*
The week before Thanksgiving, she rang her parents’ house. Ailey was near tears as she demanded, where had Lydia been? Didn’t Lydia love her anymore? She soothed Ailey, offering her the secret of her love, if not her marriage. A secret would make Ailey feel special, make her forget all about her hurt feelings. Mollified, Ailey put their mother on the phone.
“I’m sorry I haven’t called, Mama,” Lydia said. “It’s just been real busy. My sorors and I are practicing for a step show.”
“Baby, listen. Is something going on? Are you in trouble again?”
A slight clutch in Lydia’s chest. The first moments of fear nibbling at her, but she trilled a mortified laugh. “Oh my God!”
“Lydia, are you taking those birth control pills your daddy prescribed? We don’t want another accident like back in high school.”
Niecy came up the hall, calling Lydia’s name. They had step show practice. Come on. They were going to be late.
“I gotta go soon, Mama, but I wanted to know if it was all right if I came home for Thanksgiving. I know I usually wait for Christmas—”
“Child, how you sound? It’s your home! Of course you can come. And any guest you’d like to bring is surely welcome, too. Like this young man you’re keeping company with. Miss Rose told me y’all went riding through Chicasetta. You know you can’t keep no secrets in the country.”
“Um, yeah, Mama. I want to bring that guy. His name is Dante. I guess he’s my boyfriend.”
“Y’all come on, if you coming. I’ll set out an extra plate.”
It would be a short trip, only two days. Dante couldn’t take off more than that. Not with his hours at the convenience story already cut off, though he’d started fixing cars in the apartment complex, too. Only small tasks, such as changing oil and flushing carburetors. He couldn’t do engine work. He had to find a space and a lift for that.
The Monday before Thanksgiving, Lydia gave Mrs. Stripling a sad face. Her family was continuing to have a hard time, and she was going to drive to the City early to see what she could do. Instead, Lydia spent Tuesday washing clothes. Frying chicken for the journey, though Dante told her they could just stop somewhere to eat. It was only an eight-hour drive. On Wednesday night, Lydia packed their bags, then went into the bathroom to smoke her magic joint. She didn’t know Dante was in the apartment until he knocked on the bathroom door. When she came out, he told her she’d have to leave her weed behind, in case the cops stopped them on the interstate.
They drove through the night. When they arrived in the City, it was broad morning. They parked on the street in front of the house, and Lydia let them in with her key, calling. Dante put their suitcase down. He stood fidgeting by the staircase, until Lydia took his hand and led him into the kitchen. Her father was at the table, eating his breakfast. Her sisters were there, too. Ailey hopped up and hugged her, and Lydia held on to her, rocking.
Mama told everyone, move over and make room. They had a guest. In an hour, she was testing Dante, saying he had to sleep in the basement. He was a worthy opponent, though: he didn’t mind at all, and Mama nodded. At least this boy had manners. And Lydia was relieved. It would be fine. She’d made the right decision. She relaxed as her aunt and uncle arrived with her cousins. Lots of hugs and kisses, though whenever someone tried to start a conversation with Dante, Lydia interrupted with her charm. His grammar wasn’t the best, and while Lydia didn’t care, she knew her mother would notice.
Then Nana arrived. She had a key but refused to use it. She rang the doorbell once and then twice, and Lydia let her in.
“Hello, dear.” She handed her granddaughter her purse and that damned plate of cookies. After so many years, you’d think she would have learned to make something else.
“Hey, Nana. How are you?”
“I’m very well.”
Such a short exchange, but the anger roused in Lydia. The rage she forgot was there, her bear asleep in its cave. Lydia tried to coax the rage back to a darkened, calm place. She almost succeeded, until dinner was served, and Nana began telling stories about Gandee. What a kind man he’d been, when he’d been alive. She went on, extolling Gandee’s virtues, and Lydia started trembling ever so faintly, remembering her times with her grandfather in the tub. How he had pushed her head down to his groin, and when she cried, he’d reminded her of what would happen if she didn’t do what he said. That death was the result of disobedience.
“Excuse me,” Lydia said. “I’m sorry to interrupt you, Nana, but I have an announcement. Dante and I are married, and I’ve moved to Atlanta! And I transferred to Spelman so I could be with him, across the street from Morehouse!”