Joy (12 page)

Sasha's smile was wide and, for a few seconds, she forgot that she was standing in her grandmother's house, until her eyes flitted around the room. It had been a few years since she'd been here, but she felt as if little time had passed. Even with lamps lit throughout, the room was as dark as she remembered. The living room was somber—from the dark wood furniture, to the gold brocade drapes, trimmed in brown, that hung heavily at the windows. The walls were covered with tall, weighty bookcases that overflowed with old textbooks and past issues of
Ebony
and
Jet
magazines. The only brightness was the colorful picture frames that provided a pictorial history of the Mitchell family.

Nothing had changed, and Sasha knew that probably included her grandmother. “Where's Madear?” Her smile disappeared.

“In the kitchen, doing her thing. My stomach has been growling louder than I talk,” Donovan said.

They all laughed.

“Madear said you were bringing someone for us to meet?” Anya settled onto the couch.

“Cecilé couldn't make it. She had an emergency at the hospital.” When Anya's eyes questioned him, he said, “She's a surgeon.”

Anya raised her eyebrows. “How did you finagle your way into a doctor's life?” she teased.

“I'm her lawyer.”

“Maybe you'll have a Cosby thing going.” Sasha playfully poked Donovan, then sat on the couch next to Anya.

As Sasha and Donovan laughed, Anya sat back. Childhood memories were as much a part of the room as the furniture. She remembered the summers they'd spent together. The three of them would play all day, spending most of their time laughing at Donovan's silly jokes.

“His mother was so stupid, she got hit by a parked car.”

Even now, the memories made her smile. As the oldest, she was always put in charge, but often found herself right in the middle of their capers. Her parents would come into the room, admonishing them to keep the noise down. But Madear was always two steps behind, saying that the sound of laughing children was God's blessing.

“Just leave my grandchildren alone,” Madear would always say.

Those were some of the last recollections Anya held of her parents.

“If Jesus called me home now, I would be ready to go! This is what makes an old woman feel wonderful. All of my grands here with me.”

Madear stood with her hands folded, her green eyes sparkling against her pale skin. Petite in every way, Mabel Mitchell was still a beautiful woman. Often said to be a Lena Home look-alike, she could do little to hide her attractiveness.

Today, her shoulder-length, wavy hair (that had long ago turned silver) was pulled into her favorite style, a twisted bun high on her head. Beneath her apron, she still had on the sky-blue knit dress she'd worn to church. Even at seventy-four, her body was toned from her daily six A.M., thirty-minute walks, and occasional yoga sessions at the Los Angeles Senior Citizen Center.

Madear went to Sasha first and hugged her tightly. “How are you doing, baby?” she asked, concern blanketing her face and voice.

“I'm fine, Madear. How are you?”

“Fine, now that I can see for myself that you're in one piece. Chil, what were you doing in Chicago? I told you a long time ago that Gordon was no good. He was much too old and—”

“Madear, what about me? I didn't get my hug today,” Anya said, interrupting the pending rampage.

“Oh, I didn't forget about my baby.” She hugged Anya. “You know how I feel about you.”

From the corner of her eye, Anya saw Sasha's head drop. She leaned away from her grandmother. “Madear, doesn't Sasha look great?”

“Oh, yes.” Madear took Sasha's hand and led her to the brown floral couch. Sasha squirmed against the rough plastic that covered the couch until she found a spot that gave some relief from the hard corners that stuck her legs. “You do look good, Chil’,” Madear said, through squinted eyes. “Except …” She ran her slender manicured hand over Sasha's head. “What did you do to your hair? You look like a boy.”

Sasha twisted her mouth, but before she said anything, Anya intervened. “I was just teasing Donovan about
his
hair.” Anya forced a chuckle. “Look how long he's let it grow, Madear.”

“Yeah, Madear,” Donovan said, joining his sister's rescue attempt. “My hair is long and Sasha's short. That's the way it is these days.”

“I know that,” Madear snapped in her grandmotherly tone—not angry, just making her point. “But Don still looks the way he's supposed to. You—” She turned Sasha's face from side to side. “This messes up your pretty face.”

“Madear, even my hair is short,” Anya said, a bit too quickly.

“You have curls, it's not nappy like this,” Madear tisked.

