Seven in total—two belonging to me and five belonging to my mother. The baggage fees were outrageously high.
I hear angry shouts coming from inside the three-storyhome. The pounding in my head increases. This isn’t the reunion I imagined.
Frank deposits the last suitcase at my feet. “Good luck,” he says, shooting me a sympathetic look before fleeing to his vehicle.
“Luck won’t cut it,” I grumble to myself. “This family needs divine intervention.”
I steel my resolve and forge ahead, joining the chaos. I go no further than the staircase, unsure what to do. Momma and Sheila are nose to nose, screaming the house down, while Keith unsuccessfully attempts to defuse the situation.
My poor grandmother sits huddled on the sofa, crying hysterically. Terrence, my little cousin, lingers at the kitchen entrance, watching the explosive argument. He doesn’t seem distressed by the verbal melee but rather curious. How did a six-year-old kid reach this level of unbothered? I need to learn his secret.
“Let’s all sit down and have a sensible conversation,” Keith suggests, squeezing his distraught wife’s shoulder.
“No!” she exclaims. “I want her gone now!”
“Fine by me,” Momma responds haughtily. “Zilphia, let’s go.”
“We don’t have anywhere else to go,” I remind her.
Unless sleeping on the street is preferable.
“Stop it!” my grandmother wails, her frail body shaking violently. The emotional entreaty effectively silences my aunt and mother. “Sisters shouldn’t be fighting like this. You’re supposed to love each other.”
I rush to her side and wrap my arms around her slender torso. The once buxom woman has wasted away.
“Don’t cry, Grandma,” I murmur, consoling her. “It’s going to be okay.”
I haven’t hugged my grandmother in eight long years. On the rare occasions we video chatted, her deteriorating appearance escaped my notice. Maybe that’s why she preferred talking on the phone versus video chatting. She knew I’d eventually notice and worry. Her coffee-brown skin resembles worn leather, and deep wrinkles line her haggard features. Even her hair has lost its healthyglow. The tresses are now dull and brittle. I’m afraid my time with her is running out.
“I need to lie down,” she croaks, her body going limp. “I’m so tired.”
Keith rushes to her aid in a few long strides and lifts her slight form in his arms. “I’ll take you to your room.”
“No more fighting,” my grandmother pleads with her daughters, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Please. My heart can’t take it.”
My aunt and mother have the decency to look ashamed. Serves them right, but they’ll be back at each other’s throats by the end of the week. They hate each other too much to put the well-being of their ailing mother—or anyone else, for that matter—first.
I follow Keith up the winding staircase to the second level. He enters the second door to the left and gently places my grandmother on the queen-size bed positioned against the wall. Her bedroom is small but nicely set up—beautiful alabaster-white furnishings, a huge flat-screen television, and a plush recliner. I’m glad to see that she’s living comfortably. Sheila is doing right by her, unlike my mother.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He pulls the comforter to her chin and plants a kiss on her forehead. “Get some rest.”
I already like my aunt’s husband. The adoration and patience he shows my grandmother are commendable.
“Zilphia,” Keith says, turning bright, friendly eyes on me. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
I accept his outstretched hand. “Likewise, though I wish it were under different circumstances.”
“Me too, but I believe everything happens for a reason. The good, the bad, and the ugly.” He gestures toward the open window. “I assume the suitcases on the sidewalk belong to you and your mother?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll bring them inside.”
“Thanks.” I perch on the bed, suddenly feeling twice my age. “I’m sorry for my mother’s behavior,” I add, accustomed to apologizing on her behalf.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s been a rough day for everyone.” He gives me a reassuring smile before leaving the room, closing the door behind him.
