A House Is Not a Home (23 page)

“Daddy says it's time to eat.”

“We'll be right in.”

“Okay.” She went back inside.

Ruth took the last drag on her cigarette. “You two have a lot to work through, a lot to work on. It ain't gonna be easy. And it's gonna get frustratin' and sometimes you're gonna wonder whether it's all worth it. But it is. Love is always worth it.”

“I appreciate this. Thanks, Miss Ruth.”

“Honey, please, call me
Aunt
Ruth. Your son is practically my great-stepnephew—if there is such a thing.” She stood up. “So, are you ready for the third degree from your ex-but-soon-to-be-once-again mother-in-law?”

“I suppose.”

“She's gonna have a lot of questions for you. She'll be trusting you with her son
and
her daughter this time. And that's why I wanted us to have this chance to talk. I won't be able to get a word in once she starts.” She stood up. “But don't you worry: I got your back.”

After washing up, Ruth and Raheim came into the dining area. She gawked at the spread. “Am I dressed for this?”

Mitchell placed a platter of ham on the table. “What do you mean?”

“I have on an old housedress. I didn't know I was comin' to Thanksgiving dinner. The only things missin' are the cranberry sauce and the pumpkin pie.”

“Oh, Ruth,” Ann said, filling their glasses with iced tea. “We do have a lot to be thankful for.” Ann glanced at Destiny. “Don't we, Sweetie Pie?”

“Uh-huh,” Destiny agreed.

“And what is a woman with hypertension supposed to eat?” Ruth asked.

“Mmm . . .” Mitchell pondered. “Well, the greens were made with turkey. The stuffing is made with whole-wheat bread. And I used vegetable oil for the peas and rice.”

“And you can eat the yams. They have raisins in them,” added Destiny.

“I'm sorry, Aunt Ruth. If I had known you were coming, I would've made a garden salad, too.”

“It's all right, Honeysuckle. I'll just have small portions.”

As Raheim pulled out the chair next to Ruth, Destiny grabbed his right wrist. “No, Uncle Raheim. You sit over here, next to me.” She pulled him to the other side of the table.

Mitchell sat at the head, turning to Destiny. “Would you like to say grace?”

“Okay.” She took her father's right hand and Raheim's left. Her grandmother took her father's left and Ruth's right. Raheim and Ruth completed the circle. They all bowed their heads.

“God is great, God is
jood
”—she squeezed Raheim's hand on the emphasis—“thank You for our food, a-men.”

“Amen,” everyone repeated.

“Raheim, would you carve the turkey?” Mitchell requested.

“Sure.” Raheim stood, picked up the utensils, and went to carving. “What part do you want, Destiny?”

“A wing, please.” He placed it on her plate. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

“You can give me a leg, honey,” Ruth informed him.

Ann surveyed Ruth's plate as she passed it to Raheim. “I thought you said you were going to have small portions?”

“Those
are
small portions.”

“Heaping tablespoons are not small portions.”

“They were hardly heaping.”

Ann motioned toward Destiny's plate, which Mitchell was fixing. “A couple of teaspoons of each would've been more appropriate, Ruth.”

“I'd like to
see
the food I'm eating without a magnifying glass.” Ruth noticed Mitchell, Raheim, and Destiny staring. “What y'all lookin' at? Haven't you ever seen two sisters argue before?”

Mitchell gave her back her plate. “Yeah, but not you two.”

“Oh, please. We've argued more times than I can count.”

“We haven't argued that much,” Ann protested.

“No? Are you sure
I'm
the older one? I remember things quite differently.”

“We've had our disagreements, but you make it sound like we argue all the time.”

“I guess that depends on what you mean by
argue.
” Ruth winked at Raheim; he picked up that this was her way of keeping the focus off of him.

After “arguing” with her sister for another ten minutes about how much they hadn't argued, Ann zeroed in on her former son-in-law. “If I remember correctly, Raheim, you don't have a sister or brother, do you?”

“That's right.”

“I have a brother,” Destiny offered, feeling left out.

Everyone stopped chewing.

“You do?” her grandmother asked as Mitchell lowered his head, afraid of what her answer would be.

“Uh-huh. Errol.”

They were all embarrassed; what else
would
she say?

