Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
OLIVE brANCH
Omar
Layel’s text had simply read, “Call me.”
Three months ago, I would have bristled at the entitlement of her demand and ignored her until I was ready to call. I love her, she loves me, and we agreed to live and let live when it came to my mother. But that became impossible for me when she died. And now my sister and I are as far apart as we’ve ever been on anything.
This is the first time she’s texted me since I left Houston, and I know her well enough to know that it’s an olive branch. After months of not hearing her voice, I miss her. And my issue isn’t really with her, but my father.
She was as upset by my leaving as he was. We had a loud and bitter argument about my decision to take a leave of absence. But I couldn’t stay. I didn’t know how to handle the resentment I felt toward my father.
He and I have to communicate about matters to do with the Fund. But outside of that, we don’t speak at all.
I duck out onto a deserted balcony, as far away from the noise of the party as I can.
It’s a cool summer night, the air is still damp from the burst of rain we had a few minutes ago. The view of St. Paul’s Cathedral nestled against the inky light speckled skyline is spectacular. I sink into one of the seats that faces it so I can at least have something nice to look at during what, I’m sure, is going to be a contentious conversation.
The phone only rings once before the call connects.
“Uncle ‘Mar? Hiiii! It’s Hannah. I’m eating Rocky Road. What are you doing?” A smile unbidden but welcome spreads across my face at the sound of my niece’s sweet voice. I glance at my watch and do a quick mental calculation. “And why are you eating Rocky Road at home and at 1 p.m. on Friday instead of whatever perfectly balanced meal they serve in your overpriced school’s cafeteria?”
“I lost a tooth and had to stay home.”
“They allow sick days for that now?”
“They do when your brother knocks it out with his baseball,” she chimes in a voice that’s reminiscent of my sister’s when she knows she’s got you beat on logic. But unlike my sister, it doesn’t irritate me to hear it out of her mouth.
“And how mad is your mama?”
She giggles. “She’s super mad. We were throwing it in the house when she said not to. But she said my busted lip was punishment enough and gave me ice cream. And Papa said the tooth fairy pays more for knocked-out teeth, and he wasn’t making it up like he normally does. I had thirty-two dollars under my pillow this morning. So I’m pretty happy. Even though I have a fat lip and have to go to the dentist appointment later. How are you?”
“Wait, you know the tooth fairy isn’t real?”
“Of course. I’m not six years old anymore.”
She certainly isn’t. She’s grown so much in the four years since I left LA for Houston.
I laugh, amused by her commentary. “I’m doing okay. And I’m glad to hear everything is normal over there. I miss you guys.”
“Then come home.”
Ah, to be a child and have everything be so simple. “I will. Soon. Is your mom around? She texted me.”
“She’s on the house phone with Mimosa, and she told me not to interrupt her unless I was dying.”
“No, don’t worry, I’ll call her later.” Mimosa is our mother’s sister, who plays house with my father and tries to mother us. Just the sound of her name sets my teeth on edge.
“Do you want me to tell her you’re dying? They’ve been on the phone for a while, and she really wants to talk to you.”
I shake my head. “No, don’t get into the habit of lying to your mother.” That’s my job.
“She’ll be mad that I didn’t interrupt her because she’s been trying to reach you. She says you’re avoiding her because you don’t want to hear what she has to say.”
I stifle my surprised, impressed, amused chuckle because this is a kid who doesn’t know the difference between laughing with or at her. My sister says I was the same way as a kid. I hope she grows out of it faster than I did.
“I’m not avoiding her. I’ve just been busy this week.”
“With what?”
“Stuff, kid. Adult stuff that you wouldn’t understand.”
“I understand a lot. And she’s done now, anyway.”
“Thank God. Go back to your ice cream, and leave me in peace, you little hellion,” I tease. But she doesn’t laugh.
“I love you, Uncle ‘Mar. I just want you to be happy.”
“I love you too, baby.” This kid is the only person on the planet who says she loves me so freely and so frequently. I’ve missed hearing it, and I’ve forgotten how utterly comforting and reinforcing it is.
“Well, hello, stranger.” My sister’s exasperated relief is melodramatic, but I’m too happy to hear her voice to be annoyed.
“I’ve been busy.”
“So you say, but I don’t see how overseeing the renovation of your house can take up so much of your free time. Life-changing shit is happening, and you’re not talking to anyone about it.”
