Naughty or Nice (26 page)

W
e had left our parents' resting place and were driving down Manchester, radio on KJLH. They played Christmas songs from midnight to midnight today. By noon we'd be ready to scream. But for now, we sang along with the Temptations. The song ended and five or six announcements for New Year's Eve parties came on back-to-back. This year was ending. My thoughts and emotions wafted in so many directions, asking me who I wanted to be at the end of this holiday season. If not this year, then by this time next year. No matter what I asked myself about my future, it always came back to the same answer.

I rubbed my hands on my jeans, stared at my broken nails, the pink elephant that my sisters hadn't mentioned. I said, “I'm going to work things out with Tony.”

They looked at me. To them, my announcement had come out of nowhere, in the middle of them jamming with Donnie Hathaway, with no segue, other than a conclusion to the thoughts that were spinning inside my head.

We said a few things, nothing new, went back and forth on that issue.

Tommie asked, “What about the kid?”

My sigh was heavy; my tongue made of lead. “Her name is Miesha.”

Frankie stared at me, testing my reaction, gauging my emotional level.

I told them that the kid's mom had sent pictures to our home, that I had kept one.

Tommie asked, “Where is it?”

“In my purse.”

Frankie snapped her fingers in a give-it-to-me motion, and I went through my handbag, took the picture out of my wallet, gazed at that child's image, then passed it on. Frankie stared at my humiliation with her mouth wide open, shook her head, then passed it to Tommie.

Tommie had the same flabbergasted reaction. She held my reality, the picture that represented my dishonor and Tony's indiscretion, the catalyst to our coming apart. That made everything concrete for them, the same thing it did for me the moment I first saw that image.

Tommie's voice softened with concern. “Can you handle that?”

I imitated Momma, “Fuck 'im or leave 'im. Don't matter. Same problems you got with this one you gonna have with the next one. Only thing is since this one in the doghouse, you got the upper hand. He know he done done wrong so he ain't gonna ride down that street no more.”

Frankie made an oh-please sound. “It'll be an eighteen-year situation.”

“At least that long. Longer if she goes to college.”

Frankie tisked. “That's a hellified commitment.”

My lips went up into a slow and steady smile, like sunshine moving clouds away. “Tommie, your daddy took care of two girls that wasn't his, loved them like they were his own.”

Tommie wiped her eyes. “Your momma took care of a nappy-headed little girl like she was her own daughter.”

We passed the picture back and forth again.

I cleared my throat, swallowed, then struggled with it, but accepted my own reality. “It'll be rough . . . maybe . . . for a while . . . maybe it'll always be rough . . . but I don't want to be buried by myself, you know. I want to see if I can be with him until the end. Until it's all said and done.”

Frankie nodded. “What about the guy you're seeing?”

I didn't answer.

 

Everything was starting to feel wonderful when we got back to Tommie's place. Sun was breaking through the clouds. Marine layer was burning off. No rain in the forecast, so it was going to be a wonderful day. Out in Palos Verdes and Beverly Hills people were probably doing laps in their heated pools. Joggers were out and about, burning up calories before they threw down at the dinner table. And barbecue. As we pulled up South Fairfax, I smelled some of the best Q I'd ever smelled. The aroma was so good I could inhale and gain ten pounds. Next door Womack had fired up the grill and was making the neighborhood smell like it was the Fourth of July. His boys were out shooting basketball. Rosa Lee yelled out the back door for her boys to stop playing in their new Christmas clothes. Such a loud and happy family.

We went inside Tommie's, sat in the living room, and swapped presents like we did when we were little girls. Jewelry and sweatsuits and candles and baskets filled with Dermalogica products.

I screamed. “Okay, which one of you sacrilegious bitches gave me this vibrator?”

Frankie laughed so hard she almost wet her pants.

I snapped. “I'm not putting nothing pink in me.”

“You know you want to let Willie Wonka into that chocolate factory.”

“It's big. And it feels so real.” Tommie shrieked. “Oh, my god. It plays a Christmas song. That's so cute.”

I took it away from her, then bopped her upside the head with that carnal toy.

 

Blue came over an hour after we finished our gift exchange. He had on faded jeans, black sandals, and a gray baseball Jersey,
JETER
on the back. His daughter was with him, dressed in sweats and Little Mermaid tennis shoes, her hair in braids. They
exchanged presents with Tommie, then Tommie made us all breakfast. This year was her year to make breakfast.

Blue's little girl gravitated toward me. “What's your name?”

“Livvy. I'm Tommie's big sister.”

“No you're not. Tommie is bigger than you.”

“Good point.”

“My name is Monica. Want to hear the poem I wrote for my daddy?”

We sat in Tommie's living room, not too far from the table set up with a Kinara, a Unity cup, and colorful corn. Monica performed her spoken word for me. I applauded and laughed.

She changed my disposition, made me happier than I had been in days. I told her, “You are so smart.”

“I'm smart because I go to Escuela.”

I told her, “
Escuela
is Spanish and it means ‘school.' ”

“So I go to a school named school.”

“You sure do.”

She said, “Tomorrow is Kwanzaa. And I can tell you
allllll
about Kwanzaa. And the parts I don't know, my daddy can tell you
allllll
the rest. And we're going to have a Kwanzaa party and we have red, black, and green candles, and a Kinara, and I get lots of presents from Santa Claus, but I get more presents from my daddy on the very last day of Kwanzaa and—”

Her conversation was never-ending.