Sasha lowered her eyes. “I'm sorry if you don't like it. I can't seem to do anything to please you,” Sasha said softly.

“What are you talking about, Chil’?”

Before Sasha could respond, Donovan coughed. “You know, Madear, it's been weeks since we've had some of your good cooking. Can't I get a sneak peek?” he playfully begged.

Madear's smile was wide. “Absolutely not! And, it's not my fault that it's been a few weeks. I keep telling you to come over any time. I don't see you enough anyway.” She lifted herself from the couch. “Let me check on things.”

“Do you need any help, Madear?” Anya asked, the way she always did, though she already knew her grandmother's answer.

“No, dear.” She patted Anya's hand. “By the way, where is my future grandson?”

At that moment, the doorbell rang and Anya jumped up. “That's probably him now.” When she opened the door, she hugged Braxton tightly, relieved for the refuge he provided.

While Madear worked in the kitchen, her grandchildren remained in the living room watching the thirteen-inch television placed on top of the larger television console that hadn't worked in years. No matter how many times Anya and Donovan offered to buy Madear a new one, she refused, saying that her little TV worked just fine. And when Donovan came by to have the console moved to a junkyard, Madear complained. “This is the perfect television stand,” she stated, as if she had made a major discovery.

“So how was last night?” Sasha asked.

“What happened?” Donovan leaned back in the recliner. It had been his idea to buy the chair for Madear, and Anya often wondered if it had been his way of making sure he had a comfortable place when he came to visit.

Braxton took Anya's hand, but they remained silent.

“They didn't tell me anything,” Sasha said to Donovan, tucking her feet under her. “But when these two left, he was dressed in a tuxedo and she was wearing a dress that stopped traffic.”

“I couldn't have described my lady any better,” Braxton laughed and squeezed Anya's hand.

Anya forced a smile. The time on the yacht was almost all but forgotten. It was what followed that played in her mind.

“What did you guys do?”

“It's a secret, but we do have some news to share,” Braxton smiled.

“Now there's my other grandson,” Madear said, as she ambled back into the living room. Braxton returned her generous hug.

“He was just about to tell us some news,” Donovan said.

“Well, you're already getting married,” Sasha said gaily. “So you must be pregnant!”

Quiet fell as Madear stared at Sasha.

“Hush your mouth,” Madear said, as if she were speaking to a two-year-old.

“No, I'm
not
pregnant.” Anya rolled her eyes at her cousin.

“What's the big deal?” Sasha looked around the room.

“We've set a date,” Braxton said hurriedly. “We're getting married in June.”

“Praise the Lord!” Madear exclaimed, as she took both Anya and Braxton into her arms. “I have been praying that you would jump the broom before the Lord called me home.”

“Madear, you ain't going nowhere. You'll be here to see even Donovan get married,” Anya teased.

Donovan held up his hands and laughed. “Don't cast those words toward me. I'm not getting anywhere near marriage, at least not for a few years.”

With a slight smile, Madear tisked and shook her head.

“I don't blame you,” Sasha huffed. “Marriage stinks!”

“Thanks for the support, cuz,” Anya kidded Sasha, while she eyed Madear.

“Sasha, nothing's wrong with marriage,” Madear said. “Not everyone will mess up the way you did.” Before anyone could respond, Madear lightly slapped Donovan on his arm. “Don't listen to Sasha. You need to settle down with a good Christian woman, and have those Mitchell babies. Anyway, I am so happy. Let's celebrate—it's time for us to eat!”

As Braxton and Donovan followed Madear down the narrow hallway into the dining room, Sasha lingered behind and grabbed Anya's arm.

“See how she treats me?” Sasha whispered.

Anya shrugged, but remained silent. There was something wrong; she'd talk to her grandmother later. Anya put her arm around Sasha's shoulder and led her down the corridor, lined with more photos of the Mitchell grandchildren.

The aroma of the Sunday dinner had wafted a bit into the living room, but once they stepped into the dining room, it hit them full force. Laid out on the long antique buffet was a spread that would make any Black family proud—fried catfish and chicken, macaroni and cheese, collard greens, candied yams, rice with brown gravy, and, of course, corn muffins. Moans of pleasure filled the room, and none of them had yet seen the peach cobbler and sweet potato pie hidden in the kitchen.

