Chapter 1 #2
Since I didn’t have the energy or desire to fight with anybody else, I dropped the subject. “Anyway, happy birthday. I hope you had a good day, and I hope you enjoy your birthday dinner. Aunt Bobbie is in there throwing down.”
She nodded. “She is, but my doctor won’t allow me to eat fried food, so I’ll just be having a little chicken salad that Cassandra picked up for me.”
“What about birthday cake? Can you at least have a slice of that?” I questioned with a concerned frown on my face.
“A teeny tiny slice.” She showed me with her fingers. “Nisha baked me a sugar free cake. I had Harper send her the recipe.” She shook her head. “I sure hope that girl followed the recipe.”
“I hope so too.” I reached into my work bag and pulled out the envelope that held her birthday card. “I know Cassandra was talking about getting you some group gift?—”
She cut me off. “I don’t know what kind of gift you can buy with contributions from people who don’t have two nickels to rub together. But whatever it is, they can keep it. I don’t want any gifts, and her trying to get me something has caused discord amongst y’all.”
I didn’t have a response for that, so I didn’t address it. “Happy birthday, Granny. I put money in it, so keep your eye on it.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice. I know exactly where to put it.” She patted the top of her very ample bosom.
“I’m going to go now. I need to stop and get something to eat on my way home.”
“You okay?” She looked at me critically. Her eyebrows were furrowed, and her nose was scrunched up.
She had never looked at me like that before, nor had she ever asked me if I was okay.
“Tired,” I admitted. “I love my job. I love my kids, but it’s tiring.”
Nisha walked into the room carrying a plate covered by foil.
“They keep messing with you because they’re jealous, cuzzo.” She thrusted the plate into my hands. “Even with all the terrible shit you’ve experienced with Aunt Tasha leaving you here, they would still rather be you than be themselves.”
I nodded. “Thanks, Nisha.” I turned to my granny. “I’ll see you later.”
We both knew that was a lie. I had no idea when the next time I would darken her doorstep would be.
One thing I could admit was that my cousin was right about the state of my car and the state of my apartment.
I drove an eleven-year-old-Toyota and prayed every time I stuck the key in the ignition that it would start.
And it did, for which I was thankful. The last thing I wanted to do was fool with public transportation.
My apartment building was located on the cusp of a scary neighborhood, a neighborhood that was in the process of being slowly gentrified.
I lived across the street from trouble, but luckily, it mostly stayed on its side of the street.
It was what I could comfortably afford, and it kept me from having to live with my granny.
Again, I was thankful for the small space.
It was a studio apartment with probably about 600 square feet of living space.
It put me in the mind of an oversized hotel room, which was cool with me.
I didn’t need a lot of square footage. It had the basics and was in good shape.
Most of the appliances were almost new. The stove, refrigerator, and dishwasher were all in good shape.
The apartment even came with a stackable washer and dryer, shoved into a tiny closet, which meant that I didn’t have to spend my Saturday mornings at the laundromat. And they, too, were in good shape.
The rent was affordable, which was saying something because I worked in a notoriously low-paying industry—childcare.
I worked at The Brainy Bunny Pre-School as the head teacher in the three-year-old classroom.
I made an okay salary, but it wasn’t really a living wage.
I made enough to cover my rent, and my basic needs.
My life wasn’t the most luxurious, but it definitely wasn’t the worst. Although I didn’t play the lottery, I truly believed that my life would turn around at some point.
I refused to believe that what I had experienced thus far was all there was to life.
There were people in my circle who were thriving, so I couldn’t be totally discouraged.
My best friend, Yahirah, was my main inspiration.
She was an RN. After working at The University of Londynville Hospital for a few years, she decided to try travel nursing during the pandemic.
That was the best call she could have ever made for her future.
Not only did she make truckloads of money, but she met her fiancé, who was also a travel nurse.
They’d settled in Atlanta and were making things happen as two young, black professionals.
I unlocked all four locks on my front door and walked inside of the beige-on-beige-on-beige apartment. The walls were beige, the trim was beige, and the carpet was beige. I stepped into the tiny foyer.
I’d decorated the place as best as my money could afford. There was a charcoal gray loveseat that had seen better days but still held up, a wobbly television tray that I used for eating, and a queen sized bed that was a birthday gift from Yahirah.
My place was sparse, but it was everything that I needed.
I’d put some posters on the walls that acted as artwork.
I favored word art with inspirational sayings as opposed to pictures.
I needed to be able to look anywhere in the room and see words from famous people or the bible about keeping my head up and leading with hope.
That was what kept me going when I felt low.
“We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.,” I mumbled to myself, reading the poster facing me as I stood in the doorway.
I set both the plate of food and my work bag on the counter.
I took a shower and dressed in my coziest flannel sleepshirt. It was an unseasonably cold March in Londynville, and the temperature outside liked to find its way into my apartment. I quickly grabbed my plate from the microwave, sat down on my loveseat, and pulled up Love After Lockup on my phone.
