Chapter 11
Lamar Anderson: I know this is last minute, but what if you met me in Richmond tomorrow? It’s the halfway point between us and I’d like to see you before work gets crazy.
I stared at the message before closing my eyes and remembering what it was like to be with him, next to him, around him. I took a minute to remember his kiss, his touch, his dick. I allowed myself to get lost in how everything disappeared around him.
I could really use that right now.
Jazmyn Payne: I’d love to see you tomorrow, but I can’t. I’m sorry.
Lamar Anderson: No, it’s cool. It was a long shot.
Jazmyn Payne: My aunt and I just finished making all these plans.
I stopped typing as the weight of everything started to crush me.
Lamar Anderson: I get how it is when you’re visiting with family. Just hit me up when you get some time. You’ve been on my mind a lot and so I thought I’d toss it out there.
Jazmyn Payne: I’ll call when I can. I do miss you.
Lamar Anderson: I miss you, too. And even if we can’t link up, I hope we get a minute to talk.
I didn’t have a response as tears filled my eyes all over again. Shaking my head, I put my phone down. I wasn’t in a good space.
Aunt Addison’s health issues weren’t unfamiliar territory nor was her being on hospice.
Usually, I kept my tears to myself and processed her illness away from her.
But as I listened to her accept that she had less than six months to live, I was thrust into new territory.
We spent the weekend planning out her July schedule as if she wouldn’t make it into August, and it took a toll on me.
“It feels like you’re giving up,” I told her after lunch on Sunday.
“Jazmyn, sweetheart,” she started, reaching for my hand. “This is it.”
“You can keep fighting. You told me to never stop fighting for myself. Never stop fighting for what I want. Never stop fighting—period.”
She tipped her head to the side and stared at me with watery eyes. “And I want you to hold on to that.” She squeezed my hand. “Fight for what you want, fight for what’s right, fight for you … because you matter. So much. So, so much, Jazmyn. Fight and keep fighting.”
“That’s what I need you to do,” I said, weeping.
“My heart has been failing for the last few years, but I fought because I had the fight in me. I did what I needed to do, and I defied the odds because I knew in my soul it wasn’t my time.” She let out a shaky breath. “And now my soul is telling me that this is the end of the line for me.”
My chin dropped to my chest. “I don’t understand.”
“Jazmyn, this isn’t like the other times when they didn’t know if I’d survive the surgeries or the recoveries or the complications. This isn’t me giving up. This is me knowing.” She paused. “I know.”
Just hearing the clarity and certainty in her voice forced my head up and made me lock eyes with her.
“Here’s something I want you to remember about fighting,” she verbalized earnestly.
“You have to know when to stop. You ask yourself if it’s worth the fight.
If it is, you fight. If you feel it in your heart, your soul, your bones, you fight.
But if you don’t…” She shook her head. “Then stop.” She paused as if she were waiting to make sure the message had sunk in with me.
“Fighting for yourself also looks like letting things go.”
A fresh wave of tears streamed down my face as I silently looked at her. For the first time all weekend, I truly heard what she was saying, and I couldn’t stop crying if I tried.
“I’m scared,” I choked out.
“I’m not. Faith over fear. We have faith in God’s plan, and we don’t let fear control us.”
“I’m not ready for you to…” I couldn’t even complete the sentence.
“I’m at peace with it,” she assured me. “You need to be at peace with it, too.”
“I can’t lose you,” I said through sobs.
“Sweetheart, you’re not losing me. Everything I am, I poured into you.”
We spent the rest of the day together, watching her favorite show.
When I woke up Monday morning, I was in a different headspace.
I’d heard my aunt, and I’d needed to sleep on her words.
I didn’t feel better but I felt a sense of understanding.
My heart hurt because I didn’t want to be without her.
I cried because I was going to miss her.
But after everything Addison Payne had done for me in my thirty years, I refused to not do everything I could for her.
Aaliyah James: Hey Jazz, how are you? I know you have a lot going on but call me and let me know how you’re doing. You haven’t been answering calls, and I want to hear your voice. We miss you!
Nina Ford: In case you needed a laugh, this old man approached me and said I looked like I smelled like cookies and cakes, and I told him he looked like he smelled like frankincense & myrrh. Love you!
