Love Me (25 page)

Too late to leave. I take a deep breath. Too late to make excuses.

‘I told Eden you were cooking,' says Brandy, ‘and honey, she almost tripped running up the steps!'

Violet laughs, pleased. ‘Well you know you're always welcome!' she says and leads us through to the living room and the dining table. ‘There's enough for everybody.'

Zed is kicking back in the armchair all dressed in blue, legs spread wide. He looks up when we enter the room but doesn't rise and doesn't look surprised to see me. He must have heard my voice in the hall.

‘Hey y'all,' he says, an ironic Southern drawl. ‘How ya'll doing?'

‘Cool,' says Brandy, sounding more like Brandon. She clears her throat.

‘Eden?'

‘Can't complain,' I say carefully. It feels like high altitude up here with him. The air is thin.

‘Alright! You guys ready to eat?' says Violet, speedily adding two plates to the dinner table. ‘Stupid question, right?' she laughs. ‘Look at your faces. Ya'll
look
hungry . . . especially you, Zed.'

She changes the music from soul to Fela Kuti and we all
take our seats. Violet loads our plates with food and Brandy talks about the weather.

‘Getting hotter and hotter, isn't it?'

I steal a glance at Zed and he does look hungry. Hungry, lean and silent sitting there across the table. When his food lands in front of him, he sets into it with determination and doesn't look up from his plate.

‘So you're a rapper?' Brandy says to Zed eventually. ‘I heard you practising the other day.'

‘Yeah, that was me.'

‘Sounded like some good shit.'

‘Really?' Zed replies, smiling. He rests his fork on the side of the plate. ‘What you know about hip-hop, B? You don't seem like the type.'

‘I know a lot! I'm into my M.O.P., my Big L, Wu Tang, some Jadakiss, Cam'ron . . .'

‘Are you serious?'

‘As taxes!'

‘That's what's up!' Zed laughs, taking a big bite of potato salad. ‘That's what's up.'

Brandy glows. ‘Anybody tell you you look a bit like him?'

‘Who?'

‘Cam'ron!'

Zed turns sideways from the table and doubles over like he's choking. When he emerges, I realise that he's in gales of laughter.

‘Ha ha! Cam'ron!' His eyes are narrow with mirth, his cheeks are high and I forgot my camera. This is what happens when I don't have it. I miss things. ‘You sayin' I look like
Cam'ron
? That shit is
wild
!'

‘It's definitely a compliment,' says Violet, smiling.

‘As long as you don't think I rhyme like the dude, we cool,' says Zed, still laughing. And for a few moments we somehow luck into an atmosphere of complete ease.

Fela sings ‘Water No Get No Enemy', and we eat our good, hot food.

‘Your hair always looks so nice, Eden! You get it done again?' says Violet.

‘No, I've actually,' I laugh self-consciously, ‘I've been looking up some natural hair tips on the internet. Washing it with conditioner, which stops it from drying out. And then I set it in rods overnight.'

Violet sighs.

‘I've been trying to convince Violet to go natural!' says Brandy.

‘It's not for everybody,
Brandon
,' she says, a cloud going over her face. Suddenly all the ease is gone. She gets up from the table. ‘Anybody want more chicken?'

‘Look at you changing the subject again. Damn.' Brandy shakes her head, then turns to entreat us with her big, made-up eyes. ‘She doesn't think she's pretty enough to pull off short hair, but she's beautiful. I don't know why she doesn't see it.'

We sit for a moment. Zed concentrates on his near-empty plate. ‘You do have a beautiful face, Violet,' I say.

She sighs. ‘I asked you people if you want more chicken. Better speak up or I'm gonna send ya'll back to your spot with your stomach growling.'

‘No thanks, I'm full,' says Brandy, pushing her plate forward. She's the only one who's barely touched it.

Violet looks irritated and concerned. ‘You see that? She buys all these groceries and then doesn't eat anything. You need to eat.'

‘I'm fine, seriously.'

‘No you're not.' She turns to me. ‘Do you know where she's going after this? To do her show at Glitter Bar. And after that, to her customer service job. And after that, she's got classes at Brooklyn College!'

