More background restaurant noise. Something in Italian I can’t hear. Then . . . “Even if you aren’t flat-out in love anymore, you stay because you made a commitment. She’s the mother of your children. You know each other, what to expect. And then the years fly by. The kids are grown and you’re both still there. But you’re just kind of going through the motions.”
His voice trails off. Even without a soundtrack, I can see the shrug that follows. His casual dismissal of me and the life we’ve been leading is a punch to the gut. I turn off my phone before he can say something that will make me feel even worse. Though I’m not sure that’s possible. Tears blur the racks of cooling cookies all around me. My reflection in the glass of the microwave door is equally blurry.
Oh no, you don’t, I tell my reflection. You will not cry. You’ve raised two great human beings. Helped this ungrateful man who’s just “going through the motions” build a business. Thirty years is not something to sneeze at. Nate’s opinion does not define you.
My chin goes up as I straighten. Indignation courses through me. If this is the thanks I get for spending most of my adult life trying to make him happy, the time has come to stop.
Good egg, my ass.
Five
Jazmine
We’re at my parents’ for Sunday dinner. As usual, the table groans under the weight of the platters of fried chicken and honey baked ham, the baskets of corn bread and biscuits, all of which are surrounded by bowls of mashed potatoes and every vegetable a Southern garden can be coaxed to produce.
I am full to bursting from my mother’s deservedly famous fried chicken, the corn bread I can never resist, and the butter beans and collard greens that I tell myself are still vegetables and therefore healthy, no matter what they’ve been cooked in. Surely, God wouldn’t allow her to create such an incredible feast and then penalize us for eating it.
From where I’m seated, I can see the decked-out Christmas tree twinkling in the next room. There’s even a smattering of presents underneath it, a stark reminder that I’m behind on pretty much everything to do with this holiday that is inexplicably less than two weeks away.
Somehow, I find room for a slice of warm apple pie with vanilla ice cream melting on it.
Maya and her sixteen-year-old cousin, Carmen, have their heads together over a cell phone, even though phones are supposed to be banned during family meals. Lord knows I’m having a hard time not looking at mine. My older sister, Thea, motions to her daughter to put the phone away. My father is holding forth on today’s sermon, which I will confess to sleeping through, and cradling his latest grandbaby in his lap. The baby’s father, my younger brother, Stephen, shovels food into his mouth just like he’s always done. “Mama, I’m telling you, nobody makes corn bread as good as you. Nobody.”
My mother’s food deserves every bit of praise it receives, but I listen with half an ear to the talk all around me. I’m still stewing over Rich Hanson’s theft of the endorsement deal I spent so long teeing up for Tyrone and worried about what else he might have up his sleeve. I’d call him to tell him to cut his shit out, but I don’t want to let him know he’s getting to me.
“Jazz?”
“Hmmm?” I look up and realize the table has gone quiet. Even Maya and Carmen are looking at me rather than the phone that is most likely in Carmen’s lap. “Sorry. Did you say something?”
“I sure did.” Thea, who is not one to beat about the bush, looks straight at me. “I said, there’s a fine-looking man who just joined Jamal’s firm. He’s single and new to Atlanta.”
“That’s nice.” I’m careful not to roll my eyes or ask what this has to do with me. Because apparently every eligible man, especially every single, professional black man, has something to do with me. My sister, my mother, and pretty much every married woman I know, including my assistant, Louise, refuse to believe a woman can be truly happy without a man.
I look down and push a few butter beans around my plate. “I appreciate you thinking of me, Thee, but I don’t really have time for dating.”
“You don’t think you could make the time to spend one evening getting to know someone? Or to show a newcomer around Atlanta?”
“I’m sure I could make the time if I had to. But dating is not a priority for me right now.”
My sister’s eyes narrow, a signal she’s not going to give up on this.
My mother sighs. “Girls.” She motions to Maya and Carmen. “Please take the leftovers into the kitchen and wrap them up. We’ll clear the table in a few minutes and join you.”
The girls depart with furtive glances over their shoulders.
My father reaches out and nudges my brother. “There’s a problem with the furnace. I’d like you to come take a look.”
“I’m going to feed Eugene now. Then I’ll put him down for his nap and help the girls with the dishes.” My sister-in-law, Renata, jumps up, puts the baby over her shoulder, and follows my father and brother out of the dining room.
I am left with my mother, my sister, and my brother-in-law, Jamal, who’s been around so long I almost can’t remember our family before he was a member.
“You’d like Derrick. He’s a great guy. Smart. Successful. Good sense of humor.” Jamal is an attorney, and he knows how to make an argument.
“Thank you very much for thinking of me. I’m not interested right now.” I can barely keep up with everything I already have on my plate. How am I supposed to deal with a man, too, let alone a potential husband?
“Right now?” My sister huffs. “It’s been fourteen years since the accident, and you’ve barely dated. Don’t you think it’s time to take a risk and let someone in your life again?”
“I am not afraid of letting someone in.”
“You know we just want you to be happy.” My mother’s eyes are moist with tears. “And what about Maya? Don’t you think she should have a father?”
“She has Poppy and Jamal and Stephen in her life. That’s way more father figures than a lot of kids have.” My mother has been lobbying for me to find Maya a father practically since she was born. “And I’m perfectly happy with my life as it is.” Happy enough.
They make no comment, but my mother’s face is all twisted up. No one does silent agony like she does.
“You have so much to offer. And you deserve to be in a happy and loving relationship,” my sister says.
“I do not need a man to complete me.” Okay, that came out a little more Gloria Steinem than I was going for, but I do not want to be backed into this corner. “And between work and Maya, I really don’t have the time.”