I sat on the couch alone that night, watching Dynasty. On my lap, a notebook. I took notes on the plot, so that I could be sure to catch up Lydia. I didn’t have her memory, how Lydia could not only remember the plot, but facial expressions and body language, too. My mother came and sat with me, but she asked too many questions, like why did that brunette lady keep trying to fight the blond lady when it was clear the blond lady could take her? And why would any man in his right mind have his first wife and his new wife living on the same property? It didn’t make any sense.
“It’s complicated, Mama. I don’t have time to explain.”
I went upstairs in the middle of the episode and knocked on Lydia’s door, but she didn’t answer. At breakfast, Lydia laughed when I told her that I was mad at her. That she was kicking me to the curb now that she was in college. Don’t start an argument this early in the day, my mother said. Lydia was older, and grown people needed their privacy.
After days of knocking on my sister’s locked bedroom door with no answer, I called Nana’s house. When Miss Delores put her on the phone, I asked if I could visit that weekend. That is, if she wasn’t busy. When I came over that Saturday, she told me she wanted to discuss important matters. I was a young lady now, and it was time that she imparted serious information to me. For example, why a woman must choose her mate wisely.
It was a theme she returned to later that evening, during the commercial break of our movie. That night, it was All About Eve.
“You need to be very careful with the male company you keep. For example, look at the young man that Lydia brought home. It was obvious from the very beginning he was unsuitable.”
The break ended, but I didn’t look at the television.
“Why do you say that, Nana? I thought Dante was really nice.”
“Didn’t you see that boy? He was so dark! And that hair!” She shuddered dramatically. “And his table manners. What on earth did Lydia see in him? Women push the family forward, Ailey, not backward. You are very, very brown, so you must find someone much fairer than yourself. You must think of your children. Why, when I met your grandfather . . .”
I tried to listen politely as she insisted on strolling through her history with Gandee. Their courtship, when he’d seen her on the campus of Mecca University in her pink-and-green sorority jacket. She’d been leaving the Humanities building, her books clutched to her chest, and he’d called out, “Hello, beautiful!” He’d convinced her to come with him that evening to meet his parents, who hadn’t been prepared for company, but had made do. Zachary Sr. didn’t say much, but Lila McCants Garfield had graciously excused herself and taken her son into the kitchen. She’d whispered it was bad enough that he’d pushed a visitor on her at the last minute, but now this. They were liberal Negroes, but not so much so that Zachary could bring a young white lady home. No, Mother, he’d explained. Claire was Creole, just like them, and when they’d returned to the dining room, my great-grandmother had been euphoric. She’d embraced the young, blond girl, shouting, “Welcome to the family!”
I looked at the bedroom wall intently, until I almost couldn’t hear Nana’s voice talking about Gandee. What a great catch he’d been. How kind he’d been, at least, in their early years. He’d promised her that she could go on to medical school after they married. She’d taken the required classes in college and had earned the best grades. Then she’d gotten pregnant with my father, and that had put an end to that. As she kept on with her grievances, how the direction of her life had been hijacked, it seemed that my head was wrapped in cotton. I scanned the silver-framed photographs hung on the wall. So many, but not one picture of Mama anywhere. Why had I never noticed that? I’d never noticed, in all the years I’d been coming to this house. Never—
My grandmother called me back. “Are you listening to me?”
“Yes, Nana.”
“Then what did I just say?”
“Um . . .”
“I knew it! You weren’t listening. How rude!”
“Yes, I was, Nana. You said, women push the family forward.”
“I said far more than that.”
“I’m just summarizing, Nana. I heard everything you said. I understand. I get it.”
“Good girl. Remember, willful ignorance is not an appealing trait in a young woman.”
I shifted my gaze to Bette Davis, tossing her hair and flaring her nostrils. I didn’t feel like watching this movie anymore. And I didn’t want to be in this room, either; I didn’t care how lonely I was.