Her grandmother nodded. “Why, yes. I forgot. He is.”

With that type of familial connection being made by her own granddaughter, Ann couldn't put Raheim through the ringer—not just yet. So the rest of their dinner conversation revolved around Destiny and what she had done with her grandparents over the weekend.

Ann rose with her plate. “Son, that was one terrific meal.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“That wasn't a meal, it was a Last Supper,” Ruth exclaimed, following her.

Mitchell smiled at Raheim as he finished off his third plate of food. “Would you like some more?”

Raheim placed his fork on the very clean dish in front of him. “No thanks. Everything was
better
-than-jood.”

“Thanks. I'm glad you enjoyed it.”

“Daddy, may I have my cake now?”

“Yes, you may. Raheim, would you like dessert? Or, should I ask, do you have room for it?”

Raheim rubbed his belly. “I think I got a little room left. Do you have any more of that birthday cake?”

“No, just Destiny's piece. But there's cherry pie. And I made a chocolate cake today.”

“That chocolate cake sounds even jooder. I'll have some of that.”

“Okay.” Mitchell took away Raheim and Destiny's plates.

“Thank you,” Raheim and Destiny sang.

“You're both welcome.”

“I can share my cake with you, Uncle Raheim.”

“That's okay, Baby Doll.”

“You sure? I don't mind.”

“Well, maybe I'll just have a little taste.”

Mitchell was loading some of the dishes Ruth had wiped off into the dishwasher when his mother stopped him. “We got this.”

“You two don't have to—”

“Yes, we do,” Ann insisted. “You have company to tend to.”

“Thanks. Would either of you like some pie or cake?”

“No, we don't,” Ann answered quickly.

Ruth frowned. “See, this is what you have to look forward to: your younger sibling gets to be middle-aged and thinks she can tell
you
what to do.”

After gobbling down their dessert, Raheim and Destiny went upstairs to get her karaoke machine (a Christmas gift from her grandparents). It was in her bedroom, which is a little girl's paradise. The wallpaper was powder blue with yellow elephants, and was adorned with posters of Raven-Symone, Little Bill, Blue of Blue's Clues, Dora the Explorer, Bob the Builder, and Clifford the Big Red Dog. A pink doll town house and a giant turquoise elephant were on the right side of her closet door; a five-day clothes-organizer tree was on the left. Her blue personalized items—a rosebud trunk, rocker, and floor pillow—were under her windows. Her small bed, which had drawers around its base, was wrapped in a sky-blue comforter with elephants. There were photos of her with adults on one nightstand (her daddy; her grandparents; her uncles Gene, Babyface, and B.D.; and Raheim) and little people on the other (her “cousins,” Elijah and Elliott; her “nephew” and “niece,” Gabriel and Garcelle; Korey; Errol, holding her as a baby when he was nine; and a redheaded, freckle-faced white girl). Near the door was a small oak bookcase, with a collection of Blues Clues/Little Bill books and videos on the top shelf and the movies
The Wiz, Cinderella
(Whitney's version),
The Lion King, Dumbo, Babe
, and
Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory
on the bottom; and her desk, which had an iMac and an Oscar the Grouch bank (both passed down to her by Errol; the latter was a birthday present from his uncle D.C. in 1993), as well as a mini-globe and a clear bowl with a single goldfish.

She palmed the bowl, placing her face close. “Hi, Goldie.”

Raheim hunched down. “She's pretty.”

“Goldie's a
he
, Uncle Raheim, not a
she
.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“That's okay. Most people think he is a girl.”

“When did you get him?”

“For my birthday. Uncle Gene gave him to me. Daddy says if I take jood care of him, he's gonna get me a clownfish, like the one in
Finding Nemo
.”

“Ah. Did you see
Finding Nemo
?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Did you like it?”

“Oh, I
loved
it. Did you see it?”

“No.”

“Oh. Daddy didn't see it, either. We all can go see it together.”

“We?”

“Uh-huh. You, me, and Daddy.”

“But you already saw it.”

“I wanna see it again.”

“You
really
loved it, huh?”

“Uh-huh. It made me cry.”

“If it made you sad how can you love it so much?”

“I didn't cry because I was sad; I cried because I was happy.”

“Happy about what?”

