She pulled her purse to her shoulder. “Oh, silly brother. I may be your family, but I’m in solidarity with your girl. She’s got her own struggles to deal with. But I’m not going to try to give you advice to fix anything until you work on fixing yourself.”
“I will think about that.”
“If you do that, everything else will come. Also, you’ve got a lot to say to Mom and Dad too, don’t you?”
“I’ll wait until after my test, if you don’t mind. It’ll be much easier when I have a pass to talk from.”
“Suit yourself. Ta-ta.” She wiggled her fingers at him, put on her expensive sunglasses, and walked out the double glass doors.
AFTER THE FIFTHKNOCKon her front door, Kenya opened it and walked back to the kitchen bar to finish organizing her tote bag. It had been full of wrappers and receipts from over the past few weeks instead of magazines and event documents.
“Kenya, why have you not been answering my calls?”
Her mother stepped into the kitchen, looking around with barely veiled judgment.
“I just, I just can’t right now, Mom. Shouldn’t you be at school?”
“So instead of answering, you make me take a Monday morning off to drive out here to check on you. Have me worried to death. I thought I was going to get a recap of this amazing wedding you went to.”
“Well, you’re definitely not gonna get that, Mama, because it was terrible.”
“Oh, really? Did something happen between you and Solomon?” Her mom set her purse down.
“No, Mama, something happened with me.”
How would she explain what she had never been able to?
Her mom had seen her break down plenty of times but didn’t always know the details of what it was like for her in school. Those memories were triggered when she stood there stuttering, staring at the crowd of wedding-goers.
“Mom, wh-why didn’t you work harder to fix me?”
“What do you mean, Kenya?”
“To make sure that I didn’t have dyslexia?”
She released a weary breath. “Dyslexia is not some disease that can be cured with a magic pill, Kenya. It’s a neurological, neurodiversity issue. It’s not that simple.”
“You were a teacher, and you’re a principal. Why didn’t that make a difference for me? Maybe instead of you looking over my every move, you could’ve moved me into some kind of special class or some kind of—I don’t know—boarding school.” She thought of Solomon, and her heart ached.
“Why in the world would I want to do that?”
“So I wouldn’t mess up, because I can barely read in front of a crowd of people!” She was panting as if she’d run a race or hiked up Monte Sano. Activities that she hadn’t done in so long, the loss tore at her soul.
Mama stepped closer with arms out. “Kenya, is that what happened?”
“I can’t talk about it right now. That’s why I haven’t called.”
“Kenya, let me help. How about we go somewhere? Sit down and have breakfast so that I can really hear what happened and figure out how I can help.”
“It’s too late for that, Mama. It’s too late. If I’ve learned anything over these past few months, I’m always on the edge, one or two mistakes away from everything crumbling. I’m too late to be helped. And you’ve got to get back to school.”
“Kenya...”
Her cell phone vibrated on the counter.
Kenya recognized Evelyn’s number. She was the last person she wanted to talk to, when just two days ago she couldn’t wait to update her boss on what she was sure would be her success. Kenya had been so close to making all this work, to setting up one of the biggest opportunities in their agency’s history, and she had failed. She had failed in such epic proportions that there was no recovering from it.
“Bye, Mama. I have to take this.”
