Easier Said Than Done (32 page)

“Oh, it's gonna be a party up in here.” Keela squealed, then stopped short and stooped over, placing her hand on her belly and motioning for me to come closer. I placed my hand on the side of her protruding belly. “Now just wait,” she instructed and ten seconds later, I felt a whisper of movement. “Did you feel that?” she asked, her eyes shining.

I bobbed my head in wonder.

“Pretty cool, huh? The first time that it happened, I thought I had a gas bubble or something, but now this baby is rocking and rolling. Sometimes she keeps me up at night.”

“That's the second time with that girl thing.” I gasped as the baby moved again then gave her tummy a final pat. “Amazing. Maybe you should sit down.”

“If I had to sit down every time this baby moves, I'd be on my butt all day long. Our ancestors used to have their babies in the field while picking cotton—no drugs or comfy hospital beds—no, suh, they'd just squat and plop; then they'd go right back to picking cotton and you want me to sit down because the baby moved. Girl, puh-lease.”

“Excuse me if I'm a little in awe over here. You're creating a life, Keela. You are the epitome of woman right now, fertile ground.”

“Fertile ground?” Keela exclaimed. “What the hell is wrong with you, Kingston?”

“I don't know—maybe a little jealous.” Waving my hands, I tried to fan away the tears that stung my eyes, then swung away and started dropping pieces of chicken in the pan.

“Awww! Sweetie, your time will come. Everything happens when it's supposed to.”

“Yeah, yeah!” I pursed my lips. “My luck with men ain't too hot right now, so I'm not gonna hold my breath.”

“Hey, I'm not exactly batting one hundred over here either.”

“Have you talked to Brandon?”

“He's left about a million messages, but I don't want to talk to him about anything but child support and a DNA test.”

“DNA test? Brandon asked you to take one?” I gulped. The idea that Brandon could question the paternity of Keela's baby snagged a bit on the way down.

“Hell, no. It's my idea and I don't give a damn what he thinks,” she said, slamming the oven mitt down on the counter. “I'm not going to risk him waking up one day and trying to say
this baby isn't his so he can get out of paying child support or some nonsense like that. I want proof. The court will order it if he refuses.”

“Maybe he'll do the right thing and take care of his kid.”

“I'm not taking any chances.” Keela tilted her head and looked at me. “You know, maybe it's not such a bad thing it only being us. We're single, educated, black women doing our thing. Who cares that we haven't met the elusive Mr. Right? We don't need a man to make us complete. We're fine the way we are, so let's not throw a pity party. Especially not tonight.”

“All right.” I flipped the chicken, inhaling the down home smell of seasoned flour and
Crisco
. It reminded me of Mama Grace and the warm summer nights when homesickness would hit me like a wave of nausea, rolling around in my belly.

She'd rub my back while I bawled for my Mama, then tease me until I ate. “Come now, Pickney, I may not be the Colonel, but my fried chicken's not that bad.” I shook my head to clear the cloud of nostalgia. “People should start coming soon. Can you handle this while I go set up card tables?”

“I know how to fry some chicken, Kingston.” She pulled an apron from the drawer and tied it around her waist. “Girl, give me those tongs and go do what you got to do. I got this!”

“I don't want you to accuse me of slave labor. I'm trying to be considerate of your delicate condition.”

“Kingston,” she warned.

“I'm going.”

“And don't forget to look for the dominoes. I may feel like slapping some bones!”

“You not ready for the bones, Keela. Don't forget, I'm from Jamaica where they breed real dominoes players.”

“You know you talk more trash than a little bit.”

“That's the first sign of a true domino player. Talking trash allows me to get into your head. Once I get into your head, the game is over.”

Keela laughed and pulled the last piece of chicken out of the pan, setting it on the paper towel-covered plate to drain. “And by the way.” She waved the greasy tongs at the kitchen wall. “ The oversized wooden spoon and fork are played out. Come on, Kingston, move into the 21st century with the rest of us.”

* * *

Five hours later, the music was pumping full blast and we were well into our fifth spades game. Henry and I were partnered up against Sharneesha and Jonetta and to say that we were in the process of whooping up on them would've been an understatement. I was about to run a Boston when I felt a tug at my leg. Teeka was smiling up at me, with her pink barrettes that dotted her head.

