25. “I’ve always been fair.”
“I’VE ALWAYS BEEN FAIR.”
YASMINE
The bank sat at the end of Main Street, between a gallery that sold mountain landscapes and a bakery with a line out the door every Saturday morning. The sidewalks were swept clean, the storefronts painted in tasteful shades of cream and sage, every bench and planter placed for maximum curb appeal.
I pulled up to the curb and killed the engine. Five o’clock traffic crawled past. Inside the bank, the last few customers were being herded toward the doors while tellers closed drawers and counted down their tills.
CeeCee came out a minute later in a navy blazer, slacks, and her name tag already unclipped and dangling from her fingers like she couldn’t get it off fast enough. She moved carefully, seven months pregnant now and visibly over everyone’s shit.
I leaned over and pushed the passenger door open. CeeCee lowered herself in with a groan, hauled the door shut, and tipped her head back against the headrest.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey.”
“Tired?”
“Tired and hot and uncomfortable. Once again, this kid better be—”
“Cute as fuck. Yes, you’ve said.”
She grunted.
I decided against poking a woman who’d been on her feet all day and merged into traffic.
CeeCee turned her name tag over in her fingers. “Your mother came by today.”
“Did she?”
“Did her business, then asked to speak with me. I told her I was busy. She said she’d wait.” CeeCee let out a tired little laugh. “Thought she’d get the picture when I didn’t make time. But she sat there an hour and a half in the lobby until I finally broke away.”
Of course she did. Mama could wait forever if it meant you felt every minute of it.
“Hmm.”
“She wants me to come by for dinner. Catch up about the baby. Just the two of us.”
I glanced at her, surprised.
CeeCee had been that woman in every voicemail. Now she was getting dinner invitations. Apparently my mother wasn’t as mad about her leaving as she was about me taking her side.
“Okay,” I said. “You going?”
“She’s my kid’s grandmother.”
I snorted. “I’m guessing she mentioned that more than once.”
“Naturally. Says she wants more time with me and the baby.”
“Right.”
CeeCee’s thumb worried the plastic edge of the name tag in her lap. Then, quieter, “Would you come with me?”
“She’s not exactly happy with me right now, CeeCee.”
“I know.” She winced, rubbing slow circles over her stomach. “I’m sorry about that. Feels like my fault.”
The light turned red and I pulled to a stop.
“My issues with my mother have nothing to do with you.”
“Will you come with me anyway?” Her hand kept moving over the swell of her belly. “Please?”
I did not want to go.
Not after weeks of being the problem in every conversation. Not when I’d be the only one in the room expected to apologize.
“Please, Yaz?”
A horn tapped behind me, and I eased off the brake.
“Yeah,” I said finally. “Fine.”
She smiled, small and victorious.
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing with all that belly rubbing,” I said.
“Sucker.”
Mama opened the door with a smile already in place.
“CeeCee, baby,” she said. “Come in, come in.”
Then her gaze slid to me. “Yasmine.”
The smile stayed, but she said my name with the warmth scraped off.
“Hey, Mama.”
“Didn’t expect you.”
“Surprise.”
Her lips pursed. “Well, it’s good that you’ve finally come to see your mother.”
“It’s good to see you too.”
Then we were inside, and Mama did what she always did with discomfort. Acted like it had never happened.
She led us through the living room toward the dining room, talking to CeeCee the whole way and not asking me a thing.
The table was already set. Three places.
I might not have been expected, but clearly someone else was.
From the kitchen came the smell of macaroni pie and greens, every Sunday of my childhood rising up thick and salty and heavy with love and guilt.
The tea appeared without anyone asking. Hot for CeeCee. Iced and sweet for me.
Mama settled across from CeeCee and gave her everything, full attention and enough warmth to make you forget to brace.
No mention of her leaving. No mention of Shaun. No lecture about marriage.
“How many weeks now?” Mama asked after oohing at the ultrasound CeeCee had passed to her.
“Twenty-eight.”
“And the doctor’s happy? Weight? Blood pressure?”
“Everything’s good. Baby’s healthy.”
“You sleeping?”
“Trying to.” She blew across the top of her tea.
“On your left side,” Mama said, leaning in. “I know they tell you that and it sounds like nothing, but it helps.” Her hand lifted and hovered over CeeCee’s stomach, not quite touching. “Can I?”
CeeCee considered, then nodded.
Mama pressed her palm to the curve of CeeCee’s belly. Her face softened.
“Mm. Not long now. But you don’t want to be on your own when he comes. He’ll be a handful, I can tell.”
CeeCee started talking about nursery colors. Mama rested her chin in her hand and nodded along, genuinely happy.
There, at least, she wasn’t pretending. The love was real.
