“But isn’t this nice?” my mother asked. “I gotta tell you, Ailey. I thought something was wrong with your sister. She never had anybody. Lord, I’m so relieved. To God be the glory.”
The Sunday that I gave in to her nagging and attended dinner at Nana’s house, I noticed the house was smaller than I remembered. Her bedroom had been moved downstairs to the maid’s quarters, the walls of which were painted red and displayed her pictures. There was a bathroom a few steps from the bed, which was no longer a four-poster. The pill containers were kept on a shelf inside the carved armoire that was wedged into the corner.
My sister’s girlfriend was tall and plump and cinnamon-colored. She tried to serve, until my mother sweetly scolded, she better sit right down. Sunday was the Lord’s day, and Melissa needed some rest. Then Mama asked her, what did she want on her plate?
“You know I wouldn’t mind some greens, Miss Belle. Your greens are so good.”
After dinner, we moved to the living room and Coco turned on the VCR. None of the Black classics were out on videotape, so we watched my grandmother’s preferred movie, The Lion King.
“I’m bored,” my cousin Veronica said. “I’ve seen this movie, like, a thousand times. I’m ready to go home.”
My mother told my cousin she had a secret. That was her code for a hug, and the girl rolled her eyes. At twelve, she was too old for foolishness, but Mama held out her arms, and finally, my cousin sat down, snuggling into her. Our grandmother swayed to her movie as she sang about the circle of life.
Coco had told us Nana’s larger stroke hadn’t left her completely debilitated, but she’d never be the woman she’d once been. I looked at my grandmother, wearing the expensive housedress she’d called “a lounging outfit” in her stronger, acerbic days. The embroidered satin slippers on her feet. All my grandmother’s memories might not be present, but mine were. And I didn’t want to feel sorry for her.
I retreated to the kitchen, rambling through the fridge. Looking at the snacks that Nana never had kept in the house when I was younger. Individual containers of chocolate pudding, pound cake covered with plastic. Times had certainly changed.
Then, a tap on my shoulder. “Hey girl.”
It was my sister, sneaking up on me. She had our mother’s light, terrifying step.
“Coco!” I put my hand over my chest. “Girl, you scared me! Damn, you walk like a cat.”
She laughed. “Melissa tells me the same thing. Listen, I’m worried about you.”
“Me? I’m fine.”
“But you need to do something with yourself, Ailey. When med school starts back up next summer, you don’t want to be used to sleeping in every morning. You need to be able to hit the ground running, or that schedule will kick your ass.”
“Okay, I’ll look around for something. I think Worthie’s might be hiring.”
Coco put out a calming hand, like our father used to do. “Don’t be upset.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing bad! I only set up an interview for you at that free clinic where Daddy worked. They’re on Mecca’s community network.”
“How’d you know that?”
She looked away for a few seconds. “Just show up to the interview, okay? If you don’t like it, you don’t have to take the job.”
“How much are they paying?”
“It doesn’t pay, but it looks good on your résumé.”
“Volunteer work? How many days a week?”
“Two.”
“Two days a week and no damned money, Coco?”
“It would make Mama really happy, Ailey. And she’s been having a really hard time. She’s really sad.”
I sucked my teeth. “Fine, Coco.”
“You mad?” She bumped me with her hip. “Don’t be mad, okay?”
“I won’t be mad if you stop being creepy, sneaking up on folks. Wear a bell around your neck or something. Shit.”
The clinic where Coco had scheduled my interview was in my parents’ old neighborhood, over in the northeast quadrant of the City. My mother called the neighborhood a ghetto; we’d lived there when I was small, but I didn’t remember. After we moved, Mama never returned to that part of the City. She’d told me she was grateful she’d made it out, and she didn’t want her daughters going there, either.
My father’s practice had been in a nicer part of the City—that’s how he’d made his money—but Seven Principles Clinic was the legacy he’d helped to build, with the help of a friend, Mr. Zulu Harris. The clinic used to be called “The People’s Nguzo Saba Afya Center” but the name had changed, once the federal government began to give community grants.