She stared at me silently for a moment; a sympathetic expression crossed her face. “Are you figuring out what you want, or do you know what you want and are afraid to stand in it?”
12
Aunt Addy stared at her African violet tattoo on the inside of her wrist. “I love it.”
I held out my arm next to hers to showcase my temporary tattoo that matched her real one. “It’s so cute,” I agreed.
“I still can’t believe you did that yesterday,” Monica complained, shaking her head.
“I can’t believe you haven’t finished the book! The meeting is in a couple hours, and I know you haven’t made it to the end yet.”
“I’m almost done,” Monica replied. “If I weren’t up worrying about you and this risky behavior—”
“Risky behavior?!” My aunt balked. “I got a tattoo. If you think I’ve never noticed that lower-back tattoo you have, you’d be mistaken.” She looked at me. “Monica has a little… what do they call it? A slag tag? A tramp stamp?”
I laughed out loud. “Yeah, alongtime ago, they called those tramp stamps. I’ve never even heard of a slag tag.”
“It was something I heard when I was living abroad,” my aunt quickly explained.
Monica turned around and lifted her scrubs to show off a butterfly with expansive wings. “Leave my tramp stamp alone! I was twenty-one when I got this, and it still looks pretty good.”
“It looks great!” Aunt Addy exclaimed. “But you can’t talk about my little flower when you got your whole lower back covered.”
She turned back around and put her hands on her hips. “It’s not my whole back. And you have some nerve calling me a tramp when your book club pick started with sex on the first page! I mean, really! What kind of mess is that?”
Aunt Addy pursed her lips. “And I see you kept reading.”
“I sure did!”
They cackled, and all I could do was shake my head.
When we arrived at the library a little later, it was evident that if Monica hadn’t finished the book, she wouldn’t have been alone.
“Wow,” I breathed, looking at the turnout.
More than fifty people who either knew my aunt or knew about the book club had shown up. Only about thirty-five of them had read the whole book, but everyone participated in an amazing discussion. The bakery that provided refreshments was a hit. The photographer donated a thirty-minute headshot session, and Lamar’s mom donated a gift card to Hot Comb as door prizes. After three hours, the library told us we had to shut it down and everyone begrudgingly left.
“Excuse me, Ms. Payne,” the petite librarian with the tiny afro called out. “This was such a big hit. Would you consider doing this again every other month? We would love to make this a regular thing.”
My aunt’s smile grew even though she shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “I would love to have this be a regular thing. Is there someone who could take lead in case I’m unable to do it?”
The librarian shifted her eyes to me. “You’re Jazmyn Payne, right? You’re the one I worked with to set this up?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“Would you be willing to do it?” She put her hands together in prayer form. “Please. We could meet next month to get things started.”
“No, I don’t live here, and I’m leaving before the month is out,” I answered.
“What about you?” Aunt Addy questioned the librarian. “Would you be able to do it?”
Her face lit up. “I’d love to! Just let me know what you need.”
They exchanged information, and then the librarian turned to me.
“Jazmyn, I just need you to sign some paperwork. But can I show you something first? It’ll take five minutes.”
“Yeah,” I told her. Turning to Aunt Addy and Monica, I could see she was uncomfortable in her chair. “I’ll meet you two in the van,” I told them.
