23. Sharon’s Daughter
Camilla had been overwhelmed with meeting with the Crestwood Democratic Party, so she tagged me in this morning. I was halfway through a campaign briefing with Matthew when my phone rang.
Normally, I ignored calls during strategy meetings.
The campaign had become a machine over the past month, and if I answered every interruption, nothing would ever get done.
I respected the hell out of the party for continuing to plan my brother’s campaign as if nothing had happened.
We all were very aware that he was in a coma, but my brother was now a symbol of hope.
It was bigger than politics.
He was showing young Black families in the area that, despite your zipcode, the hand you were dealt, and even your past, you could be whoever you wanted to be.
So while I would rather be teaching my 3-5-year-old girls their ballet lesson, I was here doing my due diligence for Jare.
But the second I saw Camilla’s name on the screen for the third time since I was in this meeting, my stomach dropped. I knew I needed to excuse myself.
Something inside my stomach ached. Her call scared the shit out of me. The room faded, and the once-very-loud voices began to fade as I called Milla back. As I awaited her to answer my call, I thought of the possibility that after thirty-one days of waiting, everything had finally changed.
She answered on the third ring.
“Camilla?”
For a moment, all I heard was crying. She couldn’t speak, and she was barely breathing.
“Ya— Ya, your brother,” and then she began crying again.
That sound cracked my insides open, and I began to drop my head. I felt like a gorilla was jumping on my chest, and I couldn’t breathe. After all of this time, Milla was calling with bad news.
“I’ll be right there, Milla. I’ll come without the kids so we can discuss arrangements.”
“No,” she yelped. “Your brother is awake, and he’s asking for you.”
My heart stopped, then started again in my chest, and I tilted my head towards the sky and began to thank God.
“Thank you, Jesus. Hallelujah. Thank you, Jesus.”
The sound sounded foreign coming out of my mouth.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been to church if it wasn’t a major holiday like Easter or Christmas.
After having your father choose his congregation over your family over and over again, you can’t help but hold grudges against a physical building.
Ark of Salvation Missionary Baptist Church taught me how to sing.
No one sounded better than the Anthony girls when we sang on the praise and worship team.
My father’s church taught me to save my allowance up and tithe; it even taught me that young women had to wear skirts below the knees because God forbid we tempt an old ass deacon who should be focused on the word of God and not on a young lady who might just have bad posture, which is why her legs were slightly ajar.
What the Ark of Salvation Missionary Baptist Church didn’t teach me was how to have a personal relationship with God.
That came from Zay. After a week of terrorizing the block with pills and coke, he would shut operations down on Sunday.
On Sundays, we would pray for a way out of this life.
He would bow his head and ask God to help us use the money to benefit our community one day soon.
It became our routine, and for a while, I became used to talking to God with my husband.
But talking to God for myself wasn’t something I did often.
“YaYa, did you hear me?”
“Yes, Milla. I’m coming.”
I was already standing and grabbing my purse.
Knowing my brother had finally woken up made me believe things were finally turning around.
It’s been a month since Carmen’s death, and her forced suicide note.
The media had reported on the suicide, and Alex confirmed that Cameron stepped down in her role with the FBI, but there was no discussion of the Price family, their illegal dealings, or our case.
While we hadn’t been bothered about the alleyway, we couldn’t breathe easily when there was no official notification of the case being thrown out.
The next thing I knew, I was speeding toward the hospital with tears streaming down my face while repeatedly calling everybody in the family. Zay didn’t answer when I called, but I got Chanel and Xavier at once.
Chanel was sobbing and yelling, “I’m on my way.”
I called my dad, and he began speaking in tongues and blessing God.
My dad told me he would grab all of the kids and meet us at the hospital.
By the time I reached the hospital parking lot, the entire family was already descending in the building like a storm.
I spotted Xavier first; the man practically ran through the entrance.
Chanel wasn’t far behind him, grabbing Genny from our dad’s car and hugging and kissing her.
Zay had beaten us here and was holding Aniyah and Amara’s hands as they walked into the hospital.
