Chapter 2 #2
Looking at the clock on the wall, I count how many hours I have until my shift. I need to be ready to work tonight from 6 p.m. to midnight. I’ll play two 30-minute sets during my shift and bartend between performances tonight.
I love where I work—a coffee house bar called Warm'n'Cool. They have a stage for performances like gigs, poetry nights, and stand-up comedy. My boss adores my singing voice and often asks me if I want to perform for extra cash. When I said yes for tonight, I had no idea I would wake up in a bed that wasn’t mine. But as I’ve got a few hours before being at work, I can relax and try to forget about my morning for now.
“Mama, da, I’m home,” I shout to my parents from our narrow foyer.
We live in an old brick building in Red Hook, Brooklyn.
It used to be my grandparents’ place with their bakery next door.
When they both passed away within a month of each other, my da decided to move us here and continue the legacy of our family bakery.
Luckily, mama knows how to bake, and da takes care of the business side.
I don’t work for them anymore—I burned at least five sheets of cookies during my first and only week when I forgot to check the timer while singing and dancing around the kitchen.
“We’re in the living room,” I hear mama’s voice coming from the other end of the first floor of our home.
Walking to the living room, I pass family photos and memories hanging on either side of the hallway.
My two older sisters have their own families—my niece and nephews are my favorite humans.
Their smiling faces make me feel warm and fuzzy whenever I see them.
Even though I love being cool auntie Soph, I can’t see myself having kids.
I want to do whatever I want and whenever I want without worrying about my non-existing kids.
I find my da napping in his favorite navy blue recliner.
Nobody knows how it’s still in decent condition since we’ve had it since I was a baby.
Da could always sleep anywhere, and now he needs even more sleep.
As he only recently changed his meds for MS, he feels even more tired than normal.
No wonder he’s napping, even if it’s only one in the afternoon.
“Hey, mama, how is da?” I ask, kissing her cheek and giving her a quick hug.
I worry about the side effects of da's new medications and how mama will manage the change again. I know da has been talking about training my older sister Shannon and her husband to take over the bakery. But it isn’t that simple, even if it’s something they are happy to do, unlike me.
Another reason I feel like I’ve been failing my parents is that I don’t share their passion for owning a bakery.
“It’s all good, my Chicklet. Don’t you worry,” mama assures me as I sit next to her on the big soft sofa.
“You can’t stop me worrying about you two. No matter what you say or do.”
Mama huffs. “Let’s make a deal that you try to live your life without thinking about your da’s health too much. Let me do the worrying.”
“But I’m not ready to see you two suffering more than you already are. The last ten years have been hard enough without any extra complications.”
“I’m not ready either, but we need to be strong for him. Strong for our family to get through this stage in our lives.” Mama hugs me again.
She slowly runs her fingers through my short messy curls, like she can tell I slept without my hair bonnet last night.
Mama always reminds us girls that caring for our curls should be a part of our beauty routine as Caribbean women.
Even though my skin tone is lighter than my mama's and sisters’, I'm proud to be half Caribbean.
I glance over at da, who snores in the recliner.
He got his multiple sclerosis diagnosis when I was in high school.
Against my parents’ wishes, I decided to stay close and study at the local community college.
After realizing college wasn’t for me, I dropped out at the end of the first semester and found my first waitressing job.
Since then, I have had different jobs before I found my current gig three years ago.
If I hadn’t started working there, I wouldn’t have met Haisley and her former housemates.
They became my friends overnight. Haisley and I are soul sisters as we get each other the way nobody else does.
We’re like twins born years apart in two contrasting homes and families.
Since last summer, my da’s condition has worsened. He’ll need more assistance, like a wheelchair, sooner than later. Until then, he’s trying only to use his walker, but it's taking a toll on him. Mama and I joke that his Irish blood makes him so damn stubborn.
“Mama, tell me the story of how you met da again,” I beg like I have a million times before.
“Oh, it has always been your favorite story, my little Chicklet.” She says, laughter breaking through her lips.
“I had just turned seventeen and wanted to see the world. My aunt lived on Long Island and earned her living cleaning houses. She asked if I would like to join her to see if American life was for me.”
I sigh dreamily. “And you said yes because you were curious to experience life far away from everything and everyone you knew.”
“Yes, that sounds about right. After that, my parents saved all their extra money for a year to buy me a one-way ticket from Barbados to New York. I went to a local bar with my cousin during my first month here. And there he was—the cute ginger guy with freckles and the palest skin I had ever seen.”
“How did you know he was the one?”
Mama coos. “I just knew it was meant to be when he looked at me across the dance floor. It was a feeling like no other. Like I had found my missing piece. So, I waved, and he blushed...”
And that’s the story of how my parents—a ginger Irish-American guy and a dark Bajan girl who happened to be in the same place in New York—met. As mama said, my favorite meet cute gets me feeling emotional every time. Not only because it’s my parents but because they met against all the odds.
I wish something like that could happen to me, too—finding my soulmate in the most unexpected place. There’s no denying it. But I'm unsure if I'll ever have a story like that to tell. But here’s to hoping one day I do.