Unbeweaveable (12 page)

The Invitation

“So that's why you were jumping on Mama's case?” Renee asked me. After the debacle in the kitchen I slunk back to my bedroom to hide.

“Yes,” I said, sitting on my bed.

“And you used the excuse of needing a head scarf to look around?”

“I didn't snoop! That information sort of fell in my hands.”

“Sure it did. Is that why you came to Houston? So you could learn more about your father?”

“You know why I came to Houston, Renee.”

She sat on the bed with me. “Why are you so angry?”

I opened my mouth, expecting a witty defense to come out on why I'm not angry, but nothing escaped my lips. Was I angry? Bitter, and a little burnt out, sure, but angry? I shook my head. “I'm not angry, I'm just…frustrated.” I lay back on the bed. I closed my eyes and pretended my weave was around my head, circling me like a paper fan. “This isn't me.”

“What?”

“This,” I said, waving my hands around the room. “In New York, I would walk in a room, and heads would turn. People noticed me. But here,” I sighed. “I'm invisible.”

“People notice you here, too. You just stopped paying attention.”

I sat up. “Yesterday when I left the salon I didn't get one compliment. Not one.”

“So?”

“So? Do you know how many compliments I would get before I even left the salon? Total strangers would tell me how much they loved my hair.”

“So you need validation from complete strangers to tell you that your hair is pretty?”

“Don't make it sound like that! I'm just saying—”

“I hear what you're saying. I've heard everything you said. If you hate your hair all that much, Mariah, why didn't you ask me for the money to get you a decent weave? There are plenty of stylists here that could hook you up.”

There it was. The invitation I'd been waiting for. All I had to do was say yes. Say yes, give me the thousand bucks for my weave, not to mention the weekly touch-ups and maintenance.
What are you waiting for? Say it! Tell her okay! No. Not without the test first.

“I couldn't do that, it's too expensive.”

I waited for her to chime in and say, “It's no trouble. Money is no object. How much do you need?”

And I waited.

And waited.

Finally I choked out, “I'm really starting to adjust to this new look.”

She smiled. “Good. You look really pretty that way.”

I smiled back to hide my disappointment. Well, let's hope it did.

“Come on, get ready.”

“For what?”

“We're going shopping, remember? Mama's still doesn't want to go, but we still can.”

So I could get clothes on her dime, but not hair? I nodded and told her I'd be ready in a couple of minutes.

* * *

Renee was always the one who tried. When we were little, she always tried to make me feel included, tried to make a part of the activities she and Beverly shared.

“Come on, Renee, you ready? The mall closes soon.”

“But Mariah wants to come with us, don't you, Mariah?”

“Mariah has a history exam she needs to study for. Don't you Mariah?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“I'm going to quiz you when we get back.”

Just once I wanted to see what it felt like to go shopping with Beverly, besides the big trip we took every year before school started. She never asked me, never even thought to ask me. So I pretended that I couldn't be bothered and stuck my nose further into the world Judy Blume created. But when they would come home from shopping I would look over the top of my book and see a rainbow of colors in Renee's hands. Purple skirts, floral pink dresses, turquoise shorts.

“Come look what I got for you,” Beverly would say. Looking into my bag of clothes held about as much as excitement as eating oatmeal for breakfast. Black, grays, browns, beiges—all the color of dirt.

“Beverly, why do you always buy me stuff that isn't colorful?” I held up one of Renee's lemon-yellow sweaters. “See, this is what I'm talking about. Why can't I wear this?”

She frowned. “You and Renee have different coloring. Those colors look better on your skin tone,” she said, nodding at the bag of clothes on the floor.

“So I'm too black to wear yellow?”

She snatched the sweater from my hands. “Why do you insist on being so dramatic? Did I say you were too dark to wear it?”

“No, but—”

“I
said
that these colors look better on you,” she said, handing me a pair of khaki shorts. “See?”

I didn't see. I simply nodded and went back to my book while Renee tried on dozens and dozens of clothes in front of Beverly.

“Gorgeous, baby! You look gorgeous.”

“Thanks, Mama.”

“Here,” Beverly said, handing Renee a soft pink dress. “Try this one on.”