I brushed
Oreo
crumbs from her chin. “No sucking your fingers, remember?” I clucked as perfectly as any non-mother hen, while gently pulling her finger from her mouth.

“I'm thirsty, ‘ingston.” My heart melted into a syrupy, gooey substance and I bent down so my face was closer to hers. “I think I have some Kool-Aid. Or would you rather have a glass of milk?”

“Got boo ooo-aid?”

I shot a questioning glance at Sharneesha for interpretation. “Blue Kool-Aid,” she said.

“No, blue Kool-Aid. I think it's strawberry.”

Teeka's face fell with disappointment before her eyes brightened. She nodded, barrettes bouncing. “Okay.” Apparently strawberry Kool-Aid was better than no Kool-Aid.

“Okay what, Teeka?” Sharneesha corrected, her voice unnecessarily harsh, and I looked at her. A frown creased her forehead, her eyes narrowed to slits and Teeka looked like she was going to cry. The air grew heavy and the music faded into the background.

“It's okay,” I said, instantly in motion. “I understood what she meant.”

But Sharneesha ignored me. “Teeka, how do you ask for something?” Her words were punctuated with sharp movements of her head.

“May I hab' sum ooo-Aid, pease?”

“That's better,” Sharneesha said, her face softening. The cloud of awkwardness disappeared in a puff and things slid back to normal.

“Hold that thought,” I said as Henry raised his hand ready to slap a card on the table. “Let me take care of my little buddy. And before I hear someone calling my name, allow me to make this clear—all y'all are grown and no longer company, so get your own damn drinks.” And away I stepped, snapping my fingers to R. Kelly's “Fiesta” all the way to the kitchen.

The party had shaped up nicely: Sharneesha, Jonetta, and Henry at the card table looked like three bookends from three different sets. Sharneesha was wearing a body-hugging, long-sleeved cat suit that must have been picked up in the Junior's section and the gold tint she had added to the tips of her hair sparkled as brightly as the Christmas tree. Jonetta was clad in the same dark brown sweater with flicks of green, red, and orange and a light brown corduroy skirt she'd worn at the office. Her eyes still coated in blue. As fashionable as any model from a GQ magazine, Henry wore his Gucci sweater and Gucci jeans and black Prada shoes. Darryl was perched on the arm of the sofa. Squeezed up like pigs in a blanket on the couch were Bridgett, Beatrice, and two male friends, one slurping up Sharneesha's curves as though he was in the
middle of the Sahara desert and she was water. The other man was slumped so far down in the sofa cushions, I thought he'd fallen asleep. The coffee table overflowed with dirty paper plates and half-empty cups. Bridgett frowned at Darryl, but he didn't get the message.

I was still dancing as I stirred the Kool-Aid to the beat of Bruno Mars.

“Get it girl!” Darryl hollered and readjusted himself on the arm of the couch where he was doing his best not to ruin the crease in the slacks or muss the cashmere sweater he may have to take back to the store the next day.

“Yeah, you go, girl!” Henry echoed as he flipped through my CD case. “Hey, we need to put some real Hip-Hop on; maybe some Jay- Z or Tupac or something, get this party jumpin'.”

Laughing, I tossed a few ice cubes into Teeka's Sippy cup. “I ain't even gotten started.

Watch me work.” I executed a twirl, dip, squat move, laughing on the way up.

Henry whistled. “Yeah, you workin' it. All we need to do now is get you a stripper pole and put you to work for real.”

Keela had curled herself around a bowl of popcorn in the overstuffed brown recliner that had been shoved into the corner to make room. “Don't talk like that in front of the baby,” she said.

But Teeka was in her own world as she followed me from the kitchen, slurping happily, a red ring forming around her mouth.

“What do you say, Teeka?” Sharneesha pushed at Teeka's arm. She faced me as I sat down at the table.

“Thank you, ‘ingston.” This was delivered with a delightful blink of her precious brown eyes.

“You're very welcome, Teeka.”

“Now go back upstairs, finish watching your cartoons. And don't spill your juice, do you hear me? You can't pay for nothing around here.” Sharneesha sent Teeka toward the stairs with a pop on the butt.

