15. Egypt
EGYPT
I ’d been in Memphis for a little over three weeks and still couldn’t tell if I felt better or worse.
Physically, yeah, maybe. The nausea wasn’t as constant, but it hit when I least expected it.
Like today, halfway through laying vocals for Don’t Say Love , I had to pause mid-verse, clutch my stomach, and sprint to the garbage can in the booth with me.
I’d had to keep one in there in order to keep from going back and forth to the bathroom.
It wasn’t ideal but I had to do what I had to do.
“Damn, you good?” Averi called after me through the mic.
“No,” I croaked, hunched over the trash, my forehead pressed to my arm. “This baby tryna knock me out the game early.”
I heard the studio door creak open and felt her presence before she even spoke. “You need to eat, Egypt. That’s the second time today you dry heaved. You gon’ pass out in this damn booth.”
I waved her off. “I’m fine. Just let me finish the hook.”
She didn’t argue. She knew better than to tell me not to work. Music was the only thing keeping me together. That, and being under my Nana’s roof as often as I could. It was the one place I didn’t have to explain myself. The one place that still felt like home.
By the time I got back in the booth, I powered through my next song, Ctrl+Alt+Del , my voice worn but full of emotion. One of my label mates, a female rap artist Amiri was supposed to hop on the track with me, but couldn’t come to Memphis to record, so we’d be sending the track off to her later.
After the session, Averi and I dipped back to the hotel to change before heading to my Nana’s for dinner. While I was curling my hair, my phone buzzed—again. Another text from my publicist.
Paulette: You want to make a comment about your relationship status with Nasseem?"
I typed back a quick hell no and hit send. I wasn’t giving them shit. Not after everything.
I stared at myself in the mirror, eyes a little puffier than usual, skin slightly dull. I was tired. Not just physically, but emotionally. I missed him. But I wasn’t about to fall apart again.
“You good?” Averi asked, stepping into my room in a ribbed blue jumpsuit and Yeezy slides.
I nodded. “Yeah, just…prepping myself to deal with Cleo and Isis’ bullshit.”
Dinner had barely started, and I already wanted to flip the damn table.
I don’t know what it was about being in the same room with my aunt Cleo and her daughter Isis that brought out the worst in me, but something about their energy crawled under my skin like a rash you couldn’t scratch.
The fake smiles, the dramatic sighs, the backhanded compliments dressed in Bible verses. All of it just made me itch.
My Nana had insisted on this dinner. “I want my family under one roof,” she said. “Just like old times.” Except back in the old times, my mom was alive and these two weren’t so bold.
Averi sat across from me, wine glass in hand, watching like she was waiting for the first shot to be fired. It came from Cleo.
“Well,” she said, folding her napkin neatly on her lap, “I saw a snippet of that performance you did on Jimmy Fallon. Tight clothes and all.” She took a sip from her glass—lemon water, of course. “I suppose modesty ain’t fashionable no more in your line of work.”
I blinked. “Of course you’d find something wrong with the outfit.”
She smiled. “Just sayin’. When I was your age, we didn’t have to have all our goods hanging out to get attention. But I guess things have changed.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Like women being able to live for themselves instead of hiding behind a preacher husband and a fake smile.”
Cleo’s jaw tightened. “You’re confused, baby. There’s nothing empowering about selling sex in every song and outfit. Your mother, God rest her soul, chased the same fast life. Look where it got her.”
I leaned forward, rage rising. “What we not gon’ do is use my dead mama to push your repressed-ass agenda. Don’t stand on a pulpit judging folks when you don’t even know the whole story.”
“She was my sister!” Cleo snapped. “I knew enough! You think just cause my mama kept you under her wing that you better than us? You walk around here actin’ like you ain’t come from the same South Memphis dirt we all did!”
“And yet somehow I managed to bloom,” I shot back, “while you been withering in your bitterness for twenty years.”
Isis rolled her eyes. “Here we go. Egypt, queen of the spotlight.”
I turned to her. “Oh, you finally wanna join in? I knew it was only a matter of time.”
“You love acting like this music career makes you better than me, but at least I didn’t hop from man to man and end up with a criminal. Ain’t that what the blogs said Nasseem was?”
Averi choked on her wine. “Oh, bitch?—”
“Try again,” I cut her off. “Nasseem is a professional fighter, not a criminal. But since you wanna talk blogs, last I checked word was going around the city that you were fighting your ex in the Walmart parking lot. Memphis ain’t that fuckin’ big sweetheart, things get back to me still.”