JoJo and Mir were in tears as Jazzy held Mir’s hand.
Everybody moved with the same mixture of hope and fear, because none of us knew what condition he’d be in. None of us knew whether he had his memory or if he’d be the same after all this time.
The elevator ride felt endless. We were all packed into the industrial-sized elevator.
Despite what would typically feel like a massive space, it felt tight and all-consuming, with the whole family closely nestled together.
Nobody wanted to wait for the next elevator, and no one spoke.
Nobody wanted to jinx what it was we would see when we checked on his mental capacity.
Suddenly, the doors opened, and we all raced out in pursuit of room #122. With every bend of each hospital corner, I felt my breathing slow. My brother was a warrior. He had been through more in his forty-seven years of life than multiple people combined.
Jared was sitting up slightly in the hospital bed while nurses adjusted monitors around him.
Camilla stood beside him, crying openly.
One of his hands remained wrapped around hers while the other rubbed her belly gently.
The sight nearly brought me to my knees.
Jared remembering Milla and the baby meant Jare hadn’t lost his memory.
Jared did look tired, but anyone who had experienced the type of turmoil and trauma he had would be tired, too.
He was pale in the face, looking a bit weak and dazed, but he was here.
All that mattered was that he was alive.
Tears began flowing down my face, and I couldn’t stop myself.
I was so used to being a planner. I had to stay ten steps ahead of everyone at all times.
Chanel’s tuition depended on it after she lost her scholarship for failing to maintain her grades.
My brother’s business ventures on the outside while he was in prison required me to stay sharp and think of smart ways to move product before I met and got involved with Zay.
Convincing Jackie to let Jazzy come around the family while Jared was locked up took some convincing and keeping extra money in her pocket.
I cried hard.
The tears swirling down my face were ugly and continuous because, for the first time in forever, I couldn’t stop them. Zay rubbed my back as X encouraged me to “let it out.”
“Look at you,” I finally managed to say to Jared as I stared in awe of his recovery.
Jared turned toward the sound of my voice. For a second, his eyes softened, the same way they always had whenever he looked at me. Before Zay, Jared was the only one who let me be soft. He didn’t expect me to be the little woman Sharon and Andre forced me to become before I was ready.
I was Jare’s YaYa. He had given me that nickname when I was five. I was practically raised as his child. But shortly after the softness, a fierce look of disgust crossed his face. It was quick, but I noticed the softness disappear. The room grew strangely quiet.
Shit, I’m sure the whole family noticed it too.
I felt it immediately. Something wasn’t right.
Jared’s eyes never left mine. While AJ hugged him and talked his ear off about studying for finals, Jared clocked my movements with his eyes.
While he hugged Jazzy and kissed away her tears, he followed me with his eyes, and when Dad let him know the congregation had a prayer call for him every day he was in a coma, Jared just kept staring at me.
He was studying me, as if he were trying to reconcile two different versions of reality.
Finally, he cleared his throat. Everybody wanted to hear him speak. After a month without hearing his baritone, we were desperate to hear from him. Anything he chose to say mattered, so we leaned in anxiously.
His voice came out rough from disuse.
“I need everybody to leave.”
Confused looks spread around the room.
Camilla frowned immediately. “What?”
“I need everybody to leave.”
His eyes never left mine. My stomach tightened. Something was wrong.
Zay stepped forward first.
“Nigga, what—”
“Everybody get out now.”
The room fell completely silent. Jared never used that tone with us. Since he’s been home, his favorite thing to do has been to spend time with his family, no matter how loud and all-consuming we were. Camilla looked dumbfounded and a bit hurt.
Jared squeezed her hand gently. Then looked back at me.
“I need a minute alone with Kenya.”
A chill moved down my spine.
Fuck.
My brother looked at me like I was a stranger as the room emptied reluctantly. Nobody wanted to leave, not after spending a month praying for this moment and not after believing they might never hear Jared’s voice again.
Camilla hesitated the longest. Her hand remained wrapped around his. Her eyes bounced between the two of us as though she was trying to solve a puzzle neither of us had explained.
“Jare. I can stay right?”