Chapter Seven
Dani
SPENDING THE MORNING AT THE FARMER’S MARKET with my mom used to be one of my favorite weekend activities as a kid, so when she asked me to go with her today, I didn’t hesitate to say yes.
After setting Micah’s portrait of Tanya to the side yesterday, I was able to steer the conversation away from the realm of anything personal and focus on throwing out other ideas for the gala.
I’ve officially tagged Nisha in to help as well because she insisted she had capacity for it on top of everything else she does for me, so the four of us are meeting again at Tanya’s to get organized.
Micah has things to do today concerning the Baltimore Collective, the foundation he runs with Rome, Christian, and Arnold, so that meeting isn’t happening until tomorrow.
Today, I’m allowing myself a day of joy and no complications.
Mom shakes the cup of iced coffee she just got from our favorite local vendor before stopping to grab some apples. “Don’t let me forget your father asked me to get him some hot sauce from Corey’s stall,” she says as she puts another apple in her roller bag.
That man needs a hot sauce intervention. I have no doubt he has about five bottles of the stuff sitting in their pantry right now, but of course, he wants more. We’ll make sure he gets it, though, because it’s all he ever asks for.
“I got you. How’s he doing? I meant to return his call yesterday but I was so tired.”
“Mhm, he told me not to buy you any truffle oil today since you didn’t call him back.
” She shrugs as if either one of them would actually stand by that.
Every time we come to a farmer’s market, Mom insists on buying everything.
I’m not mad at it. You never get too old or too successful to let your parents treat you.
“That don’t sound like my daddy. He’s not that petty.”
She sucks her teeth. “That man is King Petty.” She points to herself. “And I’m Queen Petty.”
I point to myself. “But I’m the princess and that treatment is reserved for peasants.”
She shoves my arm. “Be quiet, girl.”
We move to the vendor who sells a few different types of truffle oils, and like I suspected, she puts a few bottles in her roller bag for me.
“Not a word to your daddy,” she threatens.
I chuckle into my hand, silently agreeing. “Anyway, I’m thinking about getting Evie’s car detailed for her birthday, so how many bottles of hot sauce you think I gotta get your husband for him to fit me in the schedule?” Dad’s car detailing business is always booked.
Mom takes the last sip of her iced coffee and throws it in the nearby trash can. “Now, you tell me how it’s supposed to be a gift from you when you’re using your dad’s services?”
“Because I’m the one bringing the car to him.”
She rolls her eyes with a laugh.
I stop to look at some waist beads I think Nelle would like while Mom grabs us a couple of donuts from a pastry stall.
“Do you want to come over tomorrow night to make some recipes I found on Pinterest?” she asks.
“I can’t. I gotta go to Tanya’s for a planning meeting.”
“How’s that going?”
I can tell from her tone that this conversation could take a turn quickly. Would it be too much to ask for my truffle oils so I can go?
“It’s fine,” I say.
She waits until I have a mouth full of a cinnamon sugar donut to tell me what’s on her mind. “I’m worried about you.”
I cough around my bite, a cloud of cinnamon escaping my lips. Here we go. “Why are you worried?”
She bites into her jelly donut, using the time it takes her to chew to consider her next words.
“We haven’t talked about Tanya since she passed.
I know you’re planning her homegoing, but you haven’t told me much about that.
You haven’t said much of anything. You haven’t even cried—not that I’m saying you have to—I just wanna make sure you’re coping with her death. ”
Why are tears the metric for sadness? I’ve cried plenty of times over Tanya, but because I don’t bottle my tears in a jar and splash them in everyone’s faces, I’m not grieving properly.
I know my mom means well. I know I probably shouldn’t get so defensive with her, but it took us a long time to get our communication style figured out, and it can be easy to regress.
“I promise you, I’m facing Tanya’s death head-on,” I say, shoving another bite of donut in my mouth.
You could be doing better.
I slam my eyes shut against that thought. I’m doing the best I’m willing to do right now. Tanya made sure I couldn’t sweep her death or my feelings about it under the rug, and part of me wants to thank her for that. The other part of me wants to bring her back to life just so I can strangle her.
“Okay, good. That’s really good to hear. I’m here for you, Yelli. That’s all I wanna say.”
I bend down and wrap my arms around her middle and squeeze, careful not to get donut dust on her jacket. “I love you, Mom.”
I hear her sniffle against my shoulder. “I love you too, baby.”
