Chapter 4
Aunt Addy’s first cardiac event had been so intense that she’d been put on life support.
Less than a year later, her heart issues resulted in a critical hospital stint followed by hospice care.
And earlier this year, she got sick, and the doctors couldn’t explain it.
They said there was nothing else they could do for her.
She’d graduated from hospice services after two months.
She wasn’t just a survivor. She was a fighter.
It was clear each cardiac event had taken a physical toll on her.
She’d be slightly slower and weaker. But her mind was still sharp.
She’d kept her same attitude, her same quirky responses, and she’d be back home within a couple days of recovery.
But watching her go through her morning and afternoon therapies, I knew this time was different.
The stroke hadn’t just impacted her speech; it had impacted her mobility.
“I’m proud of you for not hitting them,” Aunt Addy responded to the end of my story. “But you should’ve. Clearly, they forgot what those fists of yours can do.”
Snickering, I nodded. “Clearly!”
She sighed loudly as she gazed up at me. “You deserved better than what this town gave you.”
“I wish Mom and Dad saw the world like you. Maybe I could’ve gone to school in another town or even a boarding school.”
“The accelerated program at Chance is still one of the best on the East Coast.”
“And they weren’t going to prioritize my social life over my education.”
“Your parents love you very much, and they did the best they could.”
“I know. But…” I exhaled. “They weren’t going to do anything that made them look like bad parents.”
She smirked, knowing what I’d said was true. “They were wrong, but they had good intentions.”
“Their good intentions paved the way for me to live the perfect little life.” My sardonic tone and eye roll communicated my true feelings.
She gave me the same sympathetic look she always did.
“Your dad always felt like he had to prove people wrong. He has always been a ‘never let them see you sweat’ kind of guy—even when he was young. So the way he handled your issues at school was more about him and less about you. You know I tried to talk to him, but…” She made a face.
“There’s no reasoning with people who have to be right all the time. ”
“And not to mention that Mom and Dad are both perfectionists. They have a hard time straying from their idea of how life should be lived.”
“How could I forget?” She rolled her eyes.
“Sweetheart, before they had you, they practiced on me. They’re only ten years older, but you would’ve thought they were my parents.
So I know all too well how overbearing they can be.
How they push for perfection in every facet of life.
” She frowned. “But I used to remind them that they weren’t my parents. You didn’t have that luxury.”
Sitting back in the tan recliner, I looked up at the square-paneled ceiling. “No, I did not.”
We were both quiet.
“But you’re grown now,” she reminded me gently.
“Perfectionism is a flawed way to move through an imperfect world. And I believe everything you’ve been through was for a reason.
Who you were has made you who you are and has prepared you for who you’re about to be.
Honor all the versions of yourself, and go after what you want. ”
“I’m still figuring out what I want now after … everything.”
“Are you figuring out what you want, or do you know what you want and you’re afraid to stand in it?”
The question rocked me.
I stared at her with my mouth slightly agape.
“Mm-hmm,” she intoned. “Now stop being scary. What’s your type now?”
“My type? Of man?”
She nodded.
“After that shitshow of a marriage, I would say my type is a good man who is compatible with me,” I answered.
She snickered. “That’s not very specific. You have to be specific when you’re asking God for what you want.”
“Who said I was asking God for a man?”
She looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “Who else would you ask? Because that last one you had was not of God.”
“Oh, I know,” I scoffed. “He was a weapon formed against me.”
She laughed.
I smiled as I watched her. For a moment, it was almost like we were sitting in her living room or on her screened-in back porch, laughing, talking, and exchanging stories.
“You seem like you’re feeling better today,” I remarked, when the amusement had subsided.
“I feel okay.” She glanced at her left side and forced a smile. “I’m optimistic. A couple weeks inpatient, and then I can make arrangements for outpatient.”
“Good.” I reached over and squeezed her forearm gently. “You’ll be home before you know it.”
“I just hate that this happened during your visit.”
“Don’t worry about that. The whole point of my trip is to spend time with you.”
She frowned. “But not cooped up here. Your vacation doesn’t need to be in this place the whole time.”
“Aunt Addy, I’m here for you. What else would I do? They tore down my only other safe space in town, so it’s your house or wherever you are. That’s it.”