‘Wow . . .' I look at Brandy. For the first time, I notice the greyness under the eyes.

Then Zed says, ‘Well I ain't contributed anything but . . . if it helps I'm willing to have more chicken.'

The laughter is a bit louder than the joke deserves. Violet goes for more food for me and Zed and when she comes back, she also brings a container of food for Brandy.

‘That's for later.'

‘Thanks.'

Zed and I get a start on our seconds, racing each other to the finish line.

‘Look after you,' says Violet to Brandy, ‘that's all, OK? You give so much but you don't really look out for yourself and it's not fair.'

‘Alright. But I'm lookin' out for my little homie, that's all. Eko's getting kinda big these days and I don't think baby food is gonna cut it.'

Violet smiles gently. ‘So Zed, I still don't know where you fit . . . How you know Umi and Eden?'

He takes a sip of water. ‘Aunt K grew up with my dad back in Saint Lucia. So we're almost like family. As for Eden,' he smiles crookedly, ‘I'm an old friend. We go way back.'

‘Really?' says Brandy, glancing at me.

‘Yeah,' says Zed, ‘although she seems to be more interested in new friends these days.'

Eko picks that moment to start crying, before looks of bemused curiosity have a chance to settle on Brandy's and Violet's faces. The doting mother rushes off to settle her son back down, and Zed changes the subject back to hip-hop.

When she returns we take our leave for the night and I can't figure out a viable reason why Zed and I should go down separately, but I'm scared to be alone with him. I don't know if he's amused or angry, if he cares or not. I
can't see him clearly. I thank Violet and Brandy for the meal, eyes down. Zed does the same, except he jokes with them both, easy, expansive and charming.

‘Now that is some crazy shit,' says Zed as we walk back down the stairs.

‘What is?' I ask, walking ahead, heavy with food.

‘We just crashed a romantic dinner.'

‘What . . . Brandy and Violet?'

‘Yeah, Brandy and Violet! Are you blind?'

‘Come on . . .!'

‘Eden,' he says as we land at the base of the steps, ‘dress or no dress, your boy is feeling Ms Violet. You should learn to spot the obvious.'

‘Wow.'

‘So,' he says slowly, stopping outside his bedroom door. ‘Spanish not coming around tonight?'

‘No.' I swallow. ‘Band practice.'

Zed nods. ‘Don't get lonely, mama,' he says, closing his door.

Today I carried Angeline down to the river, Cherry Pepper, only moments from where she was born. She rode with me from town on a transport van that pulsed with Jamaican dancehall music. It made me laugh so much, thinking of how she would have hated it. How she would have complained at every bump and pothole in the road.

I walked through her slow, quiet village trying to see for her, how things had changed. ‘We should have come back earlier,' I said to her, and I felt so deeply sorry. How could we have stayed away?

I sat on a rock, cradled by all the thick and singing green, and I spoke until I was empty. I gave her every detail of every injury, sting, scar. I said all the things I wished I could tell her when she was flesh. Fears, dreams and lovers. I retold all the jokes that had made us laugh, spinning loose from pain, restarting. I drew her close to me, Eden. I felt her breath on my neck, and even smelled the pressing oil she would use in her hair when I was a little girl. Then, when my voice had died and all I could hear was the birds and the easy current, slowly I emptied that Bounty Rum bottle over my hands and into the river. Slowly. Angeline running between my fingers, feathering the air, dissolving in the water. The sun turned her into gold. So light. And gone.

We should all be ash. We should all be a sprinkle of ash on the water.

Soon,

Aunt K

THREE DAYS AFTER
our awkward consummation, I turn up at Spanish's place to find him looking far from serene.

‘Shit,' he says, by way of greeting. His face is bloodless, poked around the front door.

‘And a good afternoon to you too,' I say. Someone's in there, I can feel it. ‘You gonna let me in?'

Of course this was gonna happen. I thought he was different and sincere but that would have contradicted everything I know about the puny, changeable nature of modern love.

He shuffles and grimaces.

‘Spanish?' I say. Ready for whatever.

‘Yeah. Sure,' he says, pulling open the front door. He scratches his scalp through the big hair and kisses me, hesitantly, on the cheek. ‘Uhm. Come on.'

