Chapter 10 Hendrix
CHAPTER 10
HENDRIX
I settle onto the stool at my counter and take a long sip of my pinot gris. After the headache I woke up with this morning, you’d think I’d stay away from alcohol. I deserve this, though. The day was nonstop and… strange. My call with Maverick Bell was disconcerting and far too stimulating.
Intellectually, of course.
The man is smart and charismatic and confident. That kind of assurance goes much deeper than his pockets. It drills down to the bone. It’s in his fabric, and that is some fine fabric.
I set the rest of my leftovers in the fridge. Soledad and Yasmen told me Saffron’s was the best Indian food in Skyland, but I didn’t want to get on a bandwagon and held out for months before I finally tried it tonight. I bring up our text thread to admit defeat.
Me: You bitches were right. Saffron’s is great.
Soledad: God, I love being right.
Yasmen: Aw, man. I wanted to be there when you had it for the first time.
Soledad: Just be glad she finally tried it. You know how contrary she is. She won’t do things just because we told her to.
Me : That’s not true.
Yasmen: It actually is. When do we get to hear about the wild weekend in Miami?
Me: It wasn’t that wild, but maybe we can get together Saturday?
Soledad: Lottie has a gymnastics meet in Savannah. For God’s sake, what was I thinking letting her start this shit? It’s costing me an arm and a leg and all my spare time. Saturday’s out.
Yasmen: Kassim’s having a sleepover. Si is handling the restaurant and I’m manning the boys.
Sometimes it sucks to have domesticated friends.
Me: My week is packed. Literally something every night for a client or a founder. Guess I’ll catch you up next week.
Soledad: Can you at least tell us if you met Maverick Bell?
I’m still reeling that he called today. I have a lot to unpack about that guy, but I’d rather do it with them in person. Instead of answering Soledad’s question directly, I shoot for a time that I can fully explore all of this situation with the only people I trust completely. I need to see their faces when I tell them all that has transpired.
Me: What about next Sunday? I’ve been wanting to try that Korean bathhouse. You guys up for it?
Yasmen: I’m in! The reviews are amazing.
Soledad: Is that the one where you gotta get naked?
Me: Yes. Andddd?
Soledad: Uhhhhhhh… not sure. Naked?
Me: Chile, ain’t nobody thinking about them lil’ titties. LOL! Just come.
Yasmen: Sol, I’ll bring my drooping tits and my stretch marks. Fuck anyone who has something to say about it.
Me: And I got a roll around the middle and a little FUPA. But you know I call it a FAP. Fat-ass pussy. Ayeeeee! Plus-size pussaaayyyy.
Soledad: Hen, what’s really plus-size is your confidence.
Yasmen: Are our people doing this?
Me: Yesssss. Black folks are there too. Naked and unashamed and steamy and eating sushi.
I’m actually not too sure about the Black-to-other-folks ratio, but I just love pushing Soledad beyond her comfort zone because hilarity always ensues. I’ll sit around naked for it just to outlast her.
Soledad: I’m not sure how I feel about my sushi that close to somebody’s bare ass.
Yasmen: They’re not preparing the food naked! Okay. I’m down!
I’m actually low-key shocked that Yasmen is going along with this.
Me: I dare you, Sol.
Soledad: That’s not fair. You know I’m too competitive to let that go. I can’t stand y’all. OKAY!!! I’ll give it a try, but if I feel uncomfortable, I’m wearing a towel and nobody better take it from me.
Yasmen: Deal
Me: Deal… I guess, but watch your back ’cause I might snatch. hehehe
After a long soak in bubble bath and oil that costs so much it borders on immoral, I’ve just put on silk pajamas and slipped between my satin sheets when the phone rings. I reach over to grab it, sitting up straight when I see the caller.
“Aunt Geneva?” I reach to turn the bedside lamp back on. “Hey. Everything all right?”
“We’re fine,” she says. “How are you? How was Miami?”
“It was good. Business, but fun, too. I’m sorry Saturday night was rough. I’ll get home soon. There’s just so much stuff I have to be here for this month. I need to be on set for a couple of my clients and—”
“Hen, it’s fine. I didn’t call to make you feel guilty or put no pressure on you. Your mama’s good. Already asleep for the night. Adding that magnesium like you suggested has helped a lot.”
“Oh, good. I got in late, but I’ll FaceTime early enough tomorrow to catch her before she turns in.”
“That’ll be nice,” she says and then clears her throat. “I did need to talk to you about something.”
My body goes on high alert. All the lassitude from my wine and hot bath coils into anxiety that starts in my belly and fans out across all my extremities. I tuck the silky duvet under my arms and lean forward in bed. “What’s up, Aunt G?”
“I’m having a hysterectomy.”
It’s the last thing I was expecting her to say, and it lands on me and sinks in for a few seconds before I respond. A woman Aunt Geneva’s age doesn’t have much use for reproductive organs, but it’s still a major surgery.
“Oh, wow.” I frown. “Are you okay? When is the surgery?”
“Later this summer. They’re backed up and that’s the soonest I can get in, but I wanted to let you know far in advance because I’ll be on bedrest for a few weeks and won’t be able to adequately monitor Betty. She has a few doctor’s appointments that fall during my recovery time. We could bring in a nurse—”
“I’ll come home.” The words are out before I have time to think about what it will take to be away from Atlanta for weeks or what I’ll have to rearrange. Most of the time I feel so helpless, unsure what I can do to make life easier for both of them. This feels tangible and necessary. They need me and I’ll be there.
“You sure?” Despite what Aunt Geneva actually says, she sounds relieved.
“Of course. I’ll come take care of Mama and you, too.”
“You ain’t gotta take care of me, honey.”
“Yeah, I do. Unless Ellie’s coming from Costa Rica?”
“Naw.” Aunt Geneva makes a scoffing noise that manages to sound affectionate. “Not with them babies and the bar. It’s too much.”
Between two kids under the age of four, and the bar she and her husband own and operate, it’s hard for my cousin Ellie to get home, but Aunt Geneva makes sure to see her grandkids a few times a year.
“Don’t worry about a thing,” I tell her. “I got you.”
“If you have questions about something or need anything for your mama, I’ll be around, just off my feet. And they’ll arrange a meal train at the church for me, I’m sure, so you won’t have to worry about food.”
“I wasn’t planning to worry about food,” I joke, but she knows I mean it. “I’d have homecooked meals delivered if necessary.”
“Well, that won’t be necessary, Ms. Highfalutin’,” she laughs. “It’ll be good to have you home for a bit.”
I sober, wrapping my mind and my heart around the thought of being steeped in the reality of Mama’s condition every day. My chest goes tight, and my resolve wavers the tiniest bit. I know there is a lot I haven’t dealt with when it comes to this, but I’m afraid that if I let all that emotion out, I won’t ever be able to contain it again. It will run wild. I’m not sure I can do all the things I need to if that happens.
For some reason, and not for the first time, Maverick comes to mind. The rare understanding I found in his eyes Saturday night. The ease with which I voiced so many of the concerns about Mama that I’ve bottled up. He drew me out and into an openness I haven’t allowed myself with anyone. How do you articulate the ache of watching someone you love fade? It’s hard to put into words, and when I met Maverick, I didn’t have to. He already knew.
“I just wanted to check on you,” Aunt Geneva says. “And tell you about my surgery.”
“Thank you, Aunt G. Don’t worry.” I flop back onto my pillow and stare up at the ceiling as if the solutions to all my problems are sketched overhead. “I’ll take care of everything.”