I had just walked the empty plate to the trash can when my phone rang. I hustled across the room and snatched it off the television tray before the call had a chance to roll to voicemail.
“Hey, boo.” Yahirah’s voice came through the phone.
“Hey.” I stifled a yawn.
She sighed dramatically before joking with me. “Uh, trust you to be sleepy at nine o’clock at night.”
“I know. I know. I don’t know if my life is that exhausting or that boring.”
“Xari.”
“What? I’m being serious, Hi.” I called her by her familial nickname. “You know I’m not one who likes to wallow in negative spaces . . . but it’s getting difficult to stay upbeat and optimistic.” I groaned. “Something has to give.”
“I know. You need a break from the everyday repetitiveness of life.” She commiserated.
“Yes. Exactly. That’s exactly what I need.”
“Did you request the two days in May that I told you to request?”
Yahirah wanted me to visit her in Atlanta.
She and her fiancé were planning a big wedding.
While I was excited and genuinely happy for her, I could admit to myself that watching Yahirah crush adulting while I was on a slow struggle bus to nowhere made me feel inadequate.
I loved my best friend and knew logically that she wasn’t trying to rub her success in my face.
Still, her life was a ten, and mine was somewhere closer to a two.
“May is pretty busy at work. A lot of teachers take off. I’m not sure if the director could get coverage for my room.”
I heard the distinct sound of teeth being sucked. “You always were the world’s worst liar, Xari. You have more seniority than 90 percent of the people working over there at Bunnyland?—”
“The Brainy Bunny.” I corrected.
“Whatever. You have more seniority than 90 percent of those girls. Request the time off! I’m making an appointment at the bridal salon. I want you and my mama to come with me to try on wedding dresses.”
“Are you serious?” I gushed.
“It was going to be a surprise, but since it’s the only way I can get you to come, I have to let the cat out of the bag.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Just request the time. I’ll pay for your plane ticket?—”
I cut her off again. “No, ma’am. I don’t want you paying for my plane ticket, Hi. You need to be saving. You have a wedding to pay for.”
“I have a best friend that needs to get to Atlanta. Anyway, a round trip ticket from Londynville to Atlanta is probably about three hundred dollars. That’s a drop in the bucket, boo.”
A drop in the bucket , I thought to myself and did a quick mental calculation about how many hours I would have to work to earn three hundred dollars—fifteen hours, give or take. I would need to work for two days to earn the same amount of money that my bestie considered a drop in the bucket.
This can’t be all that life has to offer, I mouthed to myself soundlessly. At some point, I would have to get to a point where I wouldn’t compare the cost of a thing to how many hours I would have to work to pay for it.
“Don’t buy anything yet.” I was going to have to go in my savings. I hated the thought of that because that money was for my future. One day, when my savings account had enough zeros, it would be my ticket to a different life. “Let me see if I can get the time off first.”
I knew I could get the time off. Yahirah was right about me having seniority at work, and I almost never took days off.
I was actually one of those weird people who preferred being at work to sitting at home doing nothing.
I decided that I would schedule the days off and buy myself a plane ticket.
I would probably get Nisha to help me since I’d never bought one or even been on a plane before.
I had never been out of Londynville. Then I would let Yahirah know that I was coming.
“Don’t fake me out, Xari.” She huffed out a frustrated sigh.
“I know you have a thing about me spending money on you, but you’re my bestie.
I love you. I miss you. I want to see you.
I’m getting married, and I want to do all the things with you right by my side.
You’re my maid-of-honor, Xari. You should be here, and if I have the means to get you here .
. . I’m gonna get you here. So, get out of your feelings because you’re about to be spending a lot of weekends in Atlanta for the next year or so.
“There’s a lot to do—pick a dress, pick a venue, pick a caterer, pick a florist, a baker, a bartender, a deejay . . . whew. There’s a lot to do, and I need your help. Ayden’s mama isn’t the nicest. I don’t want to do this stuff with her. I want to do it with you and my own mama.”
Yahirah was talking sense, but that didn’t lessen the discomfort as the tentacles of anxiety wrapped themselves around my lungs. The idea of people doing things for me made me uncomfortable. Probably because my family always made sure that any favor they did for you indebted you to them.
I didn’t like owing people. I trained myself to be content with the things I could provide for me.
It didn’t matter if my belongings were meager by society’s standards.
When I laid my head down on the pillow at night, I rested in the fact that nobody on Earth had anything over me.
And while I knew logically that Yahirah would never treat me like I owed her, the thought of needing her to provide a plane ticket for me still made me feel some kind of way.
“Okay,” I agreed, knowing it wasn’t the last time that conversation would come up.
“Okay.” I could hear the smile in her tone. She was happy that I wasn’t fighting her on it. “Well, I know you were probably mere minutes from sleep when I called.”
“I was.” The giggle floated from my mouth because she knew that I didn’t play about my sleep.
“I’ll talk to you later. Love you.”
“Love you back,” I assured her before ending the call and heading to bed.
The last thought I had before I drifted into a peaceful sleep was, Something’s got to give. A change has got to come .