“Yes, Mommy.”

Henry slammed down an ace of spades, winning the book and the game. “We are the champions,” he sang, cabbage patching in his seat.

Sharneesha threw her cards on the table. “Puhleeze, that was nothing but luck.”

“Don't hate,” Henry said and I high-fived him, almost knocking over my eggnog.

“This has been too much fun, but I think it's time for us to get out of your hair.” An odd mixture of hiccups and giggles popped from Darryl's mouth. “Get it? Get out of your hair?”

Jonetta stood and stretched, her mouth twitching with laughter. “Don't quit your day job." She reached for her purse. “I think that's going to do it for me, too.”

Bridgett, Beatrice, Vincent, and Leroy followed and Sharneesha pushed back her chair. “ I'm gonna go check on Teeka.”

Henry waited until he could no longer hear Sharneesha's footsteps on the stairs before angling his elbow in Darryl's side.

Darryl said, “Now Kingston, you know I don't mean to get into your business, ‘cause I don't want to be accused of being a busy-body.”

“Ask her, already.”

Darryl cleared his throat again. “How long have you known Sharneesha?”

“We just started getting to know each other. Why?”

“Well,” the word was drawn out through tightly clamped lips, “people have been kind of talking.”

“Wait a minute.” Keela moved from the recliner to plop down in the chair that Sharneesha had vacated.

“Like?” I said, rolling my hand in small circles. “This must be pretty good dirt if it's taking you this long to get it out.”

“Never mind, I'll tell her.” Henry waved a dismissive hand at his partner and leaned in close, one hand splayed on the table. His diamond pinkie ring winked at me. “I have it on very good authority,” he said slowly, “that the police have been asking questions about her. Plain clothes policeman. Drugs were mentioned.” His voice lowered to a whisper as if the juiciest tidbit of gossip was about to be bestowed. “Plus, she doesn't even own the place. She's a renter.”

Keela sucked in her breath and a hand flew to her chest. “She doesn't look like a drug addict or a renter.”

I looked at Keela and shook my head, not knowing whose ridiculous comment to address first.

“If what you say is true, why wasn't this brought up at an association meeting? As many rules and regulations as they have in our handbook, I'm sure there's something against criminal activity,” I said, looking at Keela, “and renting.”

Henry snapped his fingers. “I can't know everything, Kingston. I'm telling you what we heard. Watch your back," he said as he stood up.

Henry and Darryl brushed air kisses against our cheeks and wished us a Merry Christmas. Keela and I looked at each other as I locked the door behind them.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“I don't know what to think.” I walked to the living room and started picking up dirty paper plates. Keela brought a garbage bag from the kitchen and we began loading it up.

“She doesn't seem like she's into drugs.”

I shrugged. “You never know about people. I think that's been demonstrated in the past couple of days.”

“Still, I don't get that impression from her.” We cleaned in silence, giving the rumors just enough time to take root before Keela said, “She's taking a mighty long time up there.”

“Don't be silly.” I laughed and carried the stuffed garbage bag downstairs and sat it in the garage. Then the rumor bloomed, maybe I didn't know enough about Sharneesha to invite her and her daughter to move half way across the world with me.

I wiped my hands on my jeans. “I had intended to talk to both of you, actually, but now..."

Keela looked up from wiping the coffee table. “About?”

“I'm about 90 percent sure that I'm going to Jamaica,” I paused. “Well, maybe 98.5 percent. I don't think I could live with myself if I didn't. And if I do go, I plan on leaving pretty quickly, maybe before the end of the year, depending on how soon I can get things wrapped up here. So, what I was thinking is that maybe you and Sharneesha could . . .”

“Sharneesha could what?” Sharneesha asked as she walked into the kitchen. She looked at Keela, then me.

“Is Teeka okay?” I asked, hanging the dishrag over the faucet.

“She's fast asleep on your bed.”

“Good. Let her sleep. Both of you guys come sit down.” I twisted my hands together. “I was thinking it might be a great opportunity for both of you to come to Jamaica with me. I'm definitely going to need people to help me with the estate, we have a place to stay, it's perfect.”