by Seven Steps
That’s what my life had turned into. A civil war.
“What are you doing with that?” I asked.
“Making sure you make that macaroni and cheese,” he said with a grin. Such a beautiful grin. I wished I could keep it in a jar, just so I could see it whenever I wanted.
He started the water boiling, then went into the refrigerator, retrieved two blocks of cheese, and started to shred them into a big bowl.
“So, you want to tell me what else is going on?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“You seem distracted. At first, I thought it was the fight I had with Quincey, but now I’m thinking it’s something else.”
“You make it sound like you’ve been studying me.”
“Not studying in a creepy way. More like friendly observation.”
“That doesn’t make it sound less creepy.”
“Point taken. Now, what’s going on?”
“Honestly, I don’t really want to talk about it. It’s kind of personal.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I mean, I’m not saying I’ll never tell you, it’s just that…” I sighed. How could I say this without being a rude jerk? “I don’t really want anyone to know until I get everything figured out.”
“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not just anyone.” He held up the last shred of cheese to me. I went to pluck it out of his fingers, and at the last second, he pulled it away.
“Uh-uh. Tell me first.”
“Tell you what? That you still have a whole block of cheese left to grate?”
“No, you know what.”
I reached for the cheese again and this time he let me have it.
“It’s personal.”
“Like you got your period, personal?”
“No. Like family stuff.”
“Good. Out with it.”
“Joe, you’re not family.”
“Come on, Jelly Roll. I’m over here every day, I call your mom Aunt Pam, and I see Quincey more than you do. What’s the worst that could happen if you told me? I’ll blab it to someone? I only really talk to you, Aunt Pam, and Quincey, and if its family stuff, they probably already know. Plus, you look like you need to get it off your chest. So…”
I couldn’t lie. I was considering Joe’s offer. I usually kept my family stuff private, especially something with such a potential for disaster like this.
I hated to admit it, but Joe was right. I did need to get this off my chest. And he was here, and basically family. Maybe there was no harm in telling just one person what I was going through.
I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned on the fridge. “I saw my birth certificate,” I said softly. “My dad’s information wasn’t on it.”
Joe’s brows pressed into a frown. “Like, at all?”
“No name, no address, no hint that he’d ever been there in the first place.”
He ran his hand over his face. “Jeez, Sophia. I mean, jeez.”
He pulled me into a hug, pressing my face into his hard chest. I pulled his scent deep into my lungs. He smelled fresh, like he’d just taken a shower with Irish Spring soap. It was heady. His strong hands pressed me closer, and I went willingly.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered into my hair.
Joe’s arms made me feel safe. Like an iron fortress that not even the strongest army could penetrate. I pressed myself as close as I could get, but he didn’t seem to mind. His arms just banded around me tighter.
“What if he’s not my dad?”
I spoke the words that had been weighing on my heart since I got the news. The words I’d been too afraid to speak into existence for fear they may become truths.
He breathed into my hair.
“I’m sure he is.”
“But what if he’s not?”
A single tear escaped my eye. Then another. And another.
All my life I imagined my dad as an almost angelic figure. A highly decorated marine killed in the war in Afghanistan. He believed in kindness, goodness, and fighting for what was right. He had pride within himself and pride in the new, tiny family he’d created.
But there was so much I didn’t know about him. I only had a single picture of my dad. His high cheekbones spoke of Native American blood and his lighter skin told of some white ancestor I’d never met. Come to think of it, I’d never met anyone from Dad’s side of the family. No mother, no father, no cousins, aunts or uncles. I didn’t know why my mom couldn’t look at me whenever the anniversary of Dad’s death came around.
I didn’t know who he really was. I only knew the legend of him.
And I didn’t know I had soaked Joe’s shirt with my tears until I pulled away and saw the huge dark spot there. He’d been gently rocking from side to side this whole time. I hadn’t intended on falling apart today, but, in his arms, it didn’t seem so bad.
I looked up at Joe and he was ready with a paper towel. He dabbed my eyes, my nose, and my cheeks.
“It’s okay,” he said. “Big things are okay to cry about.”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“If you want to know, I can help you find out.”
I shook my head and stepped away from him, suddenly feeling awkward. I wet a new paper towel and wiped my face clean, then washed my hands.
“That’s the problem. I don’t know if I want to find out.” I added the elbows noodles to the boiling water, stirring them thoughtfully while adding in the salt and oil. “If he’s not my dad, then my entire life has been a lie. I don’t know if I’m ready to face that yet.”
My insides felt torn up. It was like I was feeling everything at once. Hurt, panic, anger, confusion. It all washed over me, making it hard to breathe.
I pulled a big red bowl out of the cabinet and dumped in some cornmeal and flour for the cornbread. I suddenly had a hankering to make some baked yams too. And maybe some collard greens with a ham hock. Did we even have ham hocks?
“Sophia.”
I searched through the cabinets for the sugar and baking powder. Where were they? Why weren’t they in the cabinet?
“Sophia.”
I pushed aside the cinnamon and nutmeg. A few glasses fell to the floor.
“Sophia.”
