This feels different, too, cause now I’m the one that don’t wanna talk. Nia has tried to talk to me a bunch of times, but I always walk away. Most of the time I feel so mad at Nia I wanna fight all over again. I thought that first fight was gon’ make me feel better, but I only feel worse.
“Kenyatta!” Granddaddy yells from the house, so I drop the leaf from my lips, then climb down from my tree as fast as I can. Inside, I’m breathing hard and bend over to try to catch my breath. When I finally look up, Granddaddy’s watching me from his big recliner chair.
“You all right?” Granddaddy asks with a chuckle.
“Yeah,” I huff, “just outta breath.” In the kitchen I make a glass of water that I drink in one long gulp, then refill my glass and head back to the living room.
“I wanted to talk to you for a minute,” Granddaddy says, and I almost roll my eyes, like Nia, but I stop myself.
“I’m gon’ be leaving on a fishing trip with Charlie tomorrow, so you gon’ be here with Nia overnight.” Granddaddy leans back in his chair, crossing his ankles. I sit down on the couch too fast, spilling a couple drops of water that I try to wipe away before Granddaddy can see.
“Nia?” I ask, cause that’s the only part I really heard. I still don’t know if Granddaddy heard us fighting that day. He ain’t ever mention it, but I bet he can tell something’s wrong with me and Nia, since we not sleeping in the same room. We don’t even talk no more, and sometimes I make mean faces at her cross the dinner table. Either Granddaddy ain’t paying us no attention, or he’s pretending not to know. Either way, he gotta know leaving us alone together for a fishing trip is a bad idea.
“Yeah, Nia’s gon’ be in charge when I’m gone. That a problem?” Granddaddy looks at me with eyes that know everything or nothin’ at all.
“No, it won’t be a problem,” I mumble. “Did you already tell Nia?”
“I told her first, to see if she felt comfortable watching you that long. I asked your momma, too, and they both said it was gon’ be fine.” Granddaddy stares at me like he’s waiting for me to tell him different, but I don’t say nothin’。 “Me and Charlie been goin’ on this trip fourteen years. I was gon’ cancel it this summer, if I had to. But they said it’s gon’ be fine.” I can’t tell if he says it again for me, or for him.
“Okay,” I eventually respond. I can’t say more than that, cause I know it would be a lie. Granddaddy gets to humming and straightening up the old magazines he keeps under the coffee table. I sit there for five more minutes, five quiet minutes, and pretend like I’m gon’ listen to my sister when she’s in charge.
* * *
Granddaddy leaves so early the next morning it’s still dark outside. I think the insects even sleep cause I don’t hear no crickets chirping and I don’t see no fireflies twinkling. I lay on the couch listening to the creak of the screen door as Granddaddy goes in and out. Carrying out his fishing rod, then his cooler, then some stuff I don’t recognize that I think is for catching the fish. I wonder if he ever took Momma fishing when she was a girl. I try to imagine them together, him teaching her the names of all the little parts. I bet Momma loved riding on Granddaddy’s shoulders. I imagine him carrying her—running—cause this was before he walked so slow. I bet when Momma smiled her ice cream cone smile at Granddaddy, it made him melt.
But now, Momma and Granddaddy barely even talk. When I think bout all Momma done missed with Granddaddy—all we done missed with Granddaddy—it makes me wanna grab on to his ankles and beg him not to go.
But I don’t, cause I’m s’posed to be too old for stuff like that now. When it’s time for Granddaddy to go, Nia comes from the room and they talk by the front door. I try to sneak and listen but can only hear some of it cause the fan in the corner of the room keeps circling back and forth. All I can make out is some stuff bout emergency phone numbers and a first-aid kit. Grown-up stuff, but the boring kind. Cept now, the grown-up is Nia, which don’t make no sense. She’s still a kid just like me.
“I’m gon’ get on outta here,” Granddaddy says louder, looking at me now. “Don’t wanna keep the fish waiting.” He winks, and I can’t help but smile.
“Have fun,” I say, and I really mean it. I don’t want Granddaddy to have a bad time on his fishing trip just cause I gotta be stuck here with stupid ol’ Nia.
“Bye, Granddaddy,” Nia says as she shuts the door behind him. Then we both sit there without saying nothin’， til finally we hear the crunch of his tires on the gravel as he pulls out the driveway. The curtains in the living room let just a sliver of light in from the climbing sun.
“You hungry?” Nia asks. I wanna ignore her, but I can’t ignore the loud grumble my belly just made. So I simply shrug.
Once she’s in the kitchen I don’t watch, but I listen. I hear the click of the stove as she turns on a burner. Usually she just microwaves oatmeal or pours bowls of cereal, so I ain’t sure what she needs the stove for. I hear her rumbling around in the pantry, pulling out a few things, then going back for more. Once, then twice, then three times. Now I’m curious.
I sit up from my spot on the couch and lean forward, just barely so that my neck and head can peek around the corner to the kitchen. I see Nia with her back to me, placing the big cast-iron skillet on the stove. On the counter beside her I see flour, baking powder, salt, sugar, eggs, and oil. Then she goes back in the pantry one more time and I bet I know what she gon’ get. Brown sugar and cinnamon, cause she’s making pancakes like Momma.
I wanna get closer to watch, but I don’t wanna give Nia that satisfaction. Instead, I watch from right where I am, as Nia takes out a large bowl and starts the mix. I’ve watched Momma make pancakes more times than I can even count. She’s made it the same exact way all my life, never changing a single measurement. I bet I could make ’em just by all that watching, if I tried. But I ain’t ever seen Nia watching Momma, so I don’t know how she got the recipe.
Either way, she’s doin’ it just right. Her hands even look like Momma’s when she moves. She pours in the flour, then the baking soda, then the salt. Separates the eggs with steady hands. Adds the yolk to the mix, then beats the whites so fast, looks like her arm is one of them electric mixers. She melts butter in the skillet til it sizzles as she finishes the rest. Just like Momma, she saves the brown sugar and cinnamon for last.
I wonder why she’s making pancakes now, when it don’t matter no more. I hope she don’t think it’s gon’ fix us. The butter finishes melting, and Nia pours half into the mix, filling the kitchen with a sweet, buttery smell that reminds me of Momma.
I lay back on the couch and enjoy the aroma as I stare at the ceiling. I miss sleeping in the room cause ain’t no crack in the ceiling out here. Everything is neatly in its place, cept for me with heavy covers that I lug out from the linen closet every night. At some point, I thought I would go back to sleeping in the room, cause the couch is lumpy and it can be scary sleeping in the front all alone. But I don’t want Nia to think I came back cause of her, so I drag them big covers out, night after night.