“That’s the other thing bout boys,” Granddaddy says, leaning forward now. “They real good at makin’ girls think that somethin’ is their own idea, when really, it be that boy’s idea all along.”
I ain’t sure Granddaddy’s right bout this, but I don’t say nothin’。 Instead, I give Granddaddy a small half smile that I hope says, You are right bout boys.
“It can be tricky,” Granddaddy continues.
“Boys?” I ask.
“Love,” he replies, looking right in my eyes now. “Bout your age is when it really starts gettin’ tricky. You start gettin’ all these new thoughts and feelings, and you just wanna act on all of ’em, all the time. But you gotta remember, don’t everybody got your best interest in mind. So before you go sneaking around with any of these nappy-headed boys, you gotta figure out what it is that you want. And then you do that, and nothin’ more.”
I smile again, but this time I mean it. “You got real good advice,” I say. Granddaddy smiles. “I bet you was real good at talking to Momma bout boys.”
Granddaddy stops smiling all at once and stares down at the table. Then, when he finally says something, it’s just a noise. “Hmph.” He folds and unfolds his hands, then looks back up at me.
“You know, I hated your daddy when I first met him,” Granddaddy finally says, “couldn’t stand him.” He chuckles, but I don’t, just cock my head to one side and scoot in closer. “Your momma was in high school. Think she was bout sixteen at the time. He was older than your momma by a few years. I remember he had a car, some old raggedy thing he used to blast loud music from. Then come tryna pick up my daughter.” Granddaddy shakes his head at the thought. I listen without interrupting. I ain’t even know Granddaddy knew my daddy.
“So when you start liking him?” I ask, pulling up another bigger strip of wood from the table.
“What makes you think I did?” Granddaddy asks with a serious face. Then he laughs, but I can’t tell if he’s making a joke or being for real. “Me and your daddy had a real tough time,” he says, looking down at the table. “I think mostly cause of your momma, cause she was still mad at me bout everything. But it had something to do with me, too.”
A splinter from the wood I been chipping sneaks through the skin of my middle finger. I look down and see it there, a tiny sliver of wood hiding in my skin. I pull it out, quick, then pop my finger in my mouth to quiet the sting.
“It was hard for me to accept your momma growing up,” Granddaddy continues, more serious now. “Especially with her momma gone. I had only raised boys before, and all by myself.” Granddaddy lowers his head. “The boys ain’t have the same momma as your momma did. I raised them on my own, after they momma left.” The secret swirls around in my head as Granddaddy continues. Momma never mentioned that her brothers had a different momma than her. Then again, she never mentioned her momma at all, so I guess it was just another one of them secrets.
“The point is, I ain’t know what it meant for a girl to change into a woman. So when I started seeing it in your momma, seeing she was changing into a woman, I ain’t want her to grow up cause I was afraid I’d lose her forever.” I’m watching Nia as Granddaddy talks, laughing and playing with her friends, and I wonder if Granddaddy was afraid of losing Momma like I’m scared bout losing Nia.
“Did you?” I ask, quiet. “Lose her?”
Granddaddy don’t answer my question for a while, just stares at his folded hands on the table. Then finally he looks up at me with watery eyes. “Well, I got you here now, don’t I? So I must ain’t lost her yet.” He stares at me long with them watery eyes, but his tears can’t seem to fall. They stay perfectly balanced in his eyes, even as he reaches cross the table and squeezes my hand. I smile. Just that little squeeze feels like wrapping up in a warm blanket and drinking hot cocoa. Better yet, hot cocoa with marshmallows.
“Anyway.” Granddaddy shifts. “I ain’t hate your daddy forever. In fact, just before you were born, me and him had a big talk bout everything. He was a really good cook, had me over for dinner and made smothered meat loaf and mashed potatoes.”
I lick my lips remembering Daddy’s famous meal, one of my favorite dinners in the world. Then I realize this is the second time tonight I thought bout Daddy without gettin’ sad. “Thank you,” I whisper to Granddaddy.
“For what?” Granddaddy returns my smile. Truth is, I’m just happy for him talking to me like nobody ever does, like I’m a person with thoughts and feelings, not just a kid or somebody that ain’t even there. When Daddy died, Momma was so sad she forgot to notice I was sad, too. Her and Nia got to fighting a lot, and that was how we spent our days leading up to the funeral. Momma crying, Nia fighting, me with nobody to notice either way. It feels good to be noticed now, for once.
But I don’t say all that, just, “For a perfect birthday.”
“You’re welcome,” Granddaddy says. He pauses, then continues. “You know, it’s good to talk bout the people that’s gone, Kenyatta.” Now I’m positive he can read my mind. Granddaddy fixes his eyes right on my eyes. I concentrate on the dark spots as he talks, to keep from looking away. “When we lose someone we love, it’s easy to just pretend they was never there. To try and make it easier. But it don’t work, cause they was there. And now you got a big ol’ hole where that person used to be.” Granddaddy reaches cross the table and taps his finger against my shirt, right above my heart. Then moves his hand toward mine, like he gon’ grab it. But he don’t. “You gotta fill that hole with the memories, else you might lose ’em for good.”
Granddaddy don’t say nothin’ else after that, so neither do I. Just enjoy our perfect moment. I feel closer to fixing Momma and Granddaddy, and also closer to something else I ain’t even know I was looking for. I sit with Granddaddy at our worn table in the back of Pizza Land—kids yelling and playing and screaming around us—and I don’t have a care in the world.
* * *
We get back to the house late, after Granddaddy’s slow driving and stopping at the bookstore for two new books bout Anne: Anne of Avonlea and Anne of the Island. I clutch the books to my chest and follow Nia straight to our room to get ready for bed. We ain’t talk the whole ride home. And Nia don’t seem much in the mood for talking now, either.
Nia takes off her earrings and places them in the little box that she keeps in her purse. Then she removes her necklace and picks up her scarf to wrap her hair. Nia moves so graceful, like a ballerina.
“Nia,” I begin, swallowing hard, “I wanna talk to you bout something.”
She’s sittin’ in front of the mirror now and I’m standing behind her. Through the mirror she rolls her eyes, then sighs. “What?” she asks, working her fingers through her feathery hair.
“Well, Granddaddy was talking to me bout Daddy. Did you know they knew each other?” I watch to see if her expression changes, but she still just looks annoyed.
“Duh, of course they knew each other. Momma and Daddy was married. Don’t you think Momma would introduce her husband to her dad?”