One of them shattered near my foot, spraying glass and brown spices everywhere.
A moment later, blood trickled to the floor.
Was this the last thing my father saw? Blood and glass and sand?
“Jeez, Sophia!”
My body was suddenly airborne, held up with two strong arms and pressed onto a strong chest. The next thing I knew, I was sitting on the counter, with Joe staring up at me with a deep frown.
“You nearly took off your foot.”
He grabbed a few more paper towels and held up my foot, cradling it in his strong hands and examining it carefully. A few streaks of blood ran over the dark skin.
Did my dad’s skin look like that when he died? Streaked with blood and gore?
Was he even my dad?
Joe gently ran the paper towel over my foot, and I hissed as the warm water touched the raw flesh.
He grimaced.
“Sorry.”
He continued cleaning the thin wounds, then raised an eyebrow at me.
“Well, it doesn’t look like there’s any glass in there. But I’ll need some supplies. You think you can keep yourself out of trouble while I go find some?”
I nodded. Or at least I thought I nodded.
I must’ve because he left me and went to the bathroom. He was gone only a minute and arrived back at my side with rubbing alcohol, Vaseline, and Band-Aids. Then, he picked up my foot again.
“Okay. This is going to hurt. But when I’m done, you’ll feel better. I can promise you that. Okay?”
The world seemed to tilt onto its side. Everything felt off and wrong and strange. The only thing I recognized was this boy before me, eyeing me as if I were an injured deer about to bolt while he dabbed rubbing alcohol on a cotton b
all.
He picked up my foot again.
“Okay, here we go.”
Gently, he dabbed the soaking wet cotton ball onto the cut. Pain buzzed through me, and I gripped the counter. A moment later, he blew on the cuts, lessening the pain, before adding the Vaseline and the Band-Aids.
“There,” he said. “All fixed up.”
He gently released my foot and looked at me.
He must not have liked what he saw, because he stepped closer, wrapping his arms around my body. It felt more like he was keeping my spirit from imploding.
“You’re all right, Jelly Roll,” he whispered into my shoulder. “You’re all right.”
I collapsed into him, allowing my head to lie on his shoulder.
He stepped closer between my legs, holding me tighter.
My breathing shallowed.
My body hummed where we joined. I breathed out a long sigh and turned my head slightly. My lips were near his ear, and instinctively I kissed the top of it. I liked the soft skin there.
I felt him shift, and his lips touched the edge of the neck of my shirt. Tentatively at first. Still, I couldn’t stop the hiss of breath I sucked through my teeth. I kissed the tender spot behind his ear and felt him shiver. It made me shiver too.
His lips found a swatch of skin at my neck and he brushed his lips across it. One hand traveled up my back, while the other one pulled me closer.
God, he felt so good.
So right.
Everything in my life was in an upheaval, and right now, Joe was the only thing keeping me on the ground. I needed more of his gravity.
More of his kindness.
More of him.
My mind fragmented. My gut was tight. My lungs stalled.
I wanted more.
I wanted Joe to kiss me where it mattered the most.
I looked down at him. His cheeks were red, his eyes hooded. I ran a thumb along his pink, full mouth.
“Kiss me, Joe.”
A full-blown war showed in his eyes. I could see it in his frown. In his tight jaw.
But, as quickly as it had begun, the battle was over, leaving one winner.
But who?
His hand went to my cheek and slid behind my ear, giving me the answer.
My entire conscious seemed to settle on my lips, as if trying to process as much of him and it could.
I closed my eyes and felt his warm breath on my skin.
He applied a little more pressure to my head, drawing me to him.
I eagerly complied.
“Sophia,” he whispered.
The sound of keys jingling in the doorway sent us both scurrying back. I slammed my head into the cabinet above the counter I was sitting on, while he practically fell backward into the bar on the other side of the room.
A moment later, my mom came careening through the door, throwing bags everywhere, with Quincey close behind, loaded down with even more bags.
“Ooh, I gotta pee!” Mom cried, nearly sprinting to the bathroom. “It smells good though, baby.”
I tried to respond, but I could barely breathe.
I could barely think.
My mind was trying to pull itself back from the brink Joe had brought it to.
“It does smell good,” Quincey said, placing the bags down at the entrance of the kitchen. “What are you guys cooking?”
I tried to speak, but my voice came out in a croak. I coughed to hide it.
“We’re, uh, baking chicken,” Joe said.
“Just chicken?”
“Mac and cheese and cornbread from scratch.”
His voice sounded tight. I wondered if Quincey noticed.
“Dang, Sophia. If I had known you were cooking, I would’ve stopped and got a desert or something.”
“I… um…” I wiped the sweat from my forehead. “I’m making bread pudding.”
“What? Let me put this stuff down and get my jaw ready. We about to eat up in here!”
He quickly moved to his bedroom, and I let out a breath, then looked at Joe.
He was looking back at me with a deep frown.
I felt the frown on my face too.
“I’ll get the glass cleaned up,” he said. “Why don’t you get some sneakers on and get started on that cornbread.”
I nodded, sliding off the counter and power walking to my room.
