Me:She probably won’t make it in today. You need her?
Vashti:No, not at all. It just feels a little awkward now that she knows we’re together. I want everything to work. I want us to work. I want things to be right here at Grits, and I just don’t want to upset any of that. Am I being silly?
Me:No, but you don’t have anything to worry about.
Vashti:Okay. See you soon. <3
I stare at the <3 for long seconds before shoving the phone into the pocket of my jeans. It’s not even an actual heart, but it gives me pause. I need to be careful with this relationship. I care about Vashti and have no desire to hurt her. I’ve been up front that I want to see where this goes, but this is the first relationship since my divorce. I’m not trying to get too serious right now.
“Was that Vashti?” Deja asks, not looking up from her own phone.
“Yeah, we were just talking about tonight’s shift.”
“Come on, Dad.” Deja smirks, raising laughing eyes to look at me. “Kassim and I figured it out.”
“Figured what out?” I play dumb.
“You.” She toggles her head back and forth. “Vashti. Dating. We know.”
“What makes you think that?”
“For one, the way she looks at you.” Deja bats her lashes exaggeratedly. “Like you so fine.”
“I am so fine.” I tug one of her braids. “Had to be more than that.”
“She’s been coming around more even when you guys aren’t at work.” She shrugs. “I don’t know. I can just tell you like her.”
“I do,” I say, laying the words out with caution. “I wasn’t sure how you and Seem would feel about it. You okay with me dating someone?”
“Why wouldn’t we be?” She sucks her teeth. “You deserve some happiness after whatsheput you through.”
She?
“Um…Do you mean your mother?”
“Of course. Who could blame you for moving on? Mom went crazy and ruined your life and—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” I shake my head and look at her full in the face so she’ll understand. “Don’t ever let me hear you call your mother crazy again. You hear me, Deja Marie?”
“But Dad, she—”
“She was severely depressed, not crazy. Do you understand all we lost as a family in a matter of months?”
“Yes, sir.” Deja’s throat bobs with a deep swallow. “Aunt Byrd and…and Henry.”
Hearing his name turns a screw in my chest. It probably always will.
“Yeah,” I reply, some of the heat draining from my voice too. “We all lost Henry, but your mom, she carried him. The same way she carried you and Kassim. And the way she lost him was…”
The inside of my throat burns, and I wish I could swallow the words, wish I could swallow this whole conversation. It’s still painful to think about, to talk about, and I realize that I never do. Hell, I never really have.
The memory of Yas, usually bright as a sunbeam, dulled, disheveled, perfectly still in the rocker and staring at the wall of Henry’s nursery tortures me for a moment, and I’m back there. Back in that desperate, despondent, enraged place. Not even sure where to direct my fury. Helpless because every day I could feel her slipping away. I knew I was losing her and there was nothing I could do to hold on.
“She had to deliver him, Day,” I continue. “Knowing he was already gone, and it was too much. It was so hard.”
“I know, but she—”
“No buts. If I ever hear you talk about your mother that way again, you’ll have to deal with me.” I lift her chin so she can’t look away. “You got that?”