CHAPTER 2
NIYAH
Niyah parked near the curb in front of her mother’s Mount Greenwood home and hopped out of the car.
“Hi, Niyah!” shouted the neighbor from across the street.
Niyah turned and waved. “Hey, Mrs. Cleary. How’s it going?”
“Good. Tell your mom hi for me.”
Niyah smiled. “Will do.”
Mount Greenwood, the home of the “Southside Irish,” was a predominately white neighborhood.
The residents had a reputation for being proud and openly racist. According to most accounts, Mount Greenwood residents preferred it if black families steered clear of their neighborhood.
Yet, amazingly, her German-born mother, who birthed two black children, was completely comfortable living in such an intolerable neighborhood.
Thankfully, they lived on a good block. Their nearest neighbors were always either pleasant or indifferent to Niyah and her sister, Naomi.
Niyah took the walkway and jogged up to the porch. No sooner had she grabbed the handle to the storm door did the front door open. “Hallo, sweetheart,” her mother greeted in German.
“Hey, Mom.” Niyah stepped inside and gave her mom a double-cheek kiss.
Her mother caught her by the wrist and pulled her through the living room. “Come on in the kitchen. I’m making your favorite.”
When they entered the kitchen, her mother released her and walked over to the island. She poured red wine into a glass that matched own. After handing Niyah the glass, her mom smiled. “I’m making Labskaus,” she announced with glee.
Niyah smiled in return, but Labskaus was hardly her favorite dish. In fact, she was willing to bet Labskaus was no one’s favorite dish. Historically, it was a dish made from a bunch of leftover boat scraps, created by German sailors in the 18th century.
It was just like her mom to assume that because she liked a dish, it was everyone’s favorite.
She wasn’t the type to ask her daughters or anyone else what they preferred.
To describe her mom as self-centered would be an understatement.
For a woman with two children, it seemed impossible for her to see past her own desires.
Born Gretta Bauer of Frankfurt, Germany, Niyah’s mom had had an affair and fallen in love with her African American father when he was a soldier in the United States Army, stationed at Drake Kaserne in Frankfurt.
Her mother’s long, blonde hair bounced around her shoulders as she moved about the kitchen.
Niyah just watched, perplexed at how she’d actually ended up falling in love with and having children with a black man.
She was a total “Karen.” Her mother was either socially tone deaf, indifferent, or outright racist.
“Drink, Miene lieve,” her mother urged with words that alluded to her loving someone other than herself.
Not wanting to rock the boat, Niyah smiled at her mother and raised the wineglass to her lips.
“Hey, sis!”
Niyah turned toward her sister’s voice. “Hey, Naynay!” she greeted with joy.
Naomi was standing under the archway with a bright gleaming smile, dressed simply in jeans and a black T-shirt.
And still, she looked like a supermodel.
Unlike Niyah, Naomi was tall and lean. She had the face, height, and body that was ready to conquer any catwalk.
Unfortunately, she’d fallen into substance abuse.
It had started with weed and sadly progressed to heroin. For more than ten years, she bounced in and out of rehab facilities with no hope of recovery.
Naomi had struggled to get clean for what felt like forever.
Eventually, Niyah began to see remnants of the sibling she’d grown up with.
And by all accounts, she’d been clean for over a year.
Admittedly, Niyah had worried that her addiction would end her, but Naomi had proved stronger than expected.
They’d always been close, and Niyah couldn’t have been prouder of her sister.
She had defeated a demon that had devoured her for years.
And that victory had left her empowered and more beautiful than she’d ever been.
Unfortunately, one of the consequences of Naomi’s long-term addiction was Niyah having to endure her mother’s company alone.
After placing her glass on the island, she hurried to hug her sister. As they embraced, she whispered, “She made Labskaus.”
“Of course, she did,” Naomi grumbled before walking over to their mother. “Hey, Mom,” she greeted and kissed her cheek.
“How are you, sweetheart?”
“Fantastic.”
“Wine?” her mother offered, pouring another glass.
“Mom!” Niyah squealed.
“What?” she questioned, throwing her hands up.
“You know Naomi is in recovery!”
“Yeah, from heroin, not wine,” her mother rebutted with a frown.
Naomi chuckled and shook her head. “Unbelievable.”
With a shrug, her mother asked, “What’s wrong with a glass of wine?”
“She can’t have wine!” Niyah snapped.
“Okay! Okay!” her mother said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Come on, let’s eat. I think you’re just hangry.”
Naomi blew out a frustrated breath and grabbed a plate. Niyah followed suit. The sooner they ate, the sooner she could leave. She loved her mother, but she was insensitive and self-absorbed.
After fixing their plates, they sat down at the kitchen table.
Niyah picked at her food. She wasn’t very hungry, and she certainly wasn’t in the mood for the bland German dish.
Her mother, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying her dinner.
Yet, she still managed an insult between bites.
“Niyah, darling, how long do you plan to wear your hair like that? I mean those dreadlocks just look… Well, they look dirty.”
She said the word “dreadlocks” as if she were disgusted.
Niyah rolled her eyes. “This, coming from a dirty blonde with split ends,” she muttered.
“That was racist as fuck, Mom!” Naomi blurted out.
Niyah held out a hand to calm her sister and turned to her mother.
“My hair is my business. I happen to like my African locs.”
“Okay,” she chirped before shoving a forkful of food into her mouth. “But… you could totally pass if you didn’t wear your hair that way.”
Niyah frowned. “Why in the hell would I want to pass? I’m proud of being black and I want the world to know.”
Her mother rolled her eyes and shoved another forkful of food in her mouth.
Since she was young, her hair and how it was styled, had always been a contentious issue.
Early on, her mother had struggled with her curls.
And as soon as she became old enough, she’d taken Niyah to the nearest salon for a relaxer.
She’d even gone beyond tempering their “blackness” through their hair.
She and Naomi had always been encouraged to avoid the sun and even speak with a “Caucasian” pitch.
Niyah blew out a frustrated breath and wondered why she was even there.
She never enjoyed dinner at her mother’s house.
Probably because she didn’t much enjoy her mother.
Yet, every month for some reason, she subjected herself to the woman’s ideals.
And just like the months before, Niyah planned to eat fast, talk less, and leave immediately after. ?