6. The Way You Look at Me #2
The memory of her grandfather helping her cook dinner at his place five years ago played in her memory like a movie.
The way he asked questions that required honesty.
The way he never let her shrink. She always regretted not having more time with him.
She should’ve had more time. The rest of her dinner went quietly as she tried to drown her sorrow like the ocean in front of her.
Thankfully the urge to nap after she stuffed herself took over and her slumber was filled with peaceful memories.
Her phone rang mid-afternoon, waking her up. Checking her phone Aniyah saw that it was her mother. Her stomach began to knot because she knew this conversation wouldn’t be a good one. Her first thought was to ignore it. She should have. Despite those feelings, she answered.
“Hello.”
A small pause on the other end, like her mother was choosing her tone. “Happy Thanksgiving,” her mother said.
“Happy Thanksgiving.” Another pause, longer this time.
“Are you… at work,” her mother asked, ignoring the fact that Aniyah was a teacher and she would be off on the holidays
“No. I’m home.”
“With friends,” her mother questioned, already trying to decipher how she was spending her day.
Aniyah looked toward the window, the ocean dark and steady beyond the glass. “No. It’s just me today. ”
Her mother exhaled, quiet but pointed.
“Aniyah.” If Aniyah didn’t know any better she would think her mother cared, but Aniyah knew better. The way she said it wasn’t with care. It wasn’t her name. It was a warning.
“I’m fine,” Aniyah said, keeping her voice even.
“You could have come here,” her mother replied. “Your father asked about you this morning.”
Aniyah didn’t answer right away. Her father asking about her didn’t always mean he wanted her in his presence, most of the time it was to see if she was still on her wayward path.
Sometimes him asking about her just meant he wanted the idea of her nearby, behaving and following the rules he set out for her.
She hadn’t talked to her father since the day they read her grandfather’s will.
She remembered him storming out pissed that he didn’t get a dime of the money his father had left.
If it were up to Aniyah, she wouldn’t talk to him for the rest of her days on this earth.
Still her mother called periodically to check in on her.
The conversations were usually cold and quick.
“I just wanted a quiet peaceful day,” Aniyah said.
Her mother’s voice softened in a way that never lasted. “Quiet is not the same as peace.”
Aniyah’s fingers tightened around the phone. “I have peace, actually. I worked hard for it.”
There was a beat of silence before her mother responded.
“And you still teach,” her mother said, like the word tasted strange. Who knew training the youth would cause such disgust with her parents.
Aniyah closed her eyes briefly. “Yes.”
“I don’t understand why you insist on making things harder than they need to be,” her mother continued. “You were always smart. You had options. You could have had a life with security.”
Aniyah sat up from where she was lounging on the couch prepared for the verbal sparring she was about to do with her mother. She should be used to this now, but every time she left the conversation with a broken heart.
“I have security, I love what I do. I have always loved teaching. I don’t know why you can’t get it through your head. I have a good life. My career is fulfilling and I didn’t have to compromise to get it.”
Her mother gave a small sound, somewhere between disbelief and irritation. “You live alone in a condo by the water and write little poems on the side like that’s a plan. That sounds like a fulfilling life to you? I have news, little girl, you’re not living.”
Aniyah’s throat tightened, but her voice stayed low and steady. “My poems are not little, they are an outlet. You do not have to be disrespectful just because you don’t understand it. And teaching is a plan. I’m a good teacher. My students are safe with me. I’m not lost, Mom.”
“Your students,” her mother repeated in a tone that sounded irritated. Her cadence when she said “students” sounded more like she was talking about stray pets than actual children.
Aniyah looked down at her own hands, fingers twisting between each other as her anxiety spiked. “I’m not doing this today.”
Her mother ignored that boundary the way she always had. “You’re getting older. Time is moving. I don’t want you waking up one day realizing you chose… this. And lost out on what could have been.”
Aniyah’s chest rose slowly, then fell. Looking outside her window, she wished her relationship with her mother flowed carefree like the ocean. She wished she was protected by the woman who gave her life but knew that would never be the case.
“You mean realizing I chose myself, like I’ve been doing,” Aniyah said quietly.
Her mother’s voice sharpened, because when she couldn’t control Aniyah, she tried to cut her.
