Niyah smiled. “Will do.”
Mount Greenwood, the home of the “Southside Irish,” was a predominately white neighborhood. The residents had a reputation for being proud and openly racist. According to most accounts, Mount Greenwood residents preferred it if black families steered clear of their neighborhood. Yet, amazingly, her German-born mother, who birthed two black children, was completely comfortable living in such an intolerable neighborhood. Thankfully, they lived on a good block. Their nearest neighbors were always either pleasant or indifferent to Niyah and her sister, Naomi.
Niyah took the walkway and jogged up to the porch. No sooner had she grabbed the handle to the storm door did the front door open. “Hallo, sweetheart,” her mother greeted in German.
“Hey, Mom.” Niyah stepped inside and gave her mom a double-cheek kiss.
Her mother caught her by the wrist and pulled her through the living room. “Come on in the kitchen. I’m making your favorite.”
When they entered the kitchen, her mother released her and walked over to the island. She poured red wine into a glassthat matched own. After handing Niyah the glass, her mom smiled. “I’m making Labskaus,” she announced with glee.
Niyah smiled in return, but Labskaus was hardly her favorite dish. In fact, she was willing to bet Labskaus was no one’s favorite dish. Historically, it was a dish made from a bunch of leftover boat scraps, created by German sailors in the 18th century.
It was just like her mom to assume that because she liked a dish, it was everyone’s favorite. She wasn’t the type to ask her daughters or anyone else what they preferred. To describe her mom as self-centered would be an understatement. For a woman with two children, it seemed impossible for her to see past her own desires.
Born Gretta Bauer of Frankfurt, Germany, Niyah’s mom had had an affair and fallen in love with her African American father when he was a soldier in the United States Army, stationed at Drake Kaserne in Frankfurt.
Her mother’s long, blonde hair bounced around her shoulders as she moved about the kitchen. Niyah just watched, perplexed at how she’d actually ended up falling in love with and having children with a black man. She was a total “Karen.” Her mother was either socially tone deaf, indifferent, or outright racist.
“Drink, Miene lieve,” her mother urged with words that alluded to her loving someone other than herself.
Not wanting to rock the boat, Niyah smiled at her mother and raised the wineglass to her lips.
“Hey, sis!”
Niyah turned toward her sister’s voice. “Hey, Naynay!” she greeted with joy.
Naomi was standing under the archway with a bright gleaming smile, dressed simply in jeans and a black T-shirt. And still, she looked like a supermodel. Unlike Niyah, Naomi was talland lean. She had the face, height, and body that was ready to conquer any catwalk. Unfortunately, she’d fallen into substance abuse.
It had started with weed and sadly progressed to heroin. For more than ten years, she bounced in and out of rehab facilities with no hope of recovery.
Naomi had struggled to get clean for what felt like forever. Eventually, Niyah began to see remnants of the sibling she’d grown up with. And by all accounts, she’d been clean for over a year. Admittedly, Niyah had worried that her addiction would end her, but Naomi had proved stronger than expected.
They’d always been close, and Niyah couldn’t have been prouder of her sister. She had defeated a demon that had devoured her for years. And that victory had left her empowered and more beautiful than she’d ever been. Unfortunately, one of the consequences of Naomi’s long-term addiction was Niyah having to endure her mother’s company alone.
After placing her glass on the island, she hurried to hug her sister. As they embraced, she whispered, “She made Labskaus.”
“Of course, she did,” Naomi grumbled before walking over to their mother. “Hey, Mom,” she greeted and kissed her cheek.
“How are you, sweetheart?”
“Fantastic.”
“Wine?” her mother offered, pouring another glass.
“Mom!” Niyah squealed.
“What?” she questioned, throwing her hands up.
“You know Naomi is in recovery!”
“Yeah, from heroin, notwine,” her mother rebutted with a frown.
Naomi chuckled and shook her head. “Unbelievable.”
With a shrug, her mother asked, “What’s wrong with a glass of wine?”
“She can’t have wine!” Niyah snapped.
