Chapter 21. Lyric
Lyric
LIP OF THE DAY:
Very Cherry
I am five or six, and Mama and I are in some big city, Chicago maybe.
I’m bundled up in every coat and sweatshirt I own because it’s Christmas Eve.
We are looking at the lights and trees downtown.
We’ve been staying at some shelter in a big, drafty church, but only really to sleep and use the facilities.
Tonight, they prepared a special meal and Santa paid a visit, but after grabbing us a couple plates, Mama said we were leaving.
“Santa is a scam,” she said as we ate our food outside in the freezing cold, before starting our trek to explore the city.
I know Santa isn’t real, but I also know that he brings presents and I’d like a present.
We walk, and Mama goes on and on about the “capitalist scam” of the season, how “we don’t need more stuff—just basic rights, access to food, water, shelter, mental health support, etc.
” I don’t really understand half of her ramblings, but I know she’s not stopping anytime soon, and so I hold her hand and try to keep up with her pace as we do our exploring.
Mama says the good thing about not having a home is that our home can be anywhere—“and isn’t that an adventure!
Most kids don’t even get to travel at all until they are adults!
” she says. “We can learn so much about being in the world by exploring and taking advantage of the free things cities have to offer like museums and libraries. We don’t need all that extra crap!
” Mama’s grip on my hand grows tighter and tighter, her pace faster and faster, and I want to ask her to slow down.
I want to stop and actually look at the lights, to see if maybe, just maybe, she’s wrong and I might catch a glimpse of a sleigh in the sky.
I am five or six, but I know in my body that Mama needs me to follow her, to not complain or ask for things we don’t have.
So, we walk and walk and walk, until all I know is the sound of her voice, the blur of lights mixed with a heavy snow that’s begun to fall, and a door deep in my heart, closing against any hope of a gift waiting for me in the morning.
Besides our movie night on Monday, I don’t see Juniper for the rest of the work week leading up to Christmas.
Between signing up for additional holiday shifts at work, taking care of Grammy, shooting beauty tutorials, and trying to get enough sleep, it’s almost impossible to meet up.
Despite all of this, we manage to text throughout each day, and I begin to lose track of where we are in our “Operation Holiday Fling” because things are starting to feel, well, real.
I can’t stop thinking about movie night.
How, despite my anxiety about her seeing my home with Grammy and making some judgment, she fit right in and made the space even cozier.
How she pulled me in for that dance—I just let it happen, not questioning if it was corny or stupid.
Juniper’s grounded energy is disarming—catches me off guard—and I find myself slipping away from the walls I’ve built toward some kind of new way of being.
Even now, as I set up my vanity for a look I need to film using some new products, I am humming that Ella and Louis song.
It’s late—ten p.m. Saturday, December 23rd—but once this tutorial is done, I can truly take a couple days off from content creation.
Juniper and I just have one more sponsorship to fulfill, but that’s New Year’s Eve–themed, so we’ve got some time to figure it out.
I picked up our half ham today, and tomorrow I just have to get through my Aldi shift, and then it’s twenty-four hours of hanging with the people I love and sleep—glorious sleep.
I slip onto my vanity stool, test the lighting, and hit record.
“Hey, beauties! Merry Christmas Eve’s Eve.
For those of you wanting to slay your holiday party and New Year’s looks, you’re gonna want to run to Ulta and pick up these gel eyeliners from Lollipop Beauty Shop.
They retail for only $7.99 each and come in five duochrome, shifting colors.
They are so beautiful and easy to apply for a simple yet high-impact eye moment.
I’m going to use the color Silver Belles, which when I apply it at first looks ice blue, but then shifts to a gold lavender in the light.
For this look, you’re going to want to just do your base routine however you like, then use the eyeliner to create a dramatic wing—”
Finally, I’m done with the look. I smize into the camera, and then lean forward so that the eyeliner on my eyelids catches the light.
Then I pull back, hold up the products, and wave goodbye.
