When I started fifth grade, I had a hard time making friends. Seemed like all the other kids were doin’ stuff together after school and on the weekends, so they were all really good friends with inside jokes and funny stories they only told to each other. But not me. Momma and Daddy never let us do none of that extra stuff, so on the first day of school when everyone was hugging and laughing, I was eating lunch alone in the cafeteria. I came home from school that day tryna hide my sadness, but Momma noticed anyway. She told me a story bout when she was a little girl, growing up with all brothers, and how she ain’t ever feel like she had a real friend. “Til I found you and your sister,” she had said, pinching my nose and smiling. I refold the list and put it back in my pocket, then grab my book and the empty bag and head inside Granddaddy’s house. This time, I’m gon’ get him to let me call Momma.
Just like I figured, Granddaddy is on the couch, pretending to watch the TV. I come in just as the music sounds and the host yells, “Come on down! You are the next contestant on The Price Is Right!” I always love this part, but I ain’t got time to stop and watch. I nudge Granddaddy softly on the shoulder as I sit down next to him. He blinks awake and looks my way, but I pretend the contact was accidental, tuning in to the screen.
“Bid one dollar,” I yell, cause that’s what I hear Granddaddy say a lot.
“One dollar!” Granddaddy yells in agreement, sittin’ up now. We both watch as the actual retail price is announced, and the guy who bid the lowest amount wins. “Hmph,” Granddaddy mumbles in satisfaction.
“Hmph,” I mumble back, folding my arms cross my chest and sittin’ back, just like Granddaddy. We watch for another few minutes before I finally get the nerve to ask. “Granddaddy,” I begin, “would it be okay if I call Momma?” I ain’t sure why it feels so scary to ask, cept that Momma left us here unexpectedly, and the whole thing feels like a big secret.
Granddaddy sighs. “Well, I don’t know—”
“Please, Granddaddy,” I interrupt. “I got something really important to talk to her bout and it will be really, really fast, I promise!”
“It’s just that—” Granddaddy pauses like he’s thinking real hard. “Kenyatta, your momma is getting some rest. I don’t know if we should interrupt her.”
Rest? I thought Momma left so she could make money, not rest. And why she need rest anyway? She ain’t sick or nothin’， far as I know . . .
“Just for a minute, okay?” Granddaddy looks at me with the same kind of sad eyes people looked at me with after Daddy died. I nod, not sure why he’s being so dramatic, but happy he’s gon’ let me call Momma.
“Don’t worry, I already know the number,” I announce triumphantly. Momma made us memorize the number to the motel as soon as we got there. I thought we were only gon’ be there a little while, but she made us learn the number anyway. Five-five-five-seven-three-five-five. The digits make a song like a nursery rhyme that made it easy to memorize.
“Nah, she ain’t . . . she ain’t there.” Granddaddy shifts in his seat and rubs his hands together. He waits a few seconds before speaking again. “I’ll dial the number, then you talk. Just for a minute.”
I nod, even though Granddaddy is already on his way to the kitchen, where the phone hangs on the wall beside the fridge. I wonder why Momma ain’t at the motel. Where else would she be? I wanna ask Granddaddy, but before I can, he hands me the phone.
Three rings, then Momma picks up.
“Hello?” She sounds out of breath. For the first time, I wonder bout what Momma’s been doin’ this whole time, without us. She probably still gotta go to work at Chrysler, and maybe she’s even working extra since we need money for our new house. I don’t know exactly what Momma does at work all day, but I know she has a lot of important meetings and stuff. Once, I asked her if she was the boss at work, cause it seemed like she was always in charge. She answered, I’m a boss, but not the boss. I still don’t know what she meant. But one thing I do know: Momma don’t love her job at Chrysler like she loves writing.
A few years back, before Daddy spent so much time on them stairs, Momma got it in her head that she was gon’ go back to school.
“What for?” Daddy asked, when she told him bout her plan to apply to the local college down the road, where she could take journalism classes at night.
“So that I can get a job.” Momma didn’t look up from the dishes she was washing.
“You already got a job.” Daddy laughed, coming up behind Momma for a hug she ain’t return.
“So that I can get a job doing what I love.”
“Writing?” Daddy said with a smirk. By this time, Momma’s lips was a straight line, and she was washing dishes so hard that they bounced and clattered against the sides of the sink.
Daddy ain’t say nothin’ else that night, and Momma ain’t stop frowning. That was the last time I heard Momma talk bout school around Daddy.
Still, not too long after that, Momma started goin’ to school. It made her always tired and grumpy, probably cause she had to work all day then go to school at night, plus do homework that kept her up all night drinking coffee and yawning. But that ain’t stop Momma. She woke up early and stayed up late and got good grades, only quitting school when Daddy stopped coming home, cause somebody had to make sure me and Nia was gettin’ to school, too.
I swallow hard. Not much has ever stopped Momma. So why would she let anything keep her away from us now?
“Hello?” Momma says again, this time louder.
“Momma, it’s me! Kenyatta.” I ain’t sure why I put my name on the end, like she forgot bout me after just a week apart.
“Hey, KB.” Her words don’t sound quite happy, but not exactly sad. There’s something strange in her voice that I don’t recognize. For a second, the thought creeps into my mind that maybe Nia was right, maybe Momma ain’t coming back, and maybe she don’t even wanna talk to me now. But I know that can’t be true. Maybe she was just watching her stories and one of her favorite characters died again, or something like that. Probably something like that.
“Whatcha doin’？” I ask, tryna sound casual.
“Just . . .” Her voice trails off. “Missing my girls.”
“I miss you, too,” I say, twisting the phone cord around my finger.
“How have you girls been doing?” Momma asks, then: “How’s Nia?” I think bout telling Momma the truth. That Nia is barely talking to me, and when she does, she’s being mean. That Granddaddy is mean, too, and don’t even want me to play with the only friends I got here. But something bout Momma’s voice sounds like she needs to hear that everything is okay.
“We’re having fun, Momma. Nia even watched me catch fireflies.” Not exactly a lie.
“Really?” Momma seems surprised. “I’m happy to hear that. I’m so, so happy.” But her voice don’t sound happy at all.
“What have you been doin’， Momma?” I think bout what I heard Charlie and Granddaddy talking bout earlier, bout some kind of treatment. Could they have been talking bout Momma? But what would she need treatment for? I mean, I don’t think she’s sick . . .