Chapter 34
LIMITS
JAHLANI
It’s close to sunset in Los Angeles and Jahlani squints to see her best friend against the dusty skyline.
The airport is overrun with people, and she cranes her neck to see Imani, her phone pressed to her ear.
Ducking and weaving in between people, she makes it to the end of the curb where she finally catches sight of her red highlights and glinting piercings.
As she steps toward her and Imani catches her eye, it’s like she’s been struck.
Everything she’s bottled for months surges up, and she stumbles into Imani’s outstretched arms.
Imani holds her close, resting her head on top as Jahlani’s shoulders shake.
“Come on, Lani Banani. Let’s get you fed.”
The refrigerator’s low hum fills the one-bedroom as Jahlani tries to string a coherent thought together. The sun begins to sink across the wood flooring, casting a soft tangerine sheen. Outside, the streets are quiet as people turn in. Laughter flares in the hallway, then a door snaps shut.
“Imani, I feel … funny.”
“Yeah, three edibles will do that, babe.”
They had spent the past three hours catching up about nothing and everything. Jahlani’s head rests in her lap as they sit on the couch. Imani passes her fingers through her braids, combing out the knots that have formed over the past week.
“How do you feel about the interview tomorrow? You think you’ll get it?”
Jahlani blows out a breath. “I think so. We had a virtual meeting already, so I think my prospects are high. Plus, it’s woman-owned.” Imani hums, her fingers continuing to glide through her hair.
“Imani, you’d make such a good mom,” Jahlani says softly after a few minutes of silence.
Imani’s fingers stop their motion in her hair, but she grabs her fingers, forcing her to continue.
She does so dutifully. “You’re the fiercest person I know,” Jahlani murmurs.
“You don’t take shit from anyone. You’re strong and poised.
You take such good care of me.” Jahlani twists in her arms to look at her.
“Hey, remember that time in eleventh grade when Robert Lind said—”
“Said you were pretty for a Black girl,” she finishes in a deadpan tone.
“Yes!” Jahlani throws her hands up, shaking her head at the fond memory, before inching back down and readjusting herself on her lap. She begins toying with a loose thread on her cardigan. “I’ve never seen you angry, Imani. You punched him. You got suspended for it.”
“Yeah, well, he deserved it,” she grumbles, but Jahlani can hear the smile in her voice.
“You got suspended for me,” Jahlani says, her voice quieter now.
“I didn’t understand it at the time. The way you explained it, the backhandedness of his comment.
You were so mad. You grabbed my arm, and you said, ‘Jahlani, don’t ever say thank you to anyone who compliments you while tearing down your race in the process.
You’re beautiful regardless of complexion.
He’s a piece of shit.” She sighs, teasing the loose thread, unraveling it farther.
Jahlani drops her hands with a sigh.
“What if I’m a bad parent?” she asks in a low voice. “What if I’m like her—like my mom?”
Imani sits up straighter, her hands gently guiding Jahlani to sit as well until they’re facing each other.
“Jahlani, what are you talking about? You’re nothing like them.”
Jahlani’s eyes cut down to the quilt draped over the linen. “I think about what Micah said a lot. I think he was right a little, Imani. My parents … they messed me up badly and I don’t feel okay.”
Jahlani looks to the ceiling before she stares into Imani’s eyes with watery ones. Imani’s warm hands wrap around Jahlani and ease her down until they’re lying side by side. She presses a delicate kiss to her head.
“Damn you for keeping this shit from me,” Imani whispers against her hair, rubbing soothing circles across her arm.
“I hate seeing you like this. And to answer your question, you would make an exceptional mom. I know that because you care enough not to make the same mistakes that our parents did growing up.”
Jahlani nods, letting her words settle around her.
“She’s really sick, Imani,” Jahlani says after some time has passed.
“What am I supposed to do? I care about them both so much, but I’m not what they need.
They deserve better. He deserves someone who can give him one hundred percent, and I’m not there.
I don’t think it’s fair to her for me to want more from him.
You know? I don’t want him to turn into my parents.
I don’t want him to neglect her for me.”
Imani sighs. “I think … Roman should decide what he needs and what’s best for both him and his daughter and you need to allow yourself to experience just being in the moment. Allow yourself to enjoy whatever this is between you and him without worrying.”
Jahlani swallows. “He’s so … whole and put together, and I’m not. Who wants that?”
“He does, clearly,” she murmurs, sitting upright.
Jahlani shakes her head. “I’d ruin him, Imani.”
“Or maybe you wouldn’t.”
“He’ll get tired of me—”
“Or maybe he never gets tired of you.”
“He’ll want me to love him in a way I’m not capable of—”
“Or,” she says, grabbing Jahlani’s hands, “Maybe you already love him the best way you know how and that’s enough for him. Don’t you think you should let him decide his limits?”
Jahlani shakes her head. “I already know his limits, and I know how this ends.”
Two days later, it’s well after midnight when she gets back to Florida. She ignores Roman’s sleep-well message, choosing instead to curl into a ball, crying herself to sleep. The next day, she convinces him that she’s come down with something and insists on not wanting to pass it on to Lucy.