“Moving to London to renovate my house is hardly life-changing.”
She groans. “I’m not talking about your house. I’m talking about you and Dad. You need to talk before you drive me nuts. He’s turned into an unbearable grump. And the way you left. How can you treat him like he’s disposable?”
“How could he treat our mother like she was nothing?”
“He loved her once. She treated that and us like we were nothing. And by the time she died, that’s exactly what she was to him.”
“She was the mother of his children.”
“She may have given birth to us, but if being a mother has taught me anything, it’s that blood doesn’t give you the right to be called that.”
“She was our mother,” I reiterate. “And you two can act like she never existed, but don’t expect me to.” My voice is much quieter than the anger this conversation is whipping up inside me.
“She abandoned us.”
“She was an addict, ” I shout.
“She made a choice, Omar. She doesn’t deserve your loyalty or grief.”
“I loved her.” The ache in my chest hasn’t dulled one bit since she passed away.
“She abandoned you,” she repeats. “And yet it’s the parent who stayed, who loves you back, you’re treating like the enemy.”
Layel has always been good at throwing a punch and stroking at the same time. But she doesn’t know what happened, and what I owe our mother.
“You should call him. Talk this out. He won’t admit it, but he’s distraught that you left.”
“Well, I was too distraught to stay.”
She sighs as if in exasperation. “Omar, please. I know he hurt you. And he’s sorry.”
I scoff. “Right. So sorry he hasn’t called me in months.”
“You said some terrible things to each other, and he’s a proud man. But he’s also your father. And you owe him respect.” That is the traditional upbringing of ours showing itself. Where respect is deserved simply because someone is older than you. I never believed in that, and I’m not a kid anymore.
“Please call him,” she pleads.
“I will. As soon as I can.”
She doesn’t respond. But I know that’s not good enough without her telling me.
I cough to clear the lump of guilt out of my throat. “I love you. Bye.”
I hang up and put my phone on silent.
I sit there, my eyes glued to the scenery but not seeing any of it. “Shit.” I drop my head into my hands, sadder than I am angry.
I left. And now I can’t fix it without eating humble pie I have zero appetite for.
“The best revenge is forgiveness.” The words, whispered by a voice so close to my ear that the speaker’s lips brush them, startles me out of my seat.
It happens so quickly that I hear a telltale crunch of bone and her howl of pain before I realize the back of my head has connected with the soft cartilage of a nose. I turn around, full of apologies, and freeze.
It’s Jules, the girl behind the bar at my local that makes my tongue tied and clumsy.
Her sob of pain and the blood running from her nose and down her chin onto the floor shake me out of my stupor.
I pull my handkerchief from my pocket. “I’m so sorry. Here, use this, I’ll get help.”
“What in the world is going on out here?” Reena asks as she approaches from inside the open terrace door. She stops mid-stride when she sees her friend doubled over and crying with my dark yellow handkerchief pressed to her bloody nose.
“Christ on a cracker, what did you do?”
“He broke my nose. Cause he’s a break,” Jules says in a nasally but garrulous voice. She laughs and then moans in pain.
“What does that mean?” Reena asks.
“I don’t know, maybe I knocked her senseless. Who cares? She needs the A&E.” I slip the backpack now dangling from her elbows off and sling it over my shoulder. I can’t believe I hurt her. I put a hand on her shoulder and try to pat it soothingly.
Reena pulls out her phone. “I’ll order the Uber.”
“No, I have my car, I’ll drive.”
“Perfect. Let me grab my purse.”
“You can’t leave your party.”
“I can’t leave my friend,” she pushes back.
Beside me, Jules moans softly. “We’re wasting time. I’ll call you and let you know where we are. I promise.”
“You better. I’ll come as soon as I say goodbye to everyone.”
I put an arm around her shoulders, and she lets her body relax against mine as we walk to the lift. I was a deer in the headlights at the bar earlier and totally fucked up. But she went from cute bartender with a killer smile to a sex pot with zero warning. I blanked. I hoped I’d think of a way to rectify myself by Sunday.
“It hurts so much,” Jules says in a small voice that tugs at my guilt and worry.
“I know, but we’ll get you fixed right up.”
I’m sure her nose will be fine. But after this, I’ll be lucky if she ever graces me with one of those put the sun to shame smiles again.