I’m a little relieved knowing I’ll at least like the mashed squash. But still, what is seitan?
We all start eating. I take a bit of the teriyaki seitan, and it’s only because I have good home training that I don’t spit it out back onto the plate. What is this? Ms. Brown must notice the look on my face. “Not a fan of seitan?” she asks. “Maybe I should have ordered tofu.”
“Oh, no. It’s totally fine. This is . . . this tastes . . . this is good. Perfect.” I take a big bite and hardly chew, just swallow it as fast as I can so I don’t have to taste it. At least the teriyaki sauce gives it some flavor. I feel like I am seven years old and at Grandma’s kitchen table sneaking food into my napkin that I don’t want to eat.
As we eat, Ms. Brown tells me all kinds of stories about Tye, and I love learning about him through someone else’s eyes. Somehow I manage to eat most of my food. There’s an appropriate amount left on my plate, an amount that says I’m too full to eat another bite instead of This was the worst meal I’ve ever had.
“So, tell me, Nala, how’s your summer going?” Ms. Brown asks.
Can I tell her that because of her son it is the best summer I’ve ever had? “It’s good,” I say.
“Tye told me you work as a volunteer at Sugar Hill Senior Living.”
This isn’t a question, but I answer with, “Yes, I am. I’m over the Open Studio.”
Ms. Brown tilts her head just a bit, in a way that says a big question is coming. “That’s so interesting, I didn’t know they had an activity coordinator. My friend’s mother lives there. The way she talks, new management came and they don’t have any good activities anymore. She’s so funny, always talking about running people over with her scooter. I wonder why she doesn’t go to any of your activities.”
I take another bite of this nasty, satanic food just so I don’t have to answer right away.
Tye answers instead. “It’s new, Mom. Nala just started this summer.”
“Oh, I see,” Ms. Brown says. She is talking to Tye, but her eyes are on me. “Will you still work there during the school year, or is this just a summer job?”
I take a sip of lemonade. “I, uh, I haven’t decided.” I do not look Ms. Brown in the eyes.
“Well, I’d love to have you meet my friend’s mom. I’ll try to remember to tell her to look for you. Just in case some random person comes up to you, her name is Ms. Mabel. You won’t forget her once you meet her,” Ms. Brown says.
I look up at the mention of Grandma’s friend. I do not say that I know her, but my eyes must be saying something to Ms. Brown because she leans forward and asks, “Does that name sound familiar?”
“I—I think so—yes. I think my grandmother might know her.” I take my phone out of my pocket and pretend to check the time. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize how late it is. I need to get going soon. Thanks so much for dinner, Ms. Brown. It was really good.”
“You’re welcome. Come back anytime,” she says. She pushes her chair away from the table and gets up to hug me. “Tye, are you walking her home?”
“Yes,” he says.
Ms. Brown is just like Aunt Ebony and Grandma and all the women in my family—there are certain questions that are not questions at all. You can always tell by the tone, by the look in her eyes that really, it is a command not a request.
Tye takes the dishes into the kitchen, and while we wait for him, Ms. Brown walks me to the door, gives me a hug, and says, “My son really likes you. He talks so highly of you. I’m glad he has someone like you.”
17
I sleep in today and don’t get out of bed till eleven o’clock. Okay, that’s not super late but in this house, we rise and shine early. By the time I shower and get dressed, Imani is already gone. Aunt Ebony is dressed and looks like she’s been gone and back again because her keys are on the counter instead of the usual hook they hang on at the door.
I scramble eggs and make toast, and just when I am about to walk out the door to meet Tye, Aunt Ebony asks, “Where are you heading?”
“Out with Tye,” I say.
“Have you worked on your college essay?” she asks. “Don’t let the summer go by with nothing to show for it, Nala. You have such good grades, and you did very well on your SAT. You have some great choices for school. Do you need me to help with anything?”
“I’m fine,” I say.
Aunt Ebony knows me so well. She says, “You haven’t started, have you?”
I can’t lie to her. I can’t. “I’m going to be finished by the end of summer. I promise.”
“Are you stuck?”
“I wouldn’t say that,” I tell her. “I’m just, I’m brainstorming right now. My English teacher said making random lists is a way to get ideas about what you want to write about. So right now, I’m just in the beginning phase, just thinking and making lists about my life until something, I don’t know . . . until something—”
“Resonates?”
“Right.”
Aunt Ebony gives me a look like she isn’t quite sure she trusts my answer.
“I’m serious,” I tell her. “Our teacher told us that colleges like personal essays about lessons learned or important, life-changing moments. So I’m just thinking of what I might want to write about. I’ve been making lists in my notebook.”
She just looks at me. “Don’t lose yourself in that boy,” she says.
Yeah, she knows me. Maybe better than I know myself.
Tye sends me a text that he’s a block away, so I go outside to meet him. We don’t have a plan, so we just start walking. We stop at the bodega. He gets a bag of chips—plain (not even with ridges), and I get a bottled water and a candy bar for later.
We wander to 135th and Fifth, and I see a Goodwill store. “Can we stop in here?” I ask. “Goodwill?”
“Yes, they have good deals on cute clothes sometimes.” I pull his arm and walk him into the store. We browse the aisles, not really looking for anything in particular. I look through the clothes and stick to my try-it-if-you-like-it rule because sometimes tags are deceiving and I can actually fit a size that in other stores I can’t. I grab a few cute summer skirts and try them on. Two out of four fit. Not bad. I look for tops and only find one that I really like—and that really fits. When I come out of the dressing room, I don’t see Tye and then I realize that he is trying on clothes too.
“Be out in a minute,” he calls out.
“See, I told you there are good deals here.”
Tye laughs and opens his door. “What do you think of this?” He pretends to be a model—he doesn’t have to try hard. He is wearing a navy shirt, and even though it is simple, I tell him he should definitely get it. It looks good on him. Everything looks good on him.
We take a shortcut down the housewares section to get to the cashier. At the end of the aisle, I see a row of frames of different sizes. They all look antique, golden treasures waiting to hold a memory. “These would be perfect for the photo legacy project,” Tye says.
I keep walking because it is not happening and I do not need to buy any frames.