“That Nemo's daddy found him. Sometimes happy things can make you cry.”

“Yeah, they can. Who did you see the movie with?”

“With Errol and Tammy.”

“Who's Tammy?”

“She's my best friend.”

“Is she the girl in the picture?”

“Uh-huh. She's in kindergarten with me. She cried when Nemo's daddy found him, too.”

“Mmm. I guess the movie makes everybody cry.”

“Not everybody. Errol didn't cry.”

“Ah. I remember when Errol was your age and we went to see
The Lion King
. He cried when Simba's father died.”

“Oh. That made me cry, too. Did you cry?”

“No. But it did make me feel sad.”

“Well, if you feel sad when we see
Finding Nemo
with Daddy, I can hold your hand.” She grabbed it, giving him a preview.

Raheim smiled; she intended to make that movie date with her father happen.

Destiny performed Stacy Lattisaw's “Don't Throw It All Away” in the great room (recently she's tackled another Stacy remake, “Love on a Two-Way Street,” and Taral Hicks's version of “Silly”; her signature tunes are Alicia Keys's “Fallin'” and Whitney's “Greatest Love of All,” which she'll be performing at her kindergarten graduation in two weeks.) Her father silently reminded her to breathe and provided a little background vocal support. When she hit high notes she stood on her tippy toes, and she had watched enough music videos to know when to sway her body, cock her head, and flail her arms. She had been practicing the song for a month, and while she sounded like Stacy, you could detect her own vocalese.

After she finished, she clutched the mike with both hands against her chest and bowed her head for each audience member—and each one clapped, cheered, and screamed louder than the one before.

Her daddy, though, was too busy bawling like a baby to scream (he did clap). They hugged. She wiped his tears.

“See, Uncle Raheim. I told you you don't have to be sad to cry.”

“Yeah. I see.”

“Well, I think this is cause for a celebration,” announced Ruth. “How about an ice-cream toast?”

“A ice-cream toast?” Destiny queried.

“Yes. We'll all get a spoonful of ice cream and toast you.”

“Ooh, I want chocolate and strawberry on my spoon!”

Ruth took her hand. “Me, too.”

“Ha, me three,” Mitchell concurred, following them into the kitchen.

Ann took Raheim's hand as they stood. “My son—and my daughter—love you very much.”

“I love them very much, too.”

“I can see that. I . . . I just hope that the only tears they ever cry over you in the future will be tears of joy.”

“I can't promise that. But I'm gonna do everything to make sure they are.”

She squeezed his hand. “And
I'll
do everything to make sure you
do
.”

“Don't be a stranger,” Ann said as she hugged Raheim.

“He won't be,” Ruth answered for him as she headed down the stoop.

“Drive safely,” Mitchell advised, standing in the doorway.

“Shall do,” Ann promised.

Destiny, standing next to her father, waved. “Good-bye, Gran'ma. Good-bye, Aunt Ruth.

“Bye Sweetie Pie.”

“Bye Sugar Dumplin'.”

Ann opened their car doors. “And thanks again for a great meal, darlin'. Anderson's gonna love these leftovers.”

“So will Free. And so will I,” added Ruth.

Mitchell, Raheim, and Destiny watched as the two women climbed into Ann's green Camry. Ann honked her horn as she drove off.

Raheim sighed. “Well . . . I guess I should be goin', too.”

“No, you can't go now,” Destiny protested, taking his hand. “Errol didn't get home yet.”

“Uncle Raheim saw him last night,” Mitchell reminded her.

“But I want him to have fun with us.”

Mitchell looked at Raheim; the ball was in his court.

“Well . . . I guess I can stay until he gets back.”

“Yay!”
Destiny screamed, pulling him into the house.

Raheim shrugged; Mitchell chuckled.

Destiny wanted Raheim and her father to watch her favorite scenes from
The Wiz
, so they did. Destiny sat between them on the sofa in the family room. As Destiny sang to “He's the Wizard,” “Soon as I Get Home,” “I'm a Mean Ole Lion,” “Don't Nobody Bring Me No Bad News,” “If You Believe,” and “Home,” her father hummed and her uncle grooved along. Mitchell and Raheim caught each other stealing glances a half-dozen times. They'd always look away, busted yet blushing.