“They were supposed to rebuild that gazebo by this summer, but funding delays…” She rolled her eyes. “Anyway, I want you to practice being intentionally happy.”
“What?”
“Happy on purpose,” she explained. “Intentional happiness forces you to create a happy life for yourself wherever you are, whatever the circumstance, whenever there’s air in your lungs. You make a point to be happy, to create happiness, to feel happiness. Do you hear me?”
I nodded. “Intentional happiness.”
“And I can think of something”—she smirked—“or someone who can spark it off.”
I could tell by her tone what she was insinuating, so I rolled my eyes. “Aunt Addy, please.”
“All I’m saying is that you seem fond of that man from the bar. You said you two talked all night.”
“We did. He seems cool. But … I don’t know.” I lifted my shoulders. “I’ll wait and see if he calls me.”
“Of course he will. That’s why those billy goat bullies were being rude.” She gave me a knowing look. “They were trying to impress that man, and he was already impressed by you.”
I lifted my shoulders. “All I know is that they were gone by the time I got back to my seat.”
“Because he sent them on their way.”
“I don’t know what happened.”
“Well, he didn’t ask for their number; he asked for yours.”
“As friends, yeah. He said he was going to text me today, but…”
It was close to noon, and he’d been radio silent since we’d said good night via text.
“But what?” she inquired.
“If he reaches out, I don’t know if I’m going to meet up with him.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to leave you here without me tomorrow.”
“It’s been a long time since you liked someone. So, friend or otherwise, I’m proud of you for getting out there again.”
“Thanks. It wasn’t that big of a deal. We just … clicked.”
She had a serious expression on her face. “You don’t dismiss the instant connections you have with people. Every connection means something.”
“Yeah,” I agreed softly.
“I met Rose, and it was an instant connection. We’ve been best friends ever since.”
“That’s true.”
Her cell phone rang loudly from under the thin comforter that was spread over her body. When she pulled it out and saw who it was, she smiled.
I excused myself to find the cafeteria or at least a vending machine. I was gone for about fifteen minutes, and when I returned, she was still on the phone. As I searched my bag for my book, I realized who was on the other end of the line.
“And I don’t plan on being here that long,” Aunt Addy told my father, glaring at me.
“I don’t know what Jazmyn told you, but I do not need you running up here.
Don’t get on no plane, Richard! You stay right there.
You said you were coming back at the end of August, so I will see you at the end of August.” She shook her head.
“No, no, no. I have your daughter here. Rose is coming tomorrow. Monica is coming back on Monday. I’m fine—stop worrying! ”
She talked to my father for another twenty minutes. When she was done, I put my book down and looked at her.
“What did you tell your father?” she asked without any intention of letting me answer.
“Because he’s talking about flying here from Florida.
I don’t want him and your mother coming down here, fussing over me.
I hope you didn’t tell anyone else I’m here, because I’m going home soon, and no one needs to see me like this.
I’ve had this same bonnet on for days. My locs can’t breathe! ”
I laughed as I stood. “I’m on it.”
I pushed the button to lift the back of the bed to sit her up more.
Then I got her toiletry bag and grabbed the jojoba oil and a moisturizer.
Placing a pillow behind her back, I removed her bonnet and oiled her scalp.
She continued fussing about the number of people who had reached out asking how she was doing.
From her tone, it was clear that even though she was complaining, she appreciated how much she was loved.
Addison Payne enjoyed being the center of attention. She relished her social community. She was popular and eccentric and uniquely herself. So I knew that she wasn’t fussing because people cared about her. She was fussing because of her situation.
As a fifty-four-year-old woman from a small town who’d gotten out and come back, she was the it girl.
She made things happen. She had a bunch of different hobbies, activities, and friends.
She was so involved and invested in the community, and she meant so much to so many people.
It was unimaginable that she would be able to be in a local rehab center without someone finding out.
But I knew she hated for anyone to see her down.
“… and that’s why I told Rose not to tell anyone,” she concluded. “Oh! And her son who got divorced a few years ago is engaged again.”
I completed her hair and then rubbed the excess on my hands into my scalp. “That’s cool.”