After enduring all I could take, I would stomp into the bathroom and slam the door. I would wrap a bath towel around my head, changing my short locks to long strands of royal blue cotton. Instantly I was transformed into Mariah Carey and balled my hand as a microphone and sang “Emotions” as loud as I could, my voice breaking at all the wrong places.

It was easier that way, to create my own world to become someone else. In this world, my hair was long, my skin was light and I could wear whatever color my heart desired.

I never insisted on tagging along with them on their shopping sprees. The older I got the more distant I became. Eventually I found my own circle of friends where straight A's and 4.0 grade point averages were more important than my dark skin and short, nappy hair. Soon I stopped caring where Renee and Beverly went, because I had places of my own to go to.

“Do you want to go with me and Mama to the store?”

“No, I'm going out with some friends.”

“You want to go to the movies?”

“No, I already made plans.”

I knew I was hurting Renee. Her face would seem to fall in on itself, like a flower that needed water. But like I said, it was easier to be away from her. It's easy to be second best when first place isn't around. You almost feel just as good, like you can stand on your own.

I hurt her by pulling away from her, and thus cemented the bond that she and Beverly had. And eventually she stopped asking me to go places, stopped including me in her life. And even though I knew it was my fault, knew that this is what I'd asked for, I was hurt when she moved on without me.

Shopping Spree

A surge of adrenaline flooded me as we arrived at the Galleria. I hadn't been shopping in months and I almost forgot the intense pleasure that shopping gave me—the rush of trying on outfits regardless of price and leaving specialty shops with bags upon bags of expensive clothes.

“You ready?” she asked as we entered Neiman Marcus, the air conditioning sending goose bumps on my skin.

“You bet,” I said. We scoured the store, finding crazy amounts of clothes to try on, laughing like schoolchildren at some of the ridiculous creations we tried on. Two hours later I finally settled on several blouses and jeans with a pair of comfortable Prada flats. Renee bought two scarves and a supple brown leather Bottega Voneta bag. We would have kept going but we still hadn't eaten anything, so we walked the mall and indulged in two slices of pizza. “Yum,” Renee said, mozzarella sliding across her chin.

“I know, I was starving,” I said, taking a huge bite.

She wiped her chin with a napkin and took a gulp of her Coke. “So what else did you have planned today?”

“Nothing much.” I originally wanted to see Grandpa to ask him questions about my father. But now after the showdown with Beverly in the kitchen, there was no need for the questions
. Do you hear yourself, girl? You should want to visit him because he's your grandfather, not trying to pry questions out of him.
Where's your respect?
Guilt made my mouth go dry and I drowned it with Diet Coke.

“You made it sound like it was a big deal, and now it's nothing? What's really going on?”

“I thought it would be good to visit Grandpa. I haven't seen him in ages.”

“That sounds nice. He would love that. How long has it been?”

I shrugged, but I knew it had been since I graduated high school. Eleven years is a long time.

She pulled her cell phone out her purse.

“Who are you calling?”

“Mama. She would love to come with us.”

“No!” I said, snatching her phone from her before she could dial.

“What's wrong with you?”

“Nothing. It's just that we've been having such a great day. I feel uncomfortable with her around.”

“All right,” she said giving me a weird look. “But we'll have to go tomorrow. They stop having visitors after five and it's already four. We'll never make it there in time.”

“Tomorrow? Are you sure?”

“I'm positive. Why are you so eager to go all of a sudden? You waited this long, you can wait another day, right?”

“Sure.”

“Good,” Renee said. “Want to go see that new Tyler Perry movie?”

Bonded

It felt like Renee had crammed in years of catching up in one day. After the movie we went to dinner and finally we were on the elevator back to her home—tired and spent.

“Where have you two been?” Beverly demanded as soon as we walked into the door.

“I told you, Mama, we went shopping—”

“That was this morning,” Beverly snapped. “Where were you all afternoon and evening?” she said, her gaze fixed on Renee.

“I called you a couple of times, Mama. We went shopping and then to eat—”

“I was hungry. Why didn't you ask me if I wanted something to eat?”

Renee looked at me.

“Oh, I get it. Mariah didn't want to include me, did she?”

“I'm standing right here.”