Jahlani can hear her mom banging around the kitchen and against her better judgment, leaves to investigate.
She shuffles down the hallway into the kitchen.
Multiple pots sit on the stove, while carrots, lentils, and half-chopped celery take up the countertop.
Blinking, she walks in, lowering herself to the dining room chair.
“What’s all this?” Jahlani croaks.
Her mom moves back to the largest pot, lifting the lid to stir what’s inside.
“It’s soup. Dick’s not feeling well, so I’m making him some. Gonna head over to him in a minute.”
Jahlani’s fingers twitch watching her mom. She waits, and waits, and waits, but the offer never comes. She doesn’t ask if Jahlani wants any. She doesn’t try to force-feed her. She doesn’t even look at her.
“Mom.” Her voice reverberates in the small kitchen. Her mother’s sunken eyes meet hers. “I have to talk to you. Can you sit for a second?”
She looks over at Jahlani, moving to the pantry. “Can it wait? Dick likes his food hot. Won’t touch the microwave—radiation and all that,” she says, rummaging through the shelves.
“No, it can’t,” she says through a shaky exhale.
Her mom returns with various-sized Tupperware, setting them on the countertop before looking at her with a sigh.
“What is it, Jahlani?”
Jahlani starts cracking her fingers before spinning the necklace at her collarbone.
“I’m leaving,” she says, her eyes flitting to hers before looking down at the fruit-printed tablecloth.
“I took a job in California. It’s a good job,” she says, setting her hands on the table, looking at her. “It’s my dream job.”
Her mom blinks, seemingly unfazed and then returns to sorting the Tupperware. “Well, that’s good. I can rent out that room, then. Dick has a friend—”
“Mom,” Jahlani says, her knee bouncing. “Are you being serious right now?”
She continues to sort the Tupperware. All the tops on one end and their respective bases on the other. “What? Dick thinks it’ll be a good source of income.”
“Mom,” she says, pushing from the table with shaky hands.
“Please. Please. I’m begging you right now.
” Jahlani covers her mouth, working through the lump in her throat.
She wipes under her eye with her thumb. “Do you even know the statistical probability of me being successful? How incredibly low it is, considering neither of my parents went to college. Not to mention they had the world’s shittiest marriage.
I mean, the odds were really stacked against me.
But I did that. I graduated twice without you—” she jabs a finger in her mother’s direction— “without Dad. Without any of you. And despite this, despite this astronomical accomplishment that I’ve achieved that you have yet to acknowledge, you decide to concern yourself with some random asshole?
Why don’t you care about me? You bring all these men in here, and you cook for them, you clean for them, you provide for them, and you neglect me,” she says, pushing a finger into her chest. “Your daughter, your child.”
Her mother blinks, her lips thinning. “You’re twenty-six, Jahlani.
You’re not a child anymore. You’re a big grown woman now,” she says, waving her hand in her direction.
“You got grown and you left, and you realized too late that the world isn’t kind to people like us,” she says haughtily, pointing a finger at her. “So don’t blame me, child.”
Jahlani shakes her head. “You acted like you didn’t want me around after Dad left,” she says, wiping her nose. “I was a kid. And you just … left me.”
“Left you? No, baby, your father left you. I provided for you.”
“You’re not listening to me,” she whispers, sinking back into the chair.
“I’m listening. You just don’t like what I have to say. You had a roof over your head, food on your plate, and clothes on your back. I’m sorry I was such a bad mother. I’m sorry that I didn’t want to be alone after he left.”
Jahlani scoffs, rubbing her forehead. “I didn’t say you’re a bad mother. And you weren’t alone.”
Her hand slams down on the counter, startling Jahlani.
“I was alone, Jahlani. My husband left me, and I knew it was only a matter of time before you did too, because that’s what kids do.
They get older. They want their own lives.
So, excuse me for not wanting to die in this house alone.
” Her mom folds her hands over her chest, breathing heavily.
“I can’t go back in time and change the past, baby. ”
Jahlani shakes her head. “I don’t want that. I just want a healthier relationship with you. I want you to listen to me when I talk. I want us to be better.” Jahlani licks her lips, wringing her hands. “We could talk to a therapist—”
Her mom kisses her teeth, moving about the kitchen again. “I’m not going to a therapist,” she says, voice hard. “Therapists are for people with issues,” she hisses, spinning to face her. “And I don’t have any, so you better tread carefully, Jahlani.”
Jahlani wipes under her eyes, before exhaling through her nose. “I’m not saying that.”
“Well then, what are you saying? Do you need a therapist?”
Jahlani’s mouth falls open as she takes in her mom. Her lip curls and her eyes burn, and Jahlani knows, she knows that she isn’t going to change her mind. She sighs, standing from the table.
“Yeah, I do,” she says, starting to move back to her room. “I’m going to try it, Mom. And I hope that when I’m better—when I’m healed—that we can work on this. On us. Because despite what you think, I still need you. I still need my mom.”