Chapter Nine Jasmine
CHAPTER NINE
Jasmine
Thank you so much for inviting me to join you,” I said to Eleanor after I handed her a tray of small sandwiches. “You really do this every week?”
“For years,” Jeannie chimed in. “I love my family, but this is the high point of my week.”
“Mine, too,” a woman named Michaela said and there were murmurs of agreement around the table.
“You see”—Minnie, David’s aunt, gestured with a sandwich—“there’s a lot of silly advice about how to be a good wife—”
“Minnie!” Eleanor interjected.
“I’m old, and I said what I said.” She raised an eyebrow at Eleanor, who responded by shaking her head and chuckling. “If you want to be the best wife you can be”—she turned to me—“you start by taking care of yourself. You can’t pour from an empty cup, and you know behind every great man—”
“—is an even greater woman,” the table erupted in a chorus before dissolving into laughter.
“Happy wife, happy life,” a man at the next table interjected and smiled at his wife.
“You know that’s right,” she agreed before they returned to their lunch.
“People try to tell you that women shouldn’t put themselves first, but, honey, if I wasn’t always on point, I wouldn’t have raised four kids and gotten my doctorate, and Carver would have never developed that psoriasis drug without the best research assistant money couldn’t buy.” She chuckled.
“You helped your husband develop a medication without getting paid or getting credit?” I scoffed.
Minnie pursed her lips and looked around in disbelief, before turning to me again and rolling her eyes.
“Eleanor, where did you find this child?” The other women at the table smirked and raised their eyebrows, but no one answered her. My face began to heat with embarrassment.
“I’m sorry if I offended you,” I quickly stammered. “I know that history is littered with women who’ve had their accomplishments stolen or overshadowed by their male counterparts: Ada Lovelace, Vera Rubin, Rosalind Franklin—”
“Not one Black name,” someone murmured.
“Katherine Johnson, Ada Harris, Marie Van Britton Brown,” I added with a raised eyebrow before returning my attention to Minnie. “I’m just surprised that—”
“Listen.” Minnie put her hand over mine, silencing me. “I like you, so let me put you on game.” She dropped her voice conspiratorially and raised an eyebrow. The entire table grew silent. “My husband didn’t marry me just for the chemistry we had in the bedroom.”
The table erupted in squeals of laughter.
“Okay, Minnie. That’s enough.” Eleanor smiled.
“What? Every woman at this table is accomplished in her own right. We support our husbands because we love them and we can. We don’t do it because of some antiquated notion of what a woman’s role is supposed to be.”
“But don’t you want recognition for your work?”
“Well, what makes you think we don’t have it?” Kitanya asked. “I have my masters of Library and Information Sciences, taught library sciences at universities all over the country, won countless awards…”
“She knows exactly how many awards she has,” Minnie murmured and sipped from her wineglass.
“… and was a professor docent at the Library of Congress when Eric worked in DC,” she concluded, ignoring Minnie’s interruption.
“I have several patents,” Eleanor added with a shrug. “Mostly for kitchen gadgets.”
“Pediatric neurosurgeon,” Jeannie chimed in and held up her martini glass.
“Computer programmer.” Michaela nodded.
“And you all gave up your careers for your husbands.”
“It’s a good thing you’re cute, honey, because you don’t listen worth a damn.” Minnie chuckled. “Nobody at this table has given up a thing. And we married men who wouldn’t ask us to.”
“Hell, when Lena, our first, was born, I was still in grad school,” Michaela said. “I was sure I’d have to quit school, but Geoffrey wouldn’t hear of it. He got a second job so we could hire a nanny and cheered so loud at my graduation they almost put him out.”
“David has always been supportive of my work,” Eleanor added.
“What about Derek, Jasmine?” Jeannie leaned toward me. “Is he supportive of your career?”
I thought about the question for a moment.
In our current circumstance, Derek was completely unsupportive of my career.
That was because we were competing for the same job, and my success meant his failure.
Of course, that wasn’t an answer I could give.
