My plotting board sat propped against the dresser. The yellow trifold board looked like a seventh grader’s science project with its array of sticky notes scribbled with my outlines for each chapter. My manuscript, a series of humorous essays, was turning out well. Today’s entry would be about the bougie friend who studied abroad for one summer and came back speaking another language like she was a native.
My old college friend had spent a year somewhere in Latin America. Homegirl came back with a wavy brown sewn-in weave and started rolling her R’s like there was a gun to her head. I chuckled at the memory. Plot in place, I was on a roll and nearly finished with the chapter about being true to yourself when the doorbell sounded.
A flash of irritation zipped through my body, but then I remembered that this wasn’t my place.
“Raina!” Ma’s voice was high-pitched and weird. “You’ve got a, um, visitor.”
“A visitor?” I mumbled under my breath. “Be there in a minute!”
I saved my work and pushed away from the desk, wondering who it could be. It wasn’t my girls—they knew how bad I felt about being at home. So if we did anything, it was at their house or somewhere in the city.
Is it Cam? My heart sped. It had to be him. Outside of my girls, no one else knew where I lived. He’d shipped a few of my knickknacks to Ma’s place. She had watched me open the small box, giving me a sad, commiserating smile.
I balled my fist and jerked open the door. I was not like Ma. I wouldn’t fall to the floor and beg a man who didn’t want me to stay.
Rounding the corner, I stopped short. He wasn’t Cam but a young man in his twenties. Tall and muscular, with broad shoulders, wide-set eyes, and a nutmeg brown complexion. He looked familiar, but I knew I hadn’t met him before.
Ma stared at him as if she were staring at a ghost. Her breathing was erratic, and she grabbed her chest as if she were experiencing a heart attack.
“Ma? You okay?” I rushed to her side, in front of the door. “Is he bothering you?” I kept my eyes on Ma, completely ignoring the young stranger who seemed harmless from his nervous smile. But the way Ma reacted, I knew it wasn’t the case.
“No. I, I’m fine. This young man is here to see you.” Ma’s smile was strained. “I’ll give you some privacy.”
I gave her a what-the-hell-don’t-leave-me-alone-with-a stranger look. Which she totally ignored.
Ma stepped away from the door. “I’ll just be in the other room.” She jerked her head toward the kitchen, which was steps away from the dining room.
“That’s fine, Ma.” I waited for her to walk the short distance behind the wall, pretending for the stranger but knowing that she would be able to hear us.
“Who are you?” I crossed my arms, cutting the bullshit.
“I’m Victor ... Junior.”
Victor Junior. My brother? The news slammed into me like a heavyweight wrestler.
“J-Junior?”
He nodded, his eyes serious, his expression tense. “Call me Vic.”
I stepped back from the door and then waved at the patchwork couch. “Sit.” I took my own advice and flopped on the recliner. So many things sped through my mind. My father was an asshole who’d left his wife and kid brokenhearted. Was my father’s spawn different? Did my father tell Junior he was his ray of sunshine? Did they play catch? I bet they did. Dad loved football, and Junior was jacked. He probably hadn’t missed a day at the gym.
Heart pounding, I breathed deeply, trying to grab hold of my radio personality persona. She was cool, calm, and collected. I needed her serenity, needed her to block the painful memories that swirled like a Georgia cyclone in my head.
He put up the Vulcan salute and formed a V with his hand. “I come in peace.”
“I thought that meant live long and prosper.”
“Yeah, that, too.” He gave me a half smile.
I couldn’t help but smile back. My brother was a charmer. Just like Daddy. Straightening my back, I cleared my throat and began my interrogation.
“How did you find me?”
“Dad wrote you a few months ago. I found a returned letter with your address. I figured you weren’t keen on emails or letters, so I tracked you down. I, um . . .” He paused, scratching his head.
“You, um, what?”
“I met your boyfriend, I mean ex-boyfriend, Cameron. He seems like a really great guy. He invited me in, sat me down. H-he told me about you.”
“What did he say?” I leaned in closer, my hands gripping my knees.
“That you were funny as hell, used to be a radio host, but I knew that because I googled you. He said you’re writing some sort of self-help book that’ll be on the shelves next year. He said you were gorgeous, not that I cared because I’m your brother and, um, he showed me a picture of you.”
Good to know my things weren’t tossed in a burn pile.
I relaxed in my chair.
He was silent for a few beats. I waited him out, hoping Cameron had further expounded on my wonderful virtues and beauty.
“So why did y’all break up?”
“None of your business, little brother.” I waved at him. “He just gave you my address?” I asked, changing the subject.
He nodded. “Yeah, he said that you needed to resolve some issues.”
I rolled my eyes. “Right. Why have you decided to meet me after all these years?”
“I didn’t know you existed.”
An arrow pierced through my armored heart. After all these years, my father’s aim was still true.
“I . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that Dad—”
“Victor,” I interrupted. My voice was Alaska winter cold. “I call him Victor.”
“Right,” he continued. “Victor and Mom never mentioned anything. Mom died a few years ago, so I can’t interrogate her, but I asked Dad, I mean, um, Victor. Anyway, he was really sorry about it. He’s been trying to reach you over the years, but he said you didn’t want to see him again.”
“He’s right. I don’t. Don’t get me wrong, it’s been a shock, but a good one meeting you. You were innocent in all of this. Your mom and your father were not.”
“Look, I get where you are, and I don’t know how else to say this, but I really wish you would consider changing your mind. Dad—Victor is dying.”
“How?”
“Emphysema. He’s in the last stages. He can barely breathe.”
I could barely breathe. Fighting against my panic, I drew in a deep, life-affirming gasp.
“H-he . . .” I cleared my throat. “Okay.”
Daddy.
I swallowed the surge of emotions that rose in my near-frozen heart, threatening to spill over in tears and curses and unwanted memories.
But they came anyway. Daddy was tall, strong, vibrant. Tight fro, impeccably dressed unless he’d just returned from a gambling bender. And he was funny, so funny he’d made my cheeks stretch and my stomach tighten from laughing. And when I had Daddy’s attention, I felt like the center of his world.
When he left, I felt as hollow as an empty well.
“It’s okay if you’re upset. It’s okay to feel hurt.” My little brother’s tawny eyes were patient and kind, and it pissed me off.