“I believe that’s EXACTLY how the conversation was goin’ if you want me to attend this party of yours, Josephine.”
“Aunt Viv, it’s not MY party, it’s YOUR party that Nan is insisting on throwing for you.”
“Oh and one more thing, Josephine, if there’s going to be a party in my honor I want Dr. Golden there. If it weren’t for him there would be no me to celebrate. Although if I die before this ridiculousparty then I suppose I wouldn’t have to go now, would I? But, since I don’t really plan on dyin’ I guess we’re goin’. To the party AND to New York. You can bring Lola as your date.”
“I thought Etta would be my date.”
Grabbing Etta’s hand, “No, Dr. Golden AND baby girl are my dates.”
“Mama, we’re sittin’ here talking about a party where the three of us are going to be all dressed up and lookin’ FIIIIIINE as all get-out and you thought you’d take me as your date? That’s just... sad, Mama. Sad, sad, sad. Take a risk, Mama, find a date.”
“Not Roan!” My clan yells at me in surround sound.
What’s sad is that, once again, I’m the odd woman out in this threesome. And I’m the one stuck with the bill for our trip to New York. “Aunt Viv, how do you think we’re going to pay for this Bordelon family vacation?” I ask pointedly, annoyed that my own aunt and daughter are expertly manhandling me.
“Oh, I imagine you’ll figure that one out, Josephine. I trust you’ll get that all laid out nice and neat if you know what’s good for you,” Aunt Viv says, caressing Etta’s hand but looking directly at me with a steely stare. “Whew, all this party and trip takin’ talk has got me kinda hungry. Etta, you want to walk with your aunt Viv to Allstar Donuts?”
“Mama, are we really all going to go to New York together?” Etta’s excitement is on overload. This news has forced her to allow me to join in on their two-way family celebration.
“Sounds like we are,” I say, not taking my eyes off Aunt Viv.
“Yes! Aunt Viv, let’s go get apple fritters to celebrate! Can I tell you what I’m thinking about doing for my different dance pieces at the audition? I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since I opened the e-mail! I’m dying to tell someone, and you’ve seen everything I’ve done, so you can help me!” Etta is talking only in exclamation points. This is the happiest I’ve seen her since the stress of her Fairchildsenior year began to ramp up in October. Admittedly, Etta’s sheer joy is contagious, and I start to think a trip to New York with all three of us might be fun. That is, until I remember Aunt Viv’s varsity, A-level, never-knew-she-had-it-in-her, devious negotiation skills.
“Hey, Aunt Viv,” I call after her as she’s putting on her jacket.
“Yes, Josephine.”
“I’m telling Dr. Golden you’re eating donuts and he’s not going to be happy with you. This IS NOT part of your post–heart attack health plan.” Jesus, what am I six?!?!
“Tattletale! You just concentrate on telling him to come to my party. And remember, if he can’t come, deal’s off. Can we bring you back a donut so you have something to nibble on while you find our flights? I ain’t never been to New York and I can’t wait to go. You think we’ll have time to see a Broadway show or maybe those Rockettes?” Aunt Viv chitchats with Etta like schoolgirl besties as they head toward the door.
“Stop spending money we don’t have!” I yell after them. How, in a matter of ten minutes, did this party I never wanted to happen, and Aunt Viv surely never wanted to attend, end up costing me a trip to New York? Is there any way I can expense our plane tickets to the party?
“While we’re gone you need to stir the soup. And put some cream on those hands and elbows of yours, Josephine. Bordelon women don’t do ashy. We don’t want you embarrassin’ us in New York, isn’t that right, Etta?” I swear I detect Aunt Viv humming Frank Sinatra’s “New York, New York” on the way out the door.
NINETEEN
The house is up early getting ready for our Saturday. Aunt Viv has cards at Louise’s house and I have my fifth Saturday of kindergarten visit dates at Fairchild. I reach past Aunt Viv for my 32 oz. to-go cup and lid. She’s singing Alicia Keys’s “Empire State of Mind” for what feels like the seventy-fifth time. Her anticipation is endearing, but the tune is getting old. I grab a pear, give Aunt Viv a little pat on the booty, and remind her to wake up Etta in time to shower and study up for her Duke interview at noon. I dash out the door into the San Francisco Indian summer that comes every mid- to late-February—72 degrees and sunny. The whole city is in a good mood.
I always settle into the chaos of visit-date-Saturdays with a half hour to quietly read through e-mails in my office for anything last minute or urgent (which usually means a panicked parent because Junior woke up with a fever, and is it possible to reschedule otherwise Junior will end up in juvie, unemployable, then destitute and living on the streets, and it will all be my fault). I send Etta a quick text to make sure she’s up.
JOSIE
What are you wearing for your interview?
8:32 A.M.
Nope. Can’t send that. It’s just begging for a snotty response from a teenage daughter.
DE-LEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-TE.
Hope you slept well can’t wait to hear about interview when I get home. Where is it again?
ETTA
Guy just texted moved it to 3 @ peets coffee in laurel village I could have slept in.
8:33 A.M.