She finally turned her attention to me. “I'm aware of where you are, Mariah. How many times are you going to disrupt things? I made it perfectly clear that you would only be allowed back if you could behave yourself—”

“Behave myself? I'm not a two-year-old.”

“Well, you certainly act like one. You can't take care of yourself, you had to move back home and mooch off your sister,” she said, waving her hand over my shopping bags.

“You live here, too, Mama. So what does that make you?”

She stepped back as if slapped.

“Renee, I will not have this girl talk to me in such a manner—”

“Enough. From both of you,” she said, looking at me. “Like I said, Mama, I told you where I was going. You didn't seem to mind. I needed to bond with my sister, and there's nothing wrong with that.”

“I see,” she said. “Well, I'm glad you two have
bonded.
I'm going to bed.” She stalked off, her silk robe fluttering in her wake.

“Sorry about that,” she said. “You know how Mama can be.”

“Oh yes, I know how
Beverly
is.”

* * *

Okay, so I deserved that.
After this morning's debacle I fully expected Beverly's tongue lashing. I went in my room and called Norma, ready to give her another earful.

“Hello?” she answered, her mouth sounding full.

“Girl, what are you eating?”

“Mariah?”

“Yes, it's me. What do you have stuffed in your mouth?”

“Cheese fries. It seems I'm always hungry at night. Are you ever coming back?” she asked, her tone wistful.

I wanted to say yes. If I closed my eyes I was still there—the smell, the noise, the people. But most of all I missed my independence. Since college, I took care of myself. Staying with Renee did not feel like home. And I don't think it ever would.

“I don't know,” I sighed. “Maybe.”

“What about the baby shower next week? You said you'd try to come back for that.”

“I know, Norma, but things have been really hectic here. I don't think I'll be able to pay for it.”

“You don't think your sister will give you the money to fly out here? It's just for one weekend.”

I considered it, and then shook my head. “No, I'm already on her back enough as it is. If I do go I need to finance it on my own. My unemployment stops this month, so now I'm officially broke. Sorry, I think I'm going to miss it. But don't worry, as soon as I get a job I'll be out there, okay?”

She sighed. “I guess that will have to be enough. Are you even looking for a job?”

“No.” I told her about Renee's suggestion that I take a break for a little while.

“That's good. We both know that job was driving you a little crazy. Do you miss it?”

“I miss the independence of making my own money and having my own place. But the job? Surprisingly, no.”

“Wait a minute, did you just describe working at
Spirit
as having a job? Not too long ago it was your
career
, remember?”

“The longer I stay unemployed, the more I realize that they're the same thing. I wasn't fulfilled at
Spirit
. The thing I liked the most was bossing Cassidy around and feeling important. But looking back, it was doing me more harm than good.”

“What about schmoozing with the literary elite? Don't tell me you don't miss that.”

“I can't lie, I do miss that. I guess I'll have to admire them the way I used to—by reading their books.”

“You're really not coming back?” Norma asked in a wistful tone.

I felt tears trying to break free and I closed my eyes shut, squeezing them together so hard that not even an atom could squeeze by.

“I don't think so.”

The pause on the phone told me that I wasn't the only one trying not to cry.

“Okay then,” Norma said, her voice shaky. “How long is this vacation going to last? What are you planning to do?”

“You know, for the first time in my life, I don't know.”

* * *

Having a plan had always worked for me. Following a schedule, having routines, that's what made me happy. At least I thought it did. Now, the days stretched before me like the ocean, and a part of me was terrified that I didn't know my next step.

Studying as hard as I did in high school prepared me for college. College prepared me for my career. But being unemployed, what did that prepare me for? What other lesson was being in Houston preparing me for? I opened my journal and wrote:

What am I supposed to be learning from all this? What?

I've heard all that gibberish that there's a lesson in everything, but this feels more like I'm being punished. For bad behavior? I'll admit that I haven't always acted nicely, but where has being nice gotten anybody?

I thought about Renee. She was genuinely nice, and not one of those people who faked being nice just because someone was watching. Nice would be a word that described her. But where had it gotten her? She was rich, yes, but that wasn't because she was nice.

Maybe
her being nice doesn't have anything to do with what she wants out of life. Maybe it's about how she wants her life to be.