I thought back to the Derek I knew before.
He was always supportive of my ideas and projects.
He was also the only one willing to try my pineapple upside-down cake, and then he got on a roller coaster that no one else wanted to ride with me despite feeling sick.
I thought of the Derek who stopped me from eating ribs made with malt because he remembered that I was allergic, and the one who insisted on massaging my sore feet.
I knew that Derek and I were pretending to be married, but if we were married for real—a thought that made my chest tighten—I was sure he’d be the most supportive husband in the world…
a world where we didn’t despise each other.
“He’s the best,” I answered and pasted on a smile to cover the internal ache I felt.
The ladies at the table smiled and nodded in approval. Much to my relief, the group returned to idle chatter about the town, and I listened with rapt attention.
“Now, you’re really getting the full experience today.” Eleanor smiled as we filed into the hair salon. The smell of shampoo and the rhythmic hum of hair dryers greeted us like an old friend.
“This is where the magic happens,” Kitanya declared with a dramatic wave of her hand.
The salon was buzzing with activity. Women of all ages were settled into chairs, chatting, laughing, and flipping through magazines. It was the heart of Miller’s Cove’s social network, disguised as a place for grooming.
“Oh, honey,” the hairstylist, a woman named Deirdre, sank her fingers into my tresses. “Look at this hair! I hope you’re ready for some compliments, because I’m about to give you all of them.”
I smiled awkwardly as her eyes widened. “All natural, too. You know how many people pay big money for curls like these?”
“I think she’s blushing,” Michaela teased.
“I’m just not used to so much attention on my hair,” I admitted, sliding into the chair. I wouldn’t mention this to Deirdre, but a large portion of my life was dedicated to straightening those curls.
“Well, get used to it.” Deirdre pulled out her tools. “These curls are the stuff of legends.”
Across the room, a hush fell over a corner of the salon as a woman with piercing eyes and sharp cheekbones entered. She held herself with an air of defiance, and her gaze scanned the room as if daring anyone to speak to her.
“Walker,” someone whispered.
“Oh, boy,” Eleanor muttered under her breath.
“What’s going on?” I glanced at the woman.
“That’s Belinda Walker,” Kitanya explained, her voice low. “The Walkers… well, let’s just say they’re not exactly beloved around here.” One of the founders of the town was named Joseph Walker, so it wasn’t much of a stretch to think that this person could be descended from him somehow.
“Why not?” I pressed.
Kitanya hesitated, then glanced at Eleanor, who gave a subtle shake of her head.
“It’s complicated,” Kitanya finally said.
“Very complicated,” Eleanor echoed.
Deirdre, ever the professional, broke the tension by spinning my chair around to face the mirror. “All right, Jasmine. Let’s give these curls the care they deserve.” I smiled at her in my reflection in the mirror, deciding to file the name Belinda Walker away for later use.
An hour later, as the ladies settled under the dryers and started their mani-pedis, the conversation turned to the upcoming firefighters’ picnic.
“So, Jasmine, are you and Derek planning to come?” Kitanya asked, her toes submerged in a bubbling footbath.
“I haven’t heard about it.” I fought the urge to laugh as an attendant caressed the soles of my feet with a foot file.
“You have to come,” Michaela said. “It’s the second biggest event of the year.”
“After Founders’ Day,” Eleanor clarified.
“I’m in charge of the activities.” Kitanya grinned. “Think races, contests, and a whole lot of fun.”
“And David and I are handling the food,” Eleanor added.
“What’s the deal with the firefighters?” I asked. “Everyone talks about them like they’re royalty.”
“Well, they kind of are,” Kitanya said. “This town wouldn’t be here without them.”
“That sounds… dramatic.”
“It’s more than dramatic,” Minnie chimed in. “It’s the truth. But that’s a story for another day.” She exchanged a knowing look with Eleanor, who nodded subtly.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to the story. Much more. But for now, I let it go, focusing instead on the warm, sudsy water swirling around my feet.