While I sat on the floor with her and talked and played with her new brown-skinned Barbie dolls, pretended Barbie was a doctor and the doll I had was the patient, that sensation came back. The one that warmed my stomach and heart.

I wanted to have a baby.

Wanted a little girl just like her.

I smiled at Tommie and Blue. Pam Grier and Billy Dee. Then Tommie came in and had fun with Monica. I sat in the beanbag and watched her, so comfortable in her role. Not quite the step-mother role, but a role she loved. Blue sat down on the floor and they all played hospital together. Then they started putting
together a puzzle. Played and laughed with a pure, unbridled, unrestrained laughter that could only be produced by happiness.

New hairstyle. Glowing. Tommie was blooming again, coming back to life. The mark on her face didn't seem as large. I touched my neck. There wasn't any pain, but my own marks were there. We all had marks that reminded us about things we wanted to forget.

Tommie had surpassed both Frankie and me in so many ways. My smile showed my love for her and hid my envy all at once. The way Frankie had her arms folded and was chewing her lip, her envy was on the rise as well.

I still wished Tony had fathered that child before we met. That could be us.

I was in the kitchen with Frankie, talking about nothing when Blue came in.

He said, “I'm glad I have a moment to see both of you at the same time.”

We looked at him.

He told us that he knew he was a bit older than our sister, older than both of us, that he had a child, and sometimes things were rough between him and his child's mother.

He said, “I'm not a rich man. Don't think I'll ever be. But I'm an honest man. And I wouldn't want to do anything that would create any strain in your family. So I would like to ask your permission to pursue a deeper relationship with your sister.”

We looked each other, both of us stunned.

Then our lips were quivering.

Again, two McBrooms were crying happy tears.

 

Not long after that Tommie walked across the street with Blue. He had Monica sitting high on his shoulders. Frankie stood in the bay window and watched them, then I went and stood next to her. By then Monica's mother was out in front of Blue's place. He brought his daughter down and strapped her in the car. Monica and her mother drove away.

Blue hurried back upstairs. Then they closed the curtains in the front room.

 

We cleaned up Tommie's kitchen, then Frankie packed up her gifts. I did the same. We were going to get together later on at Frankie's place for Christmas dinner.

She grabbed her presents, kissed me, said, “Three o'clock. Don't show up CP time.”

Frankie told me she had to run an errand.

I said, “Stores are closed. What errand do you have to run?”

“I have . . . I . . . I need to . . . There is something I need to resolve.”

I nodded. “Yeah. Me too.”

Neither one of us tried to start a question-asking party.

On the way out, we waved at the Womack's little boys. They were heading down the driveway in their new rollerblades.

Frankie was in a strange mood, I saw the tension in her face.

I asked, “You okay, big sister?”

“Was just thinking . . . I'm taking down my Internet ad.”

I asked, “Why?”

“Midget Man, Michelin Man, Confused Man, Stutter Man.”

“That's not nice.”

“A legion of chromosomal mutations.”

“Fugly men need love too.”

“Oh, hell no. Dating a fugly man is like . . . like . . . like doing community service. And who wants a fugly man? Fugly people are trying to find somebody who looks better than them.”

“True. Nobody wants fugly children.”

“Trust me, when a sister has become a fugly magnet, it's time to unplug the PC.”

“Be patient. Mr. Right'll come.”

“You just walked into a Halloween party looking to have fun and
bam
.”

“I was a lot thinner then.”

“And you met a damn doctor.”

“Don't hate because I was in shape.”

“Not hating, just stating.”

“And I met a
man
. I don't date occupations. That's the problem. Women chase occupations, never the man. I met a man who happened to be a doctor.”

“Nigga, please. If he was a garbage man, you'd've kept on stepping.”

“Would not.”

“Oh, please.”

“If that's the way you see it, then maybe your standards are too high.”

“Not.”

“Driving a luxury car, living in a big house, finding a man on your level is harder than finding an alibi for Scott Peterson.”

“No, that's not it. People don't talk anymore. You see a brother out at 'Bucks and he's too busy yakking on his cell phone to say hi. They stare at you all evening, but not a word. You have to go out into cyberspace to meet a man because that's where they all are, lying to you from the comfort of their own home, hands in their laps . . . you get the picture.”

“A cute brother works with Tommie.”

“The manager at Pier 1? Last thing I need is a cockeyed brother in reindeer socks.”

“But you'd get a discount.”

“I'd rather send postcards to brothers in prison.”

“They need love too. And they do have conjugal visits.”

“You know what? You're about to get cursed out in a major way.”

I laughed. “Can't be that bad.”

“Liars, cheaters, womanizers, fugly men, and just a general collection of losers. If I wanted to meet those kind of men, I could just go back to the bar scene, pull up a seat at Club Ladera and sip Riesling until The Hunchback of Baldwin Hills hobbled in the joint.”

We laughed together, in chorus.

Frankie looked over at Blue's apartment and sighed. I did
the same and shook my head. We both made naughty faces and fanned ourselves.

I said, “We're gonna have to get her off of those vitamins.”

“For real.”

“Or she's gonna kill Blue on the downstroke.”

More laughter.

“But you know what?” My big sister pushed her lips up into a big smile. “Tommie gave us the best present anybody can give us.”