Chapter Sixteen #3
Imani felt Sharise nudge her, maybe just to acknowledge that they both knew BS when they heard it.
But Imani picked up the plates and left the kitchen.
This day felt like it was waiting to turn awful as the sun went down; a day in a strange place that could explode in unimaginable ways.
What if their news was worse than a divorce?
Tears threatened again. Imani left the kitchen just in time.
The dining room table, built for eight people like something out of King Arthur’s time, was old, shiny wood with fancy carvings on the legs, too formal for an old house in the woods.
Imani set down the plates on white lace place mats that were about to get stained with ketchup and mustard—but whatever.
The water bottles Sharise set next to every plate felt like a luxury item too; she must have taken them from the two twelve-packs of water bottles that had been stacked on the kitchen counter, since they never bought plastic bottles at home.
Mom floated into the dining room like a queen, one arm held high so her robe’s sleeve fanned as she walked.
Dad had said she wasn’t feeling well, but she was role-playing as she took her seat at the head of the table.
“Thank you, dahling,” she said in a fake posh English accent.
“We had these burgers flown in directly from Paris.”
Despite herself, Imani smiled. Mom’s silly moods always came as a surprise. She tried to think of a joke in return, as she often could, but nothing funny came to mind. Not even close.
“You okay, sweetie?” Mom asked.
Imani nodded, but Mom knew she was lying because she kept staring. Waiting.
Soon, Dad and Sharise came out with the food and took their seats, but the table was so long that everyone felt far away.
And the house didn’t smell right—not bad, just stuffy and not like home.
And the house seemed dark even with so many lights on, since the daylight had melted away and the dark outside wasn’t the same as city dark, a void through the window.
Sharise stirred her vegetarian microwave meal, not eating much the same way Imani only took two bites from her burger that wasn’t cooked enough in the middle.
She didn’t feel like eating, anyway. The unspoken thing, whatever it was, carried a weight that sagged Imani’s shoulders.
“All right,” Mom said, her voice so knowing that she might have stolen Imani’s thoughts. “There’s something we want to tell you… and we hope you’ll be as happy as we are when you hear the news.”
Imani studied her father’s face for clues, but he only seemed startled by Mom’s sudden proclamation. He lowered his water bottle and reached over awkwardly to hold Mom’s hand. He was almost too far from her seat to reach her.
“Sharise said you’re getting a divorce,” Imani blurted, and Sharise’s look said, Thanks a lot. Mom and Dad insisted that wasn’t true, laughing in a pitying way over the misunderstanding, although Dad only flashed his brief smile.
“Please tell me we’re not moving,” Sharise said. “I’m a senior.”
A sprocket shifted in Imani’s head, locking into place.
“Mom’s pregnant?” Imani asked. It was the only scenario she could think of where being happy was an option.
Sharise looked at Imani, her face wrinkling with confusion. “What? No! She’s too—”
“I am.” Mom’s face glowed with a grin. “I’m having a baby. Surprise!”
In the long silence, Imani and Sharise waited for someone to say, Psych, just kidding—can’t believe y’all fell for that! It didn’t happen. Mom and Dad were still holding hands.
Sharise shot up from her seat, bumping the table. “Mom—what? You’re pregnant?” Sharise looked like Mom had said she had Ebola. “But everybody will think it’s mine!”
“Sooo… not happy?” Dad said.
Sharise caught herself, covering her mouth with both hands like one of the Mazy posters in the hallway. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry! Mom, you’re pregnant! That’s incredible. I was just in shock.” When she uncovered her mouth, she was grinning with joy.
“Now you know how we felt,” Mom said.
“Whew—that’s no lie,” Dad agreed, like he was warming up to give a sermon.
But instead he and Mom looked at each other and smiled, more relaxed now than they had been in weeks.
They had never mentioned wanting another baby—Imani hadn’t realized a woman Mom’s age could get pregnant—so she wondered what that first conversation had been like.
Or the next. But it was all resolved now.
She might get a little brother! Or a little sister who wanted to learn how to throw a football with a perfect spiral like she did! Imani hadn’t realized how much she wanted to be a big sib for a change, not just a little sib. And she vowed she would never call them a crybaby.
When Imani laughed, the anxiety she’d stored up flew out, freeing her.
The Washington family hugged at Mazelle’s dinner table, warm and safe and giddy, mingling with the ghosts of Joe Louis, Diahann Carroll, Sammy Davis Jr., Lena Horne—and of course Mazelle Washington herself.
For a time, anyway, their trip felt like an early Christmas.