I spend the next hour editing the footage and by 11:30 p.m. I’m done.
I tag Lollipop Beauty Shop and Ulta, add my caption, and then post it.
I’ve been so focused, I’ve hardly noticed the sudden chill in our apartment.
We don’t turn our heat up past 68, but damn, I might just increase our thermostat by a couple degrees for tonight.
Grammy will never know. As I finish adjusting the thermostat, my phone goes off with a text:
Juniper: Hey, sorry to text so late. You up?
Me: Yeah, I’m never in bed before midnight.
Juniper: Have you looked at the forecast lately? That storm is supposed to get here earlier than expected.
I jump up and look out the window above the kitchen sink. It’s dark, but the streetlight illuminates small, but consistent snowflakes.
Me: Yeah—I just turned up the heat. It’s dropping out there for sure.
Juniper:…
Me: I’m fine, I don’t have to go anywhere until the morning.
Juniper:… Listen, if I’m out of line just say so, but my moms wanted me to invite you over for Christmas Eve. You and your grandma. Do you want me to come get you now? If everything is shut down tomorrow—I just don’t want you both to get snowed in … alone.
Me: We actually have plans to go to Kiana’s tomorrow night. I know how to dig my car out if needed. Plus—I work tomorrow. But thank you for the invite. That’s sweet of your moms.
Juniper: OK, right, yeah. Of course, another time. Well, if you need anything, let me know. You’re both welcome here, anytime.
Me: I will. Thank you.
Juniper: Good night. Stay warm.
Me: You too. Night.
I hover my finger over the kissy face emoji, and then throw my phone on my bed.
What are you doing, no! I say in my head.
Then I wash my makeup off, check on a soundly sleeping Grammy, leave the faucets in the bathroom and kitchen running slightly so the pipes don’t burst, and crawl into my bed.
As I drift off, I can hear the wind howling.
It’s absolutely freezing in the apartment when I wake up the next morning. So cold I can see my breath in the air, and the tip of my nose is icy when I touch it.
“What the hell!” I keep my covers wrapped around me and shuffle over to the thermostat by the front door, which is covered in a thin layer of frost.
I check the vents, and sure enough, the slight hum they normally make is silent and there is no hot air blowing through them.
“Well, that’s not good,” I mumble.
“Lyric, baby?” Grammy calls from her room.
I shuffle in and I am greeted by a mound of blankets. “Get in here!” her voice says from underneath.
I don’t need to be told twice. I add my blanket to the pile on the bed and then burrow in next to Grammy.
“Now, that’s better,” Grammy says, scooting closer to me. “I was worried about you out there when I woke up. It’s ice-cold up in here. Did we forget to pay a bill?” she asks. There’s no judgment in her voice, just a tired resignation.
“No. We did not. I swear. We had it all covered this month.”
“Well, OK then. I know you’re on top of all that. Thank you. Did we get any notices from the apartment manager?”
I lift up my phone in the dimness of our blanket fort and navigate to the apartment building’s Facebook page.
I only have a Facebook profile for this reason—a way for me and Grammy to keep up with what’s going on in our building.
There’s a new post, from five a.m.—FURNACE IS DOWN IN BUILDINGS B & C, WE ARE TRYING TO GET SERVICE OUT THERE ASAP, BUT ROADS ARE BAD.
FIND ALTERNATE SHELTER OR CALL BUILDING MANAGER FOR HELP.
“What ‘alternate shelter’?” I yell.
“Slow down. What is it?” Grammy asks.
“It’s the whole building—the furnace is down. And there’s no estimate of when it will be fixed because it’s about to be a blizzard out there and this apartment complex is cheap as f—”
“OK, well now, let’s just think, then,” Grammy cuts me off. “No need to get all outraged at something we can’t control. This is not ideal, but we’re two intelligent women.”
“But I’m supposed to work today, Grammy. You can’t be here alone with cold like this.”
“Baby—I’ll be fine. I’ve survived worse in my time.”