‘What's up?'

He doesn't reply.

‘Just tell me.'

He sighs. Shakes his head. Looks over my shoulder into the street. ‘My . . . uh . . . my mother's visiting,' he says quietly. ‘She just got here.'

I stop him, my hand on the cool skin of his forearm. ‘Your what?'

‘My mother. It's no big deal.' I don't move. ‘It's no big deal,' he repeats.

I look down at my clothes, the short shorts and long socks and busted kicks. I can't believe this. I mean. His mother? ‘You want me to come back another time? 'Cause—'

‘No!' he says in a strong, desperate whisper. ‘I want you. I want you here . . . I just. Come on, Eden. She's gonna wonder what the hell's going on down here.'

When we get to his living room, an expertly tanned and painted, platinum-highlighted blonde is sitting there. Cross-legged in modest khaki shorts and an ice white blouse. She looks nothing like her son. Spanish could be drawn entirely in charcoal. She's all polish and gloss.

‘Mom,' says Spanish carefully, and she lifts her head and only the crow's feet in the corners of her eyes give her away as forty-plus. ‘This is Eden.'

‘What a lovely name! Hi Eden!' she replies, springing to her feet, the baby-girl voice slightly incongruous with her quietly aging face. ‘I'm Margaret. How are you, my dear?'

‘Hi,' I say nervously. ‘Fine.'

‘I brought over a great Chardonnay. Why don't you get her a glass, James?'

‘No – that's alr—' I start.

‘It's cool,' he says. ‘I'll get you some.'

I sit on one of the random dining chairs – unattached to a table – scattered around Spanish's living room. James. His name is James.

‘So is that an accent I detect, Eden?'

‘Yeah, I'm from London.'

‘Wow!' She raises her eyebrows at Spanish as he comes back into the room, like ‘well done'. ‘You're a long way from home! Are you on vacation?'

‘Well. Sort of. I might be staying for a while.'

‘That's great!' she says.

‘What part of New York do you live in?' I ask.

‘Oh no!' She wrinkles her nose. ‘I live in Florida now, but I was in town so I thought I'd stop by for a visit. How do you like it here?'

‘Not that different from home – just a little warmer.'

‘You can say that again!' she giggles and pretends to faint. ‘New York in the summer is hot as steak on a grill!'

I laugh politely. Spanish taps out a quick rhythm on the wall behind him and looks an uncomfortable combination of bored and anxious. She asks him: ‘So how's the band?'

‘Fine,' he replies.

‘Had any gigs lately?'

‘Yeah, a few.'

‘You all are so talented. You really deserve all the breaks. I've made a scrapbook, you know! All of your press, and your reviews . . .' She eyes him expectantly. ‘Corey now has it in his head that you're angry or that you hate him.'

‘Then why,' says Spanish, quietly, tapping out that rhythm faster and faster, ‘doesn't he call me?'

‘Well . . . you know. There's the new baby and I'm sure he's tried. It's just that he—'

‘Mom. Not today. I'm sick of getting these messages through you.'

‘You're not that easy to get hold of.'

‘I've had the same cell number for five years!'

‘Yes, but it wouldn't hurt if you got in touch, James.'

‘
Five years
, Mom! That's not enough time for him to give me a call if he's so friggin' concerned?'

‘I know, I know! But they don't know if you want to speak to them or not. All I'm saying is it might be nice if you opened the lines of communication and got in touch with your brother and sister once in a while, James. They miss you.'

Spanish doesn't answer. He quiets his fingers but remains standing, as though he's waiting for her to leave.

‘We all miss you. You don't even come round for the holidays.'

More nothing.

‘James?' She fidgets with her outfit.

‘Mom,' he says tightly, ‘you always try this with me. I'm always the bad guy. They have my number. They have my address. You wanted to come see me and here you are. What the hell else do you want from me?'

I'm starting to wish he had just left me outside, or that he really did just have another chick up here. I sip my wine and examine the dirt under my nails.

‘I'm only saying this because we all care about you, James, and you lock us out.'

‘Stop lying! You locked
me
out, Mom. You all locked me out! Just like Dad.'