When we separate, I lock my hand with hers and we walk to the hot sauce stall.
“I think three bottles would get you on the schedule in time for Evie’s birthday,” she offers with a wide smile.
“Just three? Say less.”
After spending entirely too much time and money at the farmer’s market, Mom and I drive back to my place.
While we unload my goods, I FaceTime Dad and he gives me shit for taking so long to reach out. When Mom starts ganging up on me, I throw her ass right under the bus and show Dad all the stuff she bought me.
Mom doesn’t get a chance to rip into me once Dad hangs up because Nisha FaceTimes me.
I mouth a sarcastic “so sorry” before gleefully answering. “Oh heyyy, Nisha!”
Her face fills my screen. She takes me in, her dark eyes glowing with suspicion. “What’s wrong? Usually you answer with ‘ughhh, I don’t wanna do work!’”
Her mocking tone draws out a giggle from my mom. “She’s just happy you saved her from me tearing her ass up,” she calls out.
Nisha’s eyes light up. “Is that Mama Jenkins? Hey, girl!”
Mom snatches the phone from me so they can bond like always.
When I met Nisha, I hadn’t been back in Baltimore long.
I had decided to stay in a hotel until I found a place so I wouldn’t impose on my parents or the girls.
Nisha worked at the front desk. At the time, I was rumored to be dating a singer all because I had starred in his music video and someone decided to harass me about it in the lobby.
She stepped in and told the guy off. From then on, she became somebody I could rely on.
It went beyond job responsibilities into friendship, and what’s more, I felt safe with her. That was something I had been craving in my professional life, so I offered to double her salary if she came to work with me, and the rest is history.
My mom took to Nisha immediately. Mom said she could instantly tell Nisha had my best interests at heart—something she’d never said about anyone I’d surrounded myself with in New York.
Six years later, that still proves true.
“Um, hello?” I interrupt my mom midsentence.
She looks up at me with her mouth agape.
“She called my phone.”
I hold my hand out, but she turns her back to me. “I swear I didn’t raise her this way.”
Nisha’s laugh echoes off my walls. “You did the best you could, Mama. I was just watching my little Sim waiting for her location to say home, but if I knew she was out with you, I would’ve just hit you up.”
“I know it,” Mom responds.
Unbelievable, these two.
They continue to ignore me for another couple of minutes until Mom takes pity and announces her departure. She hands back the phone and kisses my forehead as she leaves.
“I swear the two of you together makes my ass itch,” I say around a fake shudder.
She shoos her hand at the camera. “Oh stop, you love us.”
“Separately,” I say deadpan.
“That’s just a lie,” she counters.
“Right. So, anyway, why were you stalking my location? Because I really don’t wanna work.”
“You told me to track you down and make you review the Wallflower samples today.”
Damn, I’d completely forgotten about my collaboration with the sunglasses brand, which had sent me prototypes of my designs for approval.
“Nishaaaaa. Don’t make me,” I say through a pained groan.
“I know, pookie,” she says patronizingly. “Who’s a pretty girl?”
I hold my hands over my head with a sigh. “Let me go grab the damn box.”
“Those are cute!” Nisha says about the pair with rose-gold lenses I’m wearing.
So far, we’ve gone through eight of the twelve pairs they sent me, and I’ve been unhappy with only one of them.
This pair has a gold nose pad and gold arms to accent the lenses and a three-barrel hinge to keep the design sleek.
“This might be my favorite pair.”
“What did you call that one again?” Nisha asks.
“Honeybee.”
“Buzz buzz, bitch. Those are perfect,” Nisha exclaims.
We fall into a fit of laughter over her corniness.
After I try on the final four pairs, I give Nisha a list of notes to send to Wallflower and ask her to schedule a follow-up meeting with them.
We go over a few other items before getting to the one I’m least looking forward to.
“Is there anything I need to know to be prepared for the meeting at Tanya’s tomorrow?”
That Tanya is an asshole for making me do this … with him.
“Mmm, nope. Nothing I can think of.”
“Okay, and it’s just me, you, Micah, and Bailey, right?”
I nod my confirmation.
“And, so, who is Micah to you? Like how well do you know him?”
What a loaded question.
I’ve kept my history with Micah a secret from everybody. I never even told Tanya because I didn’t want her rubbing it in our faces that she introduced us, and by the time I wanted to tell her, we were back to being strangers.