Page 3 of Quiet as Kept
“Especially when they’re not trying to be.”
“And Sherise is perfect?”
Sherise was Yahirah’s mother.
“Not perfect, just loving.”
“Touché.” She chuckled with genuine mirth.
Since I didn’t have the energy or desire to fight with anybody else, I dropped the subject. “Anyway, happy birthday. I hope you had a good day, and I hope you enjoy your birthday dinner. Aunt Bobbie is in there throwing down.”
She nodded. “She is, but my doctor won’t allow me to eat fried food, so I’ll just be having a little chicken salad that Cassandra picked up for me.”
“What about birthday cake? Can you at least have a slice of that?” I questioned with a concerned frown on my face.
“A teeny tiny slice.” She showed me with her fingers. “Nisha baked me a sugar free cake. I had Harper send her the recipe.” She shook her head. “I sure hope that girl followed the recipe.”
“I hope so too.” I reached into my work bag and pulled out the envelope that held her birthday card. “I know Cassandra was talking about getting you some group gift?—”
She cut me off. “I don’t know what kind of gift you can buy with contributions from people who don’t have two nickels to rub together. But whatever it is, they can keep it. I don’t want any gifts, and her trying to get me something has caused discord amongst y’all.”
I didn’t have a response for that, so I didn’t address it. “Happy birthday, Granny. I put money in it, so keep your eye on it.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice. I know exactly where to put it.” She patted the top of her very ample bosom.
“I’m going to go now. I need to stop and get something to eat on my way home.”
“You okay?” She looked at me critically. Her eyebrows were furrowed, and her nose was scrunched up.
She had never looked at me like that before, nor had she ever asked me if I was okay.
“Tired,” I admitted. “I love my job. I love my kids, but it’s tiring.”
Nisha walked into the room carrying a plate covered by foil.
“They keep messing with you because they’re jealous, cuzzo.” She thrusted the plate into my hands. “Even with all the terrible shit you’ve experienced with Aunt Tasha leaving you here, they would still rather be you than be themselves.”
I nodded. “Thanks, Nisha.” I turned to my granny. “I’ll see you later.”
We both knew that was a lie. I had no idea when the next time I would darken her doorstep would be.
One thing I could admit was that my cousin was right about the state of my car and the state of my apartment. I drove an eleven-year-old-Toyota and prayed every time I stuck the key in the ignition that it would start. And it did, for which I was thankful. The last thing I wanted to do was fool with public transportation.
My apartment building was located on the cusp of a scary neighborhood, a neighborhood that was in the process of being slowly gentrified. I lived across the street from trouble, but luckily, it mostly stayed on its side of the street. It was what I could comfortably afford, and it kept me from having to live with my granny.
Again, I was thankful for the small space. It was a studio apartment with probably about 600 square feet of living space. It put me in the mind of an oversized hotel room, which was cool with me. I didn’t need a lot of square footage. It had the basics and was in good shape. Most of the appliances were almost new. The stove, refrigerator, and dishwasher were all in good shape. The apartment even came with a stackable washer and dryer, shoved into a tiny closet, which meant that I didn’t have to spend my Saturday mornings at the laundromat. And they, too, were in good shape.
The rent was affordable, which was saying something because I worked in a notoriously low-paying industry—childcare. I worked atThe Brainy Bunny Pre-Schoolas the head teacher in the three-year-old classroom. I made an okay salary, but it wasn’t really a living wage. I made enough to cover my rent, and my basic needs.
My life wasn’t the most luxurious, but it definitely wasn’t the worst. Although I didn’t play the lottery, I truly believed that my life would turn around at some point. I refused to believe that what I had experienced thus far was all there was to life. There were people in my circle who were thriving, so I couldn’t be totally discouraged. My best friend, Yahirah, was my main inspiration.
She was an RN. After working at The University of Londynville Hospital for a few years, she decided to try travel nursing during the pandemic. That was the best call she could have ever made for her future. Not only did she make truckloads of money, but she met her fiancé, who was also a travel nurse. They’d settled in Atlanta and were making things happen as two young, black professionals.
I unlocked all four locks on my front door and walked inside of the beige-on-beige-on-beige apartment. The walls were beige,the trim was beige, and the carpet was beige. I stepped into the tiny foyer.
I’d decorated the place as best as my money could afford. There was a charcoal gray loveseat that had seen better days but still held up, a wobbly television tray that I used for eating, and a queen sized bed that was a birthday gift from Yahirah.
My place was sparse, but it was everything that I needed. I’d put some posters on the walls that acted as artwork. I favored word art with inspirational sayings as opposed to pictures. I needed to be able to look anywhere in the room and see words from famous people or the bible about keeping my head up and leading with hope. That was what kept me going when I felt low.