Anya shook her head. “Madear, I don't know how you do it.”

“I've been doing this all my life.”

“I'm going to pack on those pounds I just got rid of,” Donovan said, patting his stomach.

Madear beamed. These weekly dinners had become more like monthly ones, but she was always thrilled when her grandchildren came by, and she would cook as much as they wanted. “Stop talking and eat,” she admonished them. “Remember, we're celebrating the upcoming wedding.”

The room filled with the clatter of silverware hitting plates, as everyone worked to get their fill. They laughed as they compared dishes, teasing Donovan whose plate was piled high. But by the time they sat down, it was decided that there was a tie between Braxton and Donovan.

“You leave my grandsons alone,” Madear scolded Anya and Sasha, as they teased Braxton and Donovan. “They're growing boys. By the way, Carlos called to check on me and I invited him, but he and Michele had other plans.”

“That means more for us!” Braxton chuckled and Donovan high-fived him.

When they settled at the table, they waited for Madear to take her place. Madear rested her arms on her chair, and took her time, looking at each of them. Anya and Braxton sat to one side and Sasha and Donovan sat at the other. Then, she spoke like she did every time they got together.

“After God, my family is the most important thing in the world to me. It fills my heart to be here when there are so many in this world who have nothing. I thank God for every blessing, including each of you.” She took Anya and Sasha's hands, a signal for the others to do the same. “Now, let's bow our heads.”

As Madear said the grace, Anya wondered if her grandmother realized that she spoke the same words each time. And every time, fresh tears came to Anya's eyes.

When Madear lifted her head, they attacked their plates as if they hadn't eaten in days.

“Madear, I asked Anya to marry me so that I could ensure my place at these dinners,” Braxton said, just before he put a spoonful of macaroni and cheese in his mouth and shook his head in delight.

Madear smiled, stood, and with a serving spoon, packed another heap of macaroni and cheese on Braxton's plate. “I don't want any food left. You all hear me?”

They nodded, though everyone knew that would be impossible. Even after forcing care packages on them, Madear would be eating leftovers for a week.

Conversation flowed as the food on the plates dwindled, then filled up again. Everyone talked about what they had done since they'd last been together, and Braxton filled them in on the completion of his latest book,
Kiss and Say Goodbye.

“Man, I love that title,” Donovan said, before he started a falsetto rendition of the 1970s Manhattans song.

“Oh, please, brother dear. We're trying to eat.”

They laughed and Madear turned to Sasha. “I am so happy you're here, honey.” She put her hand on top of Sasha's. “I don't see you often enough. I've never forgiven your father for moving to Chicago.” Madear chuckled, but everyone knew she meant what she said. “Anyway, did you enjoy church this morning?”

“I didn't go.”

The fork, filled with yams, was halfway to Madear's mouth but stopped in mid-air, as her eyes fluttered.

“Madear, I suggested that Sasha rest this morning,” Anya said quickly.

Sasha pointed her fork at Anya. “Don't lie,” she said boldly.
“I
decided not to go to church this morning.”

Madear glared at Anya. “This is what I was worried about. You lied to me,” Madear said indignantly. “Is this what I can expect now? You acting just like her?”

Sasha's eyes flared. “What is that supposed to mean? I didn't tell Anya to lie!”

“But she felt she had to.”

“So it's
my
fault?” Sasha dropped her fork onto her plate and looked directly at Anya. “I told you, I can't win with this lady.”

“Who are you calling ‘this lady’?”

Anya held up her hands. “Wait!”

Sasha slammed back in her chair, while Madear tapped her fingers along the table. Both Donovan and Braxton sat quietly, neither sure of what to say.

“Madear.” Anya looked at her grandmother. “I'm sorry I lied, but I knew telling you would lead to something like this.”

“And she knew that if you thought it was her idea, it would be fine,” Sasha added, her voice raised slightly. “But as soon as I said that
I
decided not to go, it's a major sin. What is it about me that ticks you off so much?”

“First of all, young lady,” Madear said through clenched teeth. “Don't speak to me that way. I am your grandmother.”

“And I am your grandchild! Why do you hate me?” Sasha cried.

“Sasha!” Madear slammed her hand on the table and stood. Her petite frame loomed much larger than she was.