PART I
THE FIRST FALL
1
MAYA MCDONALD-JACKSON
Maya's stomach knotted with every mile north on I-93, the world outside a flurry of New England yellows and reds. Her mother hummed off-key to Shania, and Maya pressed her forehead to her passenger window. She missed Boston, even though Boston wouldn’t miss her.
She had lived there with her mother and father; except now that the divorce was final, her mother, Maggie McDonald, was moving back to her small childhood town of Maplewood, Vermont. She’d picked her up at school for fall break—I need my babygirl,her mother had said—and they were off.
Maya had complicated feelings about Boston. She’d grown up there, born to her white, beautiful, blonde mother whose eyes looked like the sky in June, and her Black father, his skin, eyes, and hair all complementary shades of a sturdy, deep brown.
Being biracial in Boston wasn’t anything too abnormal. No, the thing about Boston was that the history of staunch racial segregation had deep roots in the city. Even on college campuses. She’d wanted to escape, but one just doesn’t say no to the chance to attend Harvard, where she was reminded all the time how different she was.
“So you got the looks, but—” her mother theatrically put her fist in front of Maya’s face like a microphone, waiting for her to fill in the lyrics.
Maya smiled weakly. “Mom, I don’t sing unless it’s karaoke and the last stop of the night.”
Her mother scoffed. “Fine, it’s just that you’re so quiet! I know this is a change. I know,” she paused and seemed to swallow what she was going to say. After a moment she said, “I’m sorry, Maya, thank you for coming with me, especially during your break. I’m?—”
“We don’t have to talk about it, Mom. I’ll be fine, I didn’t even live with you and Dad anymore, it wasn’t?—”
“It was still your home. Where you grew up. I don’t care what you say, it was yourhome. Your home is where you are kept safe. Your home is where you are loved, truly.It was a part of you and still is, like Maplewood is for me.”
“Is that why you’re going back? You want to go back to your home? With…” Maya didn’t finish the sentence. Her mom was cagey about her relationship with Maya’s grandparents.
Maggie pursed her lips in thought. “Maplewood is one of my homes. But it was also the last place I—” Her mom seemingly brought herself back to the present, and Maya turned to see her expression tighten. “It just feels like a good place to return to.”
Maya hadn’t spent much time in Maplewood. She got the sense from her parents’ hushed conversations and side comments that her maternal grandparents hadn’t been big fans of her father, and so they didn’t visit. Neither of her parents seemed close to their own parents at all. They’d attended her grandfather’s funeral, but that was it. What Maya could glean from her parents’ hushed whispers was that Maggie’s parents were racist. Maya wondered if her grandmother saw Maya and her father as some kind of stain on her mother.
Maya was tall and curvy, with tawny brown skin and thick curly black hair. She wasn’t the type of biracial girly who appeared ethnically ambiguous. She also wasn’t close enough to white to achieve the level of “biracial” the Kardashian-Jenner clan seemed to have strived for the majority of their careers. No, she was a brown girl. There was no way around it, especially in the summer when her light brown skin deepened with every day in the hot sun. Like now, by fall, she’d reached her peak shade of brown.
“Will you see Grandma more now that you’re going to live in Maplewood?” Maya was careful to emphasize that her mother would be the one living in Maplewood. Maya absolutely would visit, but she was not interested in taking up residence in a small, sleepy town.
“Hmmm,” her mother pursed her lips, looking deep in thought as another Shania song filled the midsize SUV. Maya didn’t press, afraid the answer would confirm her fears and hurt. She knew what rejection felt like, and she hated the idea that perhaps her and her father’s brown skin was the reason her grandmother had rejected her mother.
Her skin had set her apart from her peers in Bedford. There had been a few outspoken asshats, but the majority of Maya’s experience had been one of general acceptance and warmth, with this undercurrent of—difference. She couldn’t describe it, but it was something that was always there, clinging to all of her interactions and stolen moments. It was the thing in between, “Oh is it possible for you to wash and straighten your hair before we all get ours done?” and “We just LOVE Michelle Obama, you could grow up to be just like her!”
Whatever it was, people tried to pretend it didn’t exist, not with the massiveBlack Lives Mattersign just outside of the city. It acted like a talisman whenever there was a whisper of an accusation of intolerance.
Maya was sure Maplewood didn’t even have aBlack Lives Mattersign. No talisman there. Not that it mattered, she reminded herself. Her mom was setting up roots again in Maplewood, not her.
Still she wondered, would she be seen in Maplewood? Would she connect with anyone there? Her gut clenched in anticipation of something she knew her mother would insist didn’t exist in her hometown. Hermother’shometown. Maya had the feeling they were driving towards both a new beginning and a goodbye of sorts, but Maya surmised that was how all new chapters began. Still, she was there for a long weekend and would at least settle for a good time.
“Ain’t nothing better, we beat the odds together,” her mother’s off-key singing brought her back to the car. “So you’re really going to make me sing this one alone, too?”
“Seems like you’ve got it handled,” Maya replied.
“Oh come on, it’s SHANIA,” her mother said, like Maya didn’t understand that she was one of the Queens,theShania Twain. Maya understood. It was just at that moment, Maya didn’t care. She was too wound up with the anxiety her past experiences were dredging up. Though she supposed anxiety might be a permanent state for her during her final year of undergrad. Her professors and advisors tried to comfort her by telling her that she had the rest of her life to figure it all out—but that just made things worse. She tried not to picture herself wandering aimlessly, forever.
“Suit yourself, it’s going to be a long trip for you otherwise,” her mom lamented. “At least we’re getting back for fall. This time of year is going to make our new home worth it — I can feel it.”
“Yournew home, Mom,” Maya reminded her.
“Ournew home. I know you have your apartment, but what if you don’t want to stay in Boston? You can’t tell me you aregoing to miss that city after all the grief you’ve given me and your father about it over the years,” her mom said, laughing.
“Who knows, it’s the home I know,” Maya replied, turning to look out the window.
