Nobody corrected him. I heard whispers behind me, the wedding party speaking among each other. My eyes never left him.
That was the first time I’d been in the same room with the man who’d abused me after my mother passed. He was the same one who bruised my ribs over dirty dishes in the sink and blacked my eyes because I was a reminder of the woman who broke his heart by dying. I felt rage and anger all over my body.My body stiffened then, and Kennedy’s grip on my arm grew tighter.
The coordinator opened her mouth to suggest a break, but Kennedy shook her head. “It’s okay. Let’s just go ahead.”
We turned together and went back to our places. My stepfather sat quietly in an empty chair in the back. The music started again. Kennedy held onto my arm tighter than before, and we walked.
I wasn’t sure whether it was the heat from the anger that welled inside of me or what I felt from him watching the whole time, watching me do what he was supposed to do.
When it was over, the coordinator clapped softly. “Perfect. Everyone knows where they’ll be tomorrow.”
Murmurs filled the room. Some people sighed in relief. I didn’t.
I couldn’t. My body didn’t know how. Even with the rehearsal ending and Kennedy stepping away to laugh and talk to her party, my jaw stayed locked. It was as if my entire nervous system didn’t get the memo that it wasn’t the same house, same hallway, . . . the same nights.
As if he could read my thoughts, I saw him stand up slowly. He didn’t sway. He didn’t yell. He didn’t even break anything that time, yet somehow, I stood frozen. I didn’t know what to do with a version of him that wasn’t monstrous. He walked up to me.
“Hey,” he said, smiling as if nothing was wrong. “Look at you.” He reached his hand out, but I didn’t take it. I just looked at it. He dropped his hand awkwardly. “You always been funny like that.”
I felt my eyebrows scrunch at that remark. “I learned,” I said flatly.
He nodded toward the aisle. “You did good up there.”
I didn’t respond.
“I been . . .” He continued, his voice low. “I, um, been tellin’ everybody how proud I am. My son out here doing his thing with the music.”
“Your son?” I snapped. I felt something stir in the pit of my stomach.
He frowned. “Yeah.”
I laughed. “Are you fuckin’ with me?”
“What?” he asked. He looked around the room as my voice grew louder. It looked as if he was genuinely confused, as if the drugs fogged his memory of all the times he slapped me while he reminded me that I wasn’t his real son.
“You callin’ me your son now,” I said. “You used to make it real clear I wasn’t.”
He stiffened and let out a nervous chuckle. “What you talking about?”
“I’m talking about you having my body pressed up against the washing machine while you gave me body shots,” I said, “bruising my ribs so nobody could see.”
His jaw tightened, but I didn’t stop.
“I’m talking about black eyes because I left a plate in the sink,” I continued. “My mama had just died, nigga.”
He scoffed. “You exaggerating.”
“You ain’t never even like me,” I said. “You wanna know why I never came back to this muthafucka?”
He crossed his arms. “Why you so loud, cussin’ up in this church?”
“Every time I thought about this city,” I said, voice louder, “I thought about that house. And every time I thought about that house, I thought about you and the shit you put me through.” People had stopped talking then. Everyone was watching. I saw Kennedy quickly walk up to meet where we stood. “And every time I thought about you,” I continued, “I thought about why I’m fucked up and can’t fix it.”
He shook his head. “You was just soft.”
“Soft?” I snapped. “I was a fuckin’ kid!”
“You was emotional,” he said dismissively. “I was just trying to toughen you up.”
