The phone shifts to my aunty. Her hair is in pin curls, and her makeup is fixed to perfection. “How come you still in bed?”
I sigh. “Oh, gosh. I had a long night.”
“Season’s greetings, honey. Look at this.” She pushes a piece of pastelle for me to see. “Your aunt make this and some garlic pork. Girl, it nice.”
“I bet it is.”
“How you look like you was crying so?” My granny asks in an accent that I miss hearing. Of course she sees my puffy eyes before anyone.
The beaded curtains behind them shift, and my father appears behind them. “Who eye puffy?”
“Nono. What you crying for?” my mom asks.
The faces on the phone look concerned, ready to go to battle for me.
“I miss you guys, that is all,” I reply. Baron’s “Neighbor Oye” starts to play, and my aunty and mom start to dance in the kitchen.
My dad takes the phone and walks through the house. I see the newly painted wall of my parents’ home.
“I in the office. You want me to send a ticket for you to come home?” My father asks. Despite all the disagreements we may have with the business, he will send for me to come home if I ask.
I blink rapidly. “No, Dad. I am good, really. I just miss you guys.”
He nods. “If you change your mind, call me.”
“Yes, I will.”
“Get up and shower; is 11:30 a.m. Is Christmas morning! You will feel better when you do.”
“Yes, Dad.”
After ten more minutes of my father showing me what my mother cooked and them fussing, I finally hang up.
I roll out of bed and head into the bathroom. Anushka has some body-care from Sugar Bae. I pump shower gel in my hands, and it instantly calms me.
My dad was right. I do feel better. I change into a robe and sit, moisturizing my skin.
The scent of mint and strawberries makes me think about Roman. I wonder if he’s up. If he is hurting as much as I am. I promised myself to never cry over him again. Last night was a disaster; so many things were said.
The Trinbagonian in me whispers, “You should have cussed him out.”
There is a knock. That must be Anushka. I have to ask her what time she plans on leaving.
“Come in,” I call out as I begin to moisturize my shoulders.
“Noelle?” Roman makes me stop in my tracks. I pull the robe closed.
“I don’t want to do this with you. What are you doing here?” I ask, screwing the cover of the moisturizer back on. I have to keep myself busy because I feel I would cry.
“Noelle, please look at me,” Roman says.
I get up and start making the bed. “I don’t want to.”
His footsteps are muffled by the white fluffy carpet.
I take the pillow, and Roman grabs it.
“Let it go.”