My phone rings then, and I jump when my manager Jeannine’s name pops up.
“Hello?”
“Oh, hey, kid. Glad you’re awake.”
“Yeah, I don’t sleep in much. Is this about work? Because yes, I’m planning to be there for my shift.”
“Oh, no, you won’t. That’s why I’m calling. Our whole store is shut down—busted pipe, the entire front half of the store is flooded. I doubt we’ll be back there for a few days at least.”
“But—”
“I’ve been told that our holiday pay will still be honored. So, that’s a perk, I guess. Listen—stay warm and off the roads, kid. Think of this as an early Christmas gift. I’ll see ya in a few days.”
I nod as if Jeannine can see me, and then say a rushed “OK, bye” when I hear the line click.
“I’m guessing work is canceled, then?” Grammy says.
“Yep. Busted pipe. Well, shit. Now what?”
“Watch your mouth.”
“Sorry,” I mumble. I do not need this today, and Grammy cannot be in this cold indefinitely. “We can’t stay here.”
“Well, maybe we can go to Ms. Mills’s?”
“She’s in Ohio, Grammy, remember? Visiting her brother. She’ll be back on the twenty-seventh,” I say.
“Well, we might just need to tough it out, baby. We can stay bundled up and in bed all day. It’s not so bad here, right?”
It’s not—our body heat is helping—but I can hear the wind outside, and when I check the weather app on my phone, I see we’re under a severe winter storm warning from twelve p.m. until tomorrow sometime. If the heat isn’t fixed by tonight, we might be stranded for days without it. That can’t happen.
“Let me see if Kiana is back from her trip yet,” I say.
But before I can even get my message drafted, my phone dings. It’s Kiana.
Kiana: Fuuuuuk, Lyric. This storm is a vibe killer. Dads and I are snowed in with my grandparents in Grand Rapids. I don’t think we’ll make it back to Lansing tonight. Are you and your grandma OK? We really wanted to host y’all.
Me: Uh, yeah. We’re OK. Work got canceled—busted pipe. So, we’re just laying low at home.
I don’t tell her about the heat situation because I don’t want her to worry more, and I’ve got one more idea to get me and Grandma somewhere safe.
Kiana: Well, at least you don’t have to drive in this or deal with work. Let’s FaceTime later, OK? It’s Christmas Eve after all.
Me: OK, yeah, maybe. I’ll text you.
Kiana: Not maybe. You will text me and let me know how you are.
Me: OK.
I take a deep breath and let the warmth of Grammy’s bed hold me for a minute longer. Then I snap into action. “Stay here,” I say, “I’m gonna get us somewhere before this storm gets worse, OK? I just need to get the car warmed up. Be back soon.”
“Lyric—please, baby, I’m fine.”
“I got this.” I almost yell, Trust me. Then I kiss Grammy on the cheek and jump out of the bed.
I rush around the apartment as I stuff a few things into two overnight bags.
I free our half ham from the fridge and slip it into a shopping bag.
Then I suit up as best as I can, slather my lips in cherry ChapStick, and open the door and step out into the frigid air.
It takes a good fifteen minutes for me to get the car all warmed up and ready to drive, and I say a little prayer that my bald tires don’t get us stuck on the side of the road.
I help Grammy bundle up, and then walk her to the car slowly, making sure she doesn’t slip on any hidden ice.
When we’re both buckled in, I send a quick text to Juniper.
Then I pull out carefully onto the road.
Visibility is already bad even though it’s only 9:30 a.m., but I go slow and keep my hands on the wheel and only take streets that I can see have at least been plowed some.
Soon, we arrive and I breathe a sigh of relief.
“You brought us to your lil girlfriend’s house?” Grammy says, peering out the icy window.
I don’t even try to correct her, because maybe Juniper is more than just a friend now and maybe that’s not the worst thing. All I know is that we’ll be safe here.
“Yes, I did, Grammy,” I say. “Now, let’s get you inside.”