured out exactly why Zach and I do this. I think it has something to do with keeping the peace.

  I take a tooth-tingling bite, and Daddy tells me about the grease fire his sous chef started in the restaurant kitchen at work today. No one can tell a story like my dad. When he’s got the floor, he can hold court better than the NBA. I laugh at all his sound effects and vocal acrobatics.

  “And then, WOO-HAH, the flames were taller than his high top fade—which, if you know Jayvon, is pretty tall. He’s the dude we thought was six feet four until the day he came in with a haircut.”

  This is the most fun I’ve had with my dad in a while. Once my cackling has eased, I recommend an ointment Jayvon can use that worked for me the last time I got singed by the oven pulling out a batch of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies.

  Just like our earlier phone chat, this whole night is a pleasant surprise. We just kick it. It’s so cool to sit in and have an easygoing conversation with him. That’s why when he says what he says at the end of the night, I am completely thrown off guard.

  “So, what time do I need to be ready for your grand Gala Friday?” he asks after he pulls up to my house. He’s just turned down the music on his old-school hip-hop station, and the car idles like it’s waiting on my answer, too.

  I stare blankly at him because I honestly don’t get it. I think this is a good time for Skye’s neon sign to drop from the heavens and land on my head. We’re double-parked, so I better think of something to say, quick.

  “I’m assuming your parents are invited to attend with you?” he asks.

  “Well, yeah, but no worries, Daddy.” I try to sound as casual as possible. “You don’t have to go out of your way. Mom is already coming.”

  “It’s no trouble. That’s my job! Listen, text me the info, and I’ll meet you and your mom there!”

  There you have it. The entire night’s other shoe has finally dropped. And only after I gave up expecting it to. Rookie mistake, Zora. Rookie mistake.

  MONDAY MORNING can’t go by fast enough. I check the time—on my phone, my laptop, the classroom walls—so often that the minutes crawl by. I promise myself that I’ll get absorbed in all of the fascinating lectures and readings tomorrow. But today, I’ll let myself have a little fun and daydream in anticipation of meeting up with Owen.

  As promised, Owen is waiting for me outside the Hurston Hall passageway. He walks toward me when he sees me turn the corner.

  “Hi.” He smiles.

  “Hi,” I say with an uncontrollable smile. “What exactly is it that you want to show me?”

  “My hideout spots,” he says with a wink. “I showed up at yours on Saturday, so you deserve to see mine. It’s only fair. You ready?”

  I nod like he’s just offered me the last piece of double chocolate cake. “Where do we start?”

  Owen motions to the eastern part of the campus, and we start walking side by side in that direction. Across the green, we stay in tandem but do not touch. Owen’s hands jammed into his front pockets seem like they’re digging for hands to hold. My hands. But we keep a friendly distance apart.

  “Thank you for humoring me with this today,” he says between energetic strides. “And just so you know, there’s no need to worry about my security troubling you ever again.”

  It seems like so long ago when the Men in Black made a guest appearance at my house.

  “Oh, no?” I ask.

  “I’ve since learned to trust my security chief, Colin, with a few secrets,” says Owen. “But just a few.”

  There’s a stubborn mischief in his tone that makes me smirk.

  “You must’ve been a pain to track down when you were younger.”

  “Hide-and-seek games in a castle were epic,” he says. “And I learned from the best. My sister taught me everything I know.”

  “She sounds like she was a fun person to be around,” I say softly.

  “The best.”

  I want to ask more about her, but I hold back.

  He stops in front of the botany and zoology building.

  “I’ve never been inside this building,” I say, “but it’s one of the first ones I noticed because it’s the most modern.”

  “Wait until you see the inside.”

  We take two lefts off the stunningly sleek entryway and find a back hallway. It’s brightly lit by artificial lighting and seemingly endless. It could double as a dream sequence setting from a fantasy movie. The pristine, soulless corridor and the bright orange doors lining each side look like a physical metaphor for life’s challenging choices.

  “These are the labs where graduate students work,” Owen tells me. “I know most of the graduate hangouts because I live in the graduate residence on campus. It’s more private and independent—a security team’s ideal.”

  That makes sense.

  “So, no interest in any, uh, cooler graduate hot spots?” I ask, looking around. “Why would you want to be in a building where poor helpless animals are probably tested?” I wonder aloud. “Do you hide out in one of the cages or something?”

  “No, though I can’t say that I haven’t been desperate enough to consider it,” he responds without hesitation.

  “I can’t imagine this place at night,” I say with a shudder.

  “Or the people who lurk here at odd hours.” He winces.

  Our voices become more layered with echoes the farther into the hallway we walk.

  “We need to catch the elevator at the end of this hall, and then from there it’s just three floors up,” Owen says, pointing.

  I’m so curious about what’s waiting for us upstairs, but I don’t dare ask about it, because I love surprises. My quiet, baby-seal hand claps let Owen know this, too. He’s tickled and gives me a light shoulder bump. I pretend to stumble a few steps to the side.

  I guess our silly fun has made our presence known; one of the hallway doors behind us creeps open and it sounds like the scariest thing. We must both get the same image of us suddenly strapped to some mad scientist’s exam table, because we bolt. Owen grabs my hand, and we run the rest of the way down the hallway

  “Ohmygod, my heart!” I sputter when we’re
safely inside the elevator. “Where have you taken me? So far, this whole building seems like the inside of some evil genius’s mind.”

  “Where we’re going will make up for it, hopefully.” His eyes dance.

  “It better,” I say playfully as we step off the elevator and walk over to a set of doors.

  “Aaah, you made it in time for lunch.” An older dude with a badge marked “R.J.” greets us when he answers Owen’s knock on the door.

  Owen steps aside and gestures for me to walk in first.

  “After you, my lady,” he says with a hand flourish and bow.

  “Oh my goodness, look at this place!” I say. I take a slow 360-degree whirl. Under a glass ceiling is a green space that is lush and otherworldly. I feel like I’ve stepped into some kind of wonderland.

  The plants remind me of the first people to arrive at a school dance. They’re in groups segregated in clearly delineated areas. The wallflowers slumping to one side, the soaring heights of the sunlight-hogging plants with the best positioning, the yet-to-sprout plants budding together, some stretching above the others as if craning to peak at the fully blossomed wonders they aspire to become.

  This is the green more valuable than money.

  There’s a reason people demand green spaces in cities all over the world. I’m glad to live in a city known for its oak trees and community parks. Nothing is more calming and welcoming than nature.

  It’s also why I feel a lot more chill now.

  “I guess I wore the right dress for the occasion,” I say, nodding down at the floral prints on my sundress.

  “You definitely did,” Owen replies.

  If his tickled expression is any indication, I must have the most gleeful look of surprise on my face. The humidity that envelops this place has me checking on my hair. Of all the days to wear it down. It looked super cute when I stopped by the ladies’ room on my way to meet Owen. But who knows how it looks now. Well, Owen knows, that’s who.