She’d be a good grandmother, indulgent and generous and completely over the top. I wondered if there was enough of her to go around, and what Shaun would do if he wasn’t first anymore.
The thought put a chill through me.
“Shaun was just saying the other day he wants to paint it himself,” Mama said lightly. “It’s his first child. He wants to do it right.”
CeeCee’s smile held, but her fingers went tight around the mug.
Her shoulders had dropped since we walked in, some of the stress of the workday disappearing under my mother’s pampering. Now they tightened again.
A few minutes later, the front door opened.
CeeCee went still.
Mama didn’t.
Shaun walked in like he’d been expected.
“Hey,” he said to CeeCee, his voice warm.
Then he saw me.
His face did the same quick flicker Mama’s had, pleased and then not. Except he had none of her tact. He turned on our mother. “What is she doing here?”
“Yasmine is here for dinner, don’t be rude,” Mama said. “But good timing. I’ll get another plate.”
He crossed the room and dropped into his chair.
“How you feeling?” he asked CeeCee.
His voice had gone gentle but that was par for the course. If he wanted something, he could morph to get it.
“Fine,” CeeCee said, not looking at him.
“You doing okay with work?” he asked. “Being on your feet all day can’t be easy.”
She kept her face neutral. “I’m managing.”
Mama came back with his plate and set it down in front of him.
“Eat something first,” she said. “Nobody talks well on an empty stomach.”
And just like that, the third place setting made sense.
I stayed quiet and watched CeeCee navigate it, choosing every word carefully, keeping her answers small. One hand stayed on her belly, like even she wasn’t sure whether she was comforting the baby or herself.
Shaun gave me one quick, measuring glance before turning back to CeeCee.
“Could we get a minute? Just…” His attention flicked my way again. “Easier to talk. The two of us.”
Mama perked right up. “I think that’s a great idea. You two should talk.”
I shifted in my chair, ready to make myself difficult.
CeeCee caught my eye before I could.
It’s okay. Go.
I set down my tea and stood.
I was almost to the kitchen doorway when I heard it.
Low. Easy.
You look good, baby. I missed you.
I kept walking.
Mama stood at the sink with the faucet running, rinsing the last of the plates, her hands moving on autopilot.
Rinse. Stack. Dry. Cabinet.
Her back was to the room.
From the living room came the low murmur of Shaun’s voice, followed by CeeCee’s softer replies.
Mama reached for another dish. There was a dishwasher less than a foot away, but for her, dishes were never cleaned unless she washed them herself.
“CeeCee’s looking good,” she said after a moment. “Healthy.”
“Yeah.”
“She needs more than a spare room this late in the pregnancy. Your apartment’s too small for all that.”
“She has what she needs, Mama.”
“Baby’s going to need more than that.”
“We’ll figure it out.”
She nodded, still facing the sink.
The water ran between us. Another plate dried. Another cabinet closed.
Then, lightly, “You really shouldn’t have taken someone else’s side over your brother. It’s good you’ve been there for CeeCee, but he’s blood.”
I watched her hands move through the water and thought about being a kid, standing where she stood now. Washing Shaun’s dishes while he sat in the living room with a controller in his hand, laughing at something on the screen.
Mama had dried beside me and told me he was tired. Practice had run late. He had homework. He needed a minute.
I understood, even then, that his tired mattered more than mine.
After Dad left, Mama seemed to think Shaun had lost more than the rest of us.
He needed more patience. More softness. More room. The last slice. The remote.
Her hand would settle on my shoulder, her voice soft and final.
Just let him have it.
Later, she’d tell me how proud she was. How mature I was for not making a fuss.
“You’ve always made it easier for him,” I said.
“For who?”
“Shaun.”
Her head came up, but she didn’t turn.
The water ran.
“I’ve always been fair,” she said. “I’ve always tried to be fair.”
“I know you think you have.”
Her hands stopped. “I love you both the same, Yasmine.”
I looked at the small wooden cross above the window. It had been there since before I could read, dark and polished smooth by years of kitchen steam.
“Is it because of what happened with Dad?”
She frowned at me.
“Shaun has always blamed me for telling,” I said. “Do you?”
I’d never forgotten my mother’s face when I told her. How she stood at the kitchen table with one hand on the back of a chair, staring at me like she’d heard me from very far away.
At ten years old, I didn’t know what I expected her to do. I just knew something bad had happened, and when something bad happened, you told Mama.
That was the rule.
That was supposed to make things better.
Instead, it split the house down the middle. Me on one side, Mama and Shaun on the other, and Dad completely gone.
The refrigerator hummed. In the living room, the low murmur of Shaun’s voice continued, patient and unhurried.