“You always want to make it sound noble. But it’s stubbornness. You could have had respect.”
Aniyah’s grip on the phone loosened. Something in her settled, not because it didn’t hurt, but because she recognized the pattern.
“I have respect,” Aniyah said, voice steady. “Just not the kind you approve of.”
Her mother scoffed softly. “This is exactly what your grandfather filled your head with.”
Aniyah’s stomach dropped, the way it always did when her mother used him like a weapon.
“Don’t. Don’t you dare bring my grandfather into this. He was the best thing that ever happened to me,” Aniyah said, the word quiet but firm.
“He turned you against us,” her mother continued, anger slipping through the cracks. “He made you think you could live without this family. Now look at you! Alone with nothing to show for it.”
Aniyah’s eyes burned, but she didn’t let her mother hear it in her voice. “He gave me somewhere to go when you told me to leave. Don’t come on here spewing nonsense that you know is not true!”
Her mother inhaled sharply. She wasn’t expecting Aniyah to say it out loud.
“That was years ago, we are past that,” her mother said.
Aniyah stared at the water. “And I still remember it like it happened yesterday.”
The line went quiet. Aniyah knew her mother was contemplating her words.
She wished that her mom would truly understand where she was coming from but Aniyah wasn’t dumb.
She knew that nothing she was saying would be heard for understanding.
When her mother spoke again, her tone was different. Softer, but not kinder.
“I called to see if you were okay.”
Aniyah swallowed. “I’m okay.”
“And are you… seeing anyone,” her mother asked, like that would redeem everything.
Aniyah’s mind flickered, just once, to Trevor’s arms around her. To warmth. To restraint. To the line she wasn’t crossing. She wouldn’t give her mother that, they didn’t have the type of bond where she would feel comfortable talking about her conflicted feelings.
“No,” Aniyah said. “I’m not.”
Her mother sighed disappointed, “Aniyah. You can’t keep choosing solitude and calling it strength.”
Aniyah’s voice stayed gentle, because she refused to fight today. “And you can’t keep calling my life a mistake because it doesn’t look like yours. I have to go, Patrica.”
Her mother went quiet again. Aniyah let the silence sit. Let it do what silence does when there’s truth inside it.
“You always were difficult,” her mother replied.
Aniyah’s voice stayed even. “It’s funny, for a woman whose whole life is funded by her husband, you sure do have a lot to say about mine.”
The call ended without warmth. It was a long while before Aniyah was able to bury the torment in her heart. She stood by the window for a long moment after regulating herself. Then she returned to her notebook.
What I’m not is
the daughter who bends her spine
to be loved.
December entered the school in a rush of construction paper poinsettias and forced cheer.
Aniyah stood outside Room 107 with her clipboard and the look of someone who had agreed to something slightly bigger than her capacity.
Because she had. She observed all the parents dropping off their kids.
She tried hard not to focus on one family in particular, but no matter what, her eyes traveled to them.
Trevor was crouched to unzip Zara’s coat.
Once he was done, he stood up to hang it in her cubby.
Aniyah had to stop biting her lip in response to how good he looked.
The hair cut gave him a more mature look that made his face even more lethal.
They had not had a moment alone since the parent-teacher conference and Aniyah wanted to keep it that way.
The further Trevor was away from her the better for her sense and libido.
“Morning,” he said once Zara ran off to get her morning worksheet and sit down in her assigned seat.
“Morning,” Aniyah replied, choosing to keep the interaction light, “We are officially a theater company now. I’ve been volun-told to direct the Christmas program.”
Why did she even offer him that information?! It was the way Trevor always seemed to put all of his attention on her when she was talking. He always looked deep into her eyes, throwing her off game.
He smiled and those damn dimples made themselves known, “Congratulations.”
“That is one word for it,” Aniyah snorted in response.
“It’s going to be the retelling and age appropriate version of A Christmas Story.
Being that I only have two weeks to pull this off, don’t expect an Oscar worthy production.
Coach Riley had been in charge of it every year prior to this one, but since he is out on leave it fell through the cracks. Now, it’s my problem.”
“Oh yeah?” Trevor responded, his interest peaked. “Is Zara going to be in it?”