“Sorry, but I’m in a hurry,” I tell him over my shoulder and speed walk behind the corner. Catching my breath, I order a taxi and hope never to see that place again.
The smell of grease and coffee hits my nostrils when I open the door to Fred’s Diner near my parents’ place in Brooklyn anhour later—yes, I’m almost twenty-seven and live with my parents. And I don’t care what anyone thinks, but there are several reasons behind it—one being that my parents need financial support as much as I need a place to live in the city.
Haisley waves to catch my attention. She looks like she walked out of a fashion show—her outfit is a mix of dark blue and neon green. It sounds horrendous, but let me tell you one thing about Haisley Lavigne; she makes the craziest color combinations work. There are no limits to her fashion sense. And it’s fantastic. While at it, imagine a tall, slim woman with long hair that looks like gold in the sun. Add beautiful light green eyes and a kickass attitude. That’s my best friend.
It’s funny how different we look. I’m close to the average height of an American woman at five foot five, which I often try to compensate for by wearing heels. We both have toned bodies, but our body shapes are different. Haisley once said that at least I have boobs, unlike her. I would like to correct that statement by stating that her small breasts are as beautiful as my bigger rack.
My short afro is my latest beauty decision—I got tired of my long curly hair and wanted it to be easier to control. Thanks to my Caribbean heritage on my mother’s side, my hair is curlier than a Labradoodle’s. Right now, it’s a mess like the rest of me. I didn’t have time to fix it after the quick shower I had at my place before coming here.
Sitting down across from Haisley, I yawn and hunch into my seat. She smiles and greets me cheerfully. “Look at you, Little Miss Sunshine! I’m dying to hear how your night went. So, tell me, love, do you feel satisfied?”
“Well, I normally kiss and tell, but today it’s more like kiss and nothing to tell.” I let out a groan and grab a menu from itsholder. It’s only to avoid my friend’s gaze; we both know I always order the same thing. The waitress, who has seen us here more times than I can count, even greeted me when I walked in and asked if I wanted the usual. It’s safe to say that we come here often.
There must be something on my face that concerns her as she takes my hand over the table and squeezes. “Honeybuns, it isn’t your fault that your ex enjoyed his side dishes.”
“Did you just call Vincent’s extracurricular activitiesside dishes?” I huff out.
“You can thank our dear Rose for that. She got mad when someone called the other woman aside hoeon TV and made us promise that we would never use that term. So, side dish it is.”
I love Rose. She’s another good friend of mine who used to live with Haisley until she reconnected with her first love Eli last year. Those two are the couple you jokingly hate spending time with, as they’re too much sometimes. Always kissing and touching, whisperinglove you’s. It’s awfully sweet.
“That’s just typical of Rose. How is she doing anyway? The last time I saw her was at her graduation party earlier this summer. That was like almost three months ago.”
“I was thinking of having the girls and Timmy over for drinks tomorrow, you should join us! It’s super lonely at the brownstone without them.” Haisley pouts before smiling at our waitress bringing our food.
A year ago, she still lived with her three roommates near where I work in Brooklyn Heights. Since then, all three have moved out to live with their partners. And I know how much Haisley would love to have a roommate since she hates living alone.She has asked me to move in with her, but I need to be there to help mama and da if needed.
“I have the next two days off after tonight’s shift. Let me know what you decide, and I’ll be there," I tell my best friend.
As we discuss our plans for the next week, I eat my stack of waffles with strawberries and extra whipped cream. I shouldn’t eat dairy because I’m lactose intolerant, but I’m treating myself after the shitty night and the last three months of singlehood. Besides, I tookLactaidbefore arriving here because I always get the same thing and like to be prepared.
Looking at the clock on the wall, I count how many hours I have until my shift. I need to be ready to work tonight from 6 p.m. to midnight. I’ll play two 30-minute sets during my shift and bartend between performances tonight.
I love where I work—a coffee house bar called Warm'n'Cool. They have a stage for performances like gigs, poetry nights, and stand-up comedy. My boss adores my singing voice and often asks me if I want to perform for extra cash. When I said yes for tonight, I had no idea I would wake up in a bed that wasn’t mine. But as I’ve got a few hours before being at work, I can relax and try to forget about my morning for now.
“Mama, da, I’m home,” I shout to my parents from our narrow foyer. We live in an old brick building in Red Hook, Brooklyn. It used to be my grandparents’ place with their bakery next door. When they both passed away within a month of each other, my da decided to move us here and continue the legacy of our family bakery. Luckily, mama knows how to bake, and da takes care of the business side. I don’t work for themanymore—I burned at least five sheets of cookies during my first and only week when I forgot to check the timer while singing and dancing around the kitchen.
“We’re in the living room,” I hear mama’s voice coming from the other end of the first floor of our home.
Walking to the living room, I pass family photos and memories hanging on either side of the hallway. My two older sisters have their own families—my niece and nephews are my favorite humans. Their smiling faces make me feel warm and fuzzy whenever I see them. Even though I love being cool auntie Soph, I can’t see myself having kids. I want to do whatever I want and whenever I want without worrying about my non-existing kids.
I find my da napping in his favorite navy blue recliner. Nobody knows how it’s still in decent condition since we’ve had it since I was a baby. Da could always sleep anywhere, and now he needs even more sleep. As he only recently changed his meds for MS, he feels even more tired than normal. No wonder he’s napping, even if it’s only one in the afternoon.
“Hey, mama, how is da?” I ask, kissing her cheek and giving her a quick hug.
I worry about the side effects of da's new medications and how mama will manage the change again. I know da has been talking about training my older sister Shannon and her husband to take over the bakery. But it isn’t that simple, even if it’s something they are happy to do, unlike me. Another reason I feel like I’ve been failing my parents is that I don’t share their passion for owning a bakery.
“It’s all good, my Chicklet. Don’t you worry,” mama assures me as I sit next to her on the big soft sofa.
“You can’t stop me worrying about you two. No matter what you say or do.”
Mama huffs. “Let’s make a deal that you try to live your life without thinking about your da’s health too much. Letmedo the worrying.”
“But I’m not ready to see you two suffering more than you already are. The last ten years have been hard enough without any extra complications.”
“I’m not ready either, but we need to be strong for him. Strong for our family to get through this stage in our lives.” Mama hugs me again.
She slowly runs her fingers through my short messy curls, like she can tell I slept without my hair bonnet last night. Mama always reminds us girls that caring for our curls should be a part of our beauty routine as Caribbean women. Even though my skin tone is lighter than my mama's and sisters’, I'm proud to be half Caribbean.