It took nearly ten minutes for me to calm my heart and remind myself how to breathe again. When I saw myself in the mirror, I froze. I looked like a drunk deer. My eyes were red and poufy, my shirt was wrinkled, the bottom of my jeans were stained with blood and my hands and lips looked dry.
Mortified, I changed my T-shirt from the sparkly red number I’d worn to school to a yellow one that complemented my skin, a pair of black leggings, and my black sneakers. I washed my face, brushed my teeth, added some lip gloss, slathered on more deodorant, and fixed my hair from the sloppy bun it was in into a tight, sleek ponytail. I checked the mirror again, ensuring I was actually presentable before I stepped out of the room again.
“How’s dinner coming?” Mom asked. She was sitting on the couch, doing something on her phone. Quincey was nowhere to be seen.
“It’ll be done soon,” I said.
And by soon, I meant about forty minutes. The macaroni and cheese wasn’t even in the oven yet.
I rushed into the kitchen, where Joe was draining the pasta.
I took in a deep breath and started back on the cornbread.
I could do this. I could keep it together for dinner.
It’s what my father would have wanted.
That is, if he was…
I shut down my brain to that line of thought. I had too much to do and no time to cry.
“Can you beat up two eggs, milk, salt, and pepper?” I asked. “I’ll finish up the cornbread.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I started sifting the dry ingredients. When I glanced up, I saw Joe’s eyes firmly on me, and not on his mixing.
“What?”
He shrugged. “You look nice.”
A slow grin spread across my face. I lifted an eyebrow, allowing my heart to grow a little more for him. It was a bad idea, but I couldn’t help it. I’d had a lot of bad ideas lately.
“Maybe if you keep your eyes on that mixing bowl, we can have that macaroni and cheese before graduation.”
He grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”
Joe and I worked like a machine, preparing the mac and cheese, pulling the chicken out of the oven, mixing up the cornbread and putting it in the oven next to the mac and cheese, and cutting up zucchini.
By the time dinner was on the table, I was so tired I could barely eat. But I felt freer. Calmer.
And being next to Joe awakened something in me. Some joy that seemed so elusive before now. Even in my saddened state, he still managed to make me laugh. When he was close, my body wanted him closer, and when he was far, my soul screamed for him to come back.
I’d never had these feelings for a boy before. Sure, I’d felt lust, but Joe was different. I didn’t only want to kiss him. I wanted to talk to him. To laugh with him. To have him hug me and comfort me and want me.
And yet, I knew all these feelings were one-sided.
Joe viewed me as just a friend.
How many times had he told me that? Was it because he liked Charlotte? Was it because he was best friends with my cousin? Or was it just because he didn’t want me?
We ate our dinner heartily, and, in lieu of bread pudding, we had the rest of the ice cream in the freezer instead.
Then, Joe and I cleared the plates from the table.
“Baby, you really put your foot in that meal,” Mom said with a grin.
“Wow,” Quincey said. “You can’t get more country than that. You put your foot in the meal. Aunt Pam, why can’t you just say that the food was good?”
“What for? Your mama says that all the time.”
“And I tell her the same thing.”
“Boy, hush. The food was go
od. And you want to know the best part?”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“That I don’t have to clean up the dishes.”
She stood and walked over to Joe, wrapping her arms around him from behind.
“What do they call you? Superman?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I believe it. Anyone who can get my daughter to cook up all that food and not argue about cleaning up the dishes must be Superman.”
Joe grinned. “What makes you think it’s me?”
“It ain’t me,” Mom said. “And Quincey ain’t helping with no dishes.”
“Got that right,” Quincey said. “I’m going to go sit down and watch some Criminal Minds.”
“Boy, you better keep that crazy show off my TV. Put on one of those animal shows I like.”
TV?
I peeked out of the dining room and into the living room.
There was a television there.
And not the one Quincey had taken to his room. A new TV. But why? Mom didn’t watch TV.
“Mom, you got a new TV?” I asked.
“Yup. Cable too. Quincey talked me into it.”
Was she serious? I had been asking for cable in this house for a year!
“So, you can listen to Quincey when he asks for cable, but you can’t when I ask you?”
“Sophia, calm down. It’s not that serious.”
“Yes, it is. You told me we couldn’t have cable.”
“I said no because it wasn’t the right time.”
“And it’s the right time now, why? Because Quincey is here?”
“Sophia, you’re being ridiculous. Go on in that kitchen and finish cleaning up, please.”
I opened my mouth, but Mom stopped me with a look.
“You are not grown. Now I don’t want to hear any more about it.”
I wanted to scream. I wanted to rail. I was so frustrated I felt like I was about to explode.
But I couldn’t express that to her or else she would take away everything.
My phone. My computer. And anything else she thought was important to me.
And so, I stomped into the kitchen and clanged the pots together as I threw them into the sink.
She could be so infuriating sometimes! Why did she always treat me like a child? She didn’t even trust me enough to get cable for the TV. Quincey had to tell her that it was okay. Why? What had I done to her? What else had she hid from me? Information about my father?
