The pantry wasn’t just built out of kindness. It was built from loss, regret, and love that never found its way where it was supposed to, so Mama Dot found another place for it. She had a testimony meant for Cyren to hear.
“That’s why I don’t turn anyone away,” Mama Dot added. “You never know what somebody standing in front of you is just one conversation away from.”
Cyren hadn’t heard truer words. Gently, Mama Dot rubbed her arm, feeling everything she hadn’t said and was holding onto.
“Don’t let whatever you’re going through change you, hear? The you outside of your grief. You’re stronger than it even if some days it doesn’t feel like it.”
Everything Cyren wanted to say was held hostage in her sore throat and watery eyes. Mama Dot didn’t realize it, but she had just healed a piece of Cyren that hadn’t asked to be.
Nodding, Cyren cleared her throat. “I...I won’t.”
“Good. Because you’re way too gorgeous and have so much life and love to give and receive. Always remember to do what’s best for you, no matter how anyone else feels. Don’t let nobody take that light from you. Not even yourself. We ain’t letting the devil win a thing over here.”
“Amen,” Cyren agreed, smiling.
A commotion near the door caught their attention. A young woman stepped inside, wearing clothes that didn’t seem to belong to her, hanging off her frame. Her movements were a bit unsteady as her eyes scanned the room for someone in particular. Cyren watched as one of the workers immediately approached her, speaking softly while guiding her toward a chair.
“She doesn’t talk to anybody but Saje,” Mama Dot said quietly. “She won’t even stay if she’s not here.”
Cyren’s brows pulled together. “Is she okay?”
Mama Dot softly exhaled. “Some days are better than others. Some days, I gotta hunt her down just so she can sit down and remember who she is.”
Looking back at the woman, Cyren wondered what her story was. Everyone here had one. It didn’t matter if you were here to serve or to be served; they were all there for a reason.
The conversationbetween her and Mama Dot sparked something in Cyren. It was a small flame, but big enough to light her mind and send it into overdrive. For months, even before moving back to KC, she had been thinking about what else was out there for her. Seeing how Mama Dot showed up not just for herself but for others, put a battery in her back. Cyren was re-evaluating who she truly was, beyond how losing her mom had changed her.
There was only one man in Cyren’s life who had poured into her and been a constant presence. She hated that her dad couldn’t be that person, but she was beyond grateful for her Uncle Tony. How one brother grew up to be a complete waste of life while the other hadn’t, would always be a mystery to Cyren. Tony just happened to call and check on her as she was leaving the pantry. It was well into the afternoon now, and all she wanted to do was take a shower and a nap.
“Hey, Uncle Tony.” Cyren set her bag in the passenger seat before starting the engine. Plugging her phone into the charger, his voice drifted through the speakers.
“What’s going on, baby girl?” His voice came through warm and familiar. She didn’t realize how much she’d missed him until now.
“Nothing much. What are you up to?” she asked, pulling out of the lot.
“At the house chilling. Trying to convince Melissa to go to the movies later on.”
Cyren smiled, knowing her aunt’s voice was about to be heard next.
“Hey, niecey pooh,” Melissa said.
“Hey, Auntie. Is he working your nerves?”
“Like always. Talking about some action movie when he knows I’m a romance flick type of girl,” Melissa said.
“We gon’ go see one, and sneak into the other. You know how this goes,” Tony explained, making Cyren laugh.
“That sounds like compromising to me. Isn’t that what marriage is about?” Cyren teased.
“Oh, girl, please.” Melissa cackled, waving her hand even though she couldn’t see her. “His movie shows first, and his behind is going to be snoring once we get to mine. Nope. He ain’t fooling me.”
The trio laughed, knowing Tony would fall asleep anywhere.
“See, Unc... I was trying to help, but you ain’t right.”
“I’m an old head now, Cy. I can’t hang like I used to,” Tony defended.
She didn’t think people in their early fifties were old-heads, more like the sixties, but she must’ve gotten the definition wrong. Two things could be true at once, though.