Lamar Anderson: I know it’s been a while. Training camp is kicking my ass. But I came across a couple of people I might approach about working with me. I emailed you their names and bios just to get your thoughts.
I’d figured training camps were tough, but I’d assumed the coaching staff, trainers, and those in support roles had it easier than the players.
It made sense that everyone had to go hard during camp because football truly was a team effort.
But I had never considered how intense it would be for everyone involved.
Even still, I didn’t text him back.
I didn’t text Aaliyah or Nina back either.
It was hard enough to process my aunt dying, but there was no way I was going to be able to talk about it.
And I didn’t have time to dwell in my sadness or distract myself from what was happening.
I had too much to do, and I needed to embrace and appreciate the time I had with Aunt Addy.
The only thing she wanted to plan by herself was the party. Everything else, she left in my hands.
So, when I wasn’t writing my novel, I was working on the items on my aunt’s list.
The book club meeting was scheduled for the first of August because that would allow three weeks for people to read.
Rose helped Aunt Addy spread the word, and I loved watching the two of them together.
Their relationship reminded me that the love between friends wasn’t just powerful—it was medicinal.
“No,” Monica said definitively, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “I do not advise you to get a tattoo. There’s too much risk involved. Absolutely not.”
Aunt Addison looked up at her incredulously. “Risk?”
“The risk for infection for people in your condition…” She shook her head. “Addison, no. Endocarditis is serious, and it could—”
“Kill me?” she interrupted, making a face. “I’m dying whether I get the tattoo or not. So I’m getting a tattoo.”
They were fussing back and forth in their typical playful way, but they were both serious. Their relationship reminded me that the care and consideration between friends is vital.
“What if we do the tattoo at the end of the month?” I suggested as a compromise. “We’re doing the book club meeting the first of August. Why don’t we get it on July thirty-first?”
Aunt Addy nodded. “I can agree to that.”
The photoshoot was scheduled almost immediately, and since she had lost a few more pounds, she insisted on going shopping to find a new dress. After twelve stores and almost four hours at the mall, she found three dresses she loved, shoes she’d never wear, and a handbag just because.
“Never let unpleasant circumstances keep you from enjoying life,” Aunt Addy said as she examined the bag. “Treat yourself.”
I thought about that advice for the next couple of hours.
“I still think this white one looks bridal,” I commented when we got back to her house and I hung up her dresses.
“I’m going to wear these two for the photos.” Aunt Addy pointed to the blue-and-purple dress and the black dress. “The white one I’m saving.”
“Saving for what?”
She winked. “You’ll see.”
“I like that the blue-and-purple dress goes so well with your hair!” Monica commented.
And it really did.
During the photoshoot, Aunt Addison looked radiant. There was only one time when she looked like she was getting weak, but the photographer was so good with her.
“And that’s it,” the photographer concluded with a big smile. “That was great, Addison. You will have these back in two weeks.”
I helped her into her wheelchair as she peppered him with questions.
“You’ll be able to hang these beauties up in your home no later than the first week of August,” he continued.
As they finalized things and shook hands, I caught the tail end of the conversation.
“… we will see you out there in a couple weeks,” Aunt Addy said to him with a wave.
I waited until we got outside to ask, “Where will we be seeing him? When we pick up the prints?”
“He’s going to be at the jazz festival!”
As per the schedule we had created, we’d knock something off her list and then take a day or two to rest in between.
On those days we’d talk, we’d tend to her garden, we’d take walks, and we’d play games.
Her energy didn’t seem to be depleting, and she didn’t seem any sicker than she had before.
But there was a sacredness to those moments that reminded me that time was a luxury.
It was a reminder to not take one minute for granted.
When I took her to the botanical gardens that Lamar had taken me to, we had a picnic.
It was the perfect temperature, and Aunt Addy wanted to see the flowers.
We were only halfway through our Philly cheesesteaks when an unexpected storm moved over us.
I was pushing Aunt Addy in her wheelchair, and Monica decided to get the van so she could pull up to the front.
But in her haste, she slipped and fell in a puddle.
I tried not to laugh, but Aunt Addy kept crying out, “Lawd have mercy!”
By the time we made it to the van, we were all soaking wet.
It was quiet when we first climbed in. I had tears in my eyes from holding in my amusement.