Cleo gasped. “Language!”
“Girl, shut up!” I snapped. “Ain’t nobody buying your sanctified act. You always hated that Nana gave me love you never earned.”
Cleo stood up. “You ungrateful little girl! You wouldn’t have a pot to piss in if my mama hadn’t raised you!”
“I didn’t ask to be raised by her. I was left with her because my mother died, remember? Or do you only remember what makes me look like the villain?”
“You’ve always been the villain,” Isis muttered. “Always needed all the attention, all the sympathy?—”
“Because I ain’t have shit growing up!” I yelled. “You had a mother and a father and still came out hateful. Jealousy don’t look good on you, sis.”
Averi was on her feet now too. “Okay, y’all, this is insane?—”
“ENOUGH!” My Nana’s voice cut through the room like thunder.
She slammed her fist down on the table so hard the silverware rattled.
Everyone froze. Her body trembled as she stood, chest heaving, tears in her eyes.
“I brought y’all here because I’m tired.
I’m tired of watching the women I love tear each other down.
Egypt, Cleo, Isis, y’all are supposed to be blood.
But y’all act like enemies. And it hurts.
It hurts because I raised y’all better than this. ”
Suddenly, she clutched her chest.
“Nana?” I said quickly, rushing to her side. Her knees buckled. “NANA!” I panicked as she collapsed right into my arms.
“Oh my God!” Averi was already dialing 911. Cleo screamed. Isis backed away like she’d seen a ghost.
“Stay with me, please,” I whispered. “Nana, please.”
Her eyes fluttered. She couldn’t speak. I held her like I did when I was a kid and had nightmares. Rocking gently, crying and praying. She was my whole heart. And I’d be damned if I lost her too.
The hospital lights were too damn bright. I sat in that cold ass waiting room trying to keep it together, but my knee wouldn’t stop bouncing, and my chest wouldn’t stop aching. Averi sat next to me, her hand gently on my back, silent and supportive the way only a real friend knew how to be.
I didn’t say a word. Not at first. I was too busy replaying it all. Nana collapsing into my arms. The way her eyes fluttered like she was stuck between this world and the next. The screaming. The panic. Me screaming for somebody to do something. I was still shaking.
“You alright?” Averi asked gently.
I didn’t get the chance to answer because Cleo stormed back into the waiting room with Isis at her side, her lips tight like she had a mouth full of vinegar.
“This is exactly why she never should’ve come back here,” Cleo hissed loud enough for me to hear. “Always bringing drama and chaos wherever she goes.” I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly, trying to be the bigger person, for Nana’s sake.
“I swear, you’re just like your mama,” she continued, arms folded like she was waiting for a choir of angels to back her up. “All noise and no sense. I told Mama not to get involved with raising you, now look.”
“Excuse me?” I said, standing slowly. “You’re not about to stand here and act like I’m the reason Nana had a heart attack.”
Cleo scoffed. “You are the reason. You came in here stirring the pot, cursing and carrying on like you always do. You wanna play family but don’t act like one.”
“And you wanna pretend you give a damn but don’t act like it either,” I snapped. “You think you can come for me every time I’m back in town and I’m supposed to just sit here and eat it?”
“You need to go back to L.A. with that sinful lifestyle. That tight clothing, them vulgar songs… you standing up there singing like your mama did. She was a sinner too, rest her soul.”
“Don’t you dare talk about my mama!” I shouted, voice trembling now. “She might’ve been a mess, but at least she ain’t pretend to be holy while looking down on everybody else!”
“Ladies!” The nurse came out with a clipboard in her hand, eyes wide. “You need to calm down or I’m going to have to ask you all to leave. This is a hospital, not a battleground.”
I hadn’t even noticed how close Cleo had gotten to me until Averi stepped in front of me, chin lifted.
“Back up,” she said calmly. “You don’t want these problems, First Lady or not.
” Isis stepped up behind her mother, eyes narrowing.
Averi turned to her, unfazed. “You especially don’t want these problems. I suggest y’all both sit down and take a breath before y’all find yourselves in a whole different kind of emergency room.
” Cleo and Isis stood frozen, offended as hell, but didn’t move.
The nurse cleared her throat again. “I’m serious. One more outburst, and you’ll all have to leave.”
With dramatic flair, Cleo turned on her heel and stormed down the hall, Isis right behind her, but not before they both turned and told the nurse, “Let us know when she’s gone.” As soon as they disappeared, my hands started to shake again.