“We’re going to be just fine now.” She keeps saying it over and over again. “It’s just going to be me and you. Just fine.”
But the closer we get to home, the more Grammy’s face unravels. By the time we walk into her house, there are quiet tears running down her cheeks. The house is a mess. Not like the neat space she normally keeps that I remember from before. I can tell someone had been sleeping on the couch—Mom, probably. There is evidence of her everywhere—collected trash and bottles, stacks of projects unfinished, a nest of sheets and pillows. It smells like her, too: body odor and incense. The smell makes me want to cry.
“We’ll get it all nice and cleaned up in here for you, Lyric, baby. I promise. I just need to rest now. There’s food in the fridge if you need a snack. I’ll make dinner around six.”
Then Grammy leaves me and goes to her room to lie down. I stand in the middle of the house, not knowing what to do first: cry or laugh. Rage or give in. I’m home. Mom is not.
And I am the reason why.
I wake up early Christmas morning, with Juniper snoring softly, snuggled against my chest. Faint sunlight filters in through the living room windows and dances light off of the tree ornaments and lights. The fire from last night is nothing more than a pile of gray ash, the faint smell of woodsmoke lingering in the air. For a moment, it feels like I am inside a snow globe. The kind that Grammy Viv used to collect and display on the mantel in her Muskegon house during the holidays. I’d forgotten about those until now—how when I was little, Grammy Viv used to take one down, shake it, and then place it in front of me to watch. I’d ask her to do it again and again, delighted by the whole whirling, glittery magic of it all. Now the whole world is filled with a calm after-storm silence—and I replay the memory of my kiss with Juniper. I don’t know what it was about the way she said, “I want to kiss you.” But it left me without words, every shut door inside me creaking open to let her in. Her lips on mine felt familiar—and then it wasn’t just her kissing me but my mouth returning the heat and then the two of us falling into one another, pulling each other close, burying our hands and mouths in one another’s curves, and never in my life have I felt like I do now. Like—maybe it’s all worth it; maybe I can let her get close enough to all of me, scars and everything.
But as I close my eyes and try to focus on the rhythm of Juniper’s breath, matching mine to hers and willing my body to stay still enough to maybe fall back asleep, I also feel an old fear creeping in. My mind screams:This won’t last. This is not real.My breath mingled with Juniper’s says:Stay in this moment. You are safe. You are wanted.
Before I can spiral or overthink the last twelve hours, I hear shuffling.
“Lyric, baby?” Grammy calls out from the dim hallway. “You out there?”
I carefully extract myself from the tangle of Juniper’s limbs andtiptoe quickly to meet Grammy outside the back hallway bathroom door.
“Here, Grammy,” I say, taking her arm and helping her inside. “Good morning.”
When I turn on the light, Grammy looks me up and down and gives me a sly smile. “Yes, good morning, indeed. You’re glowing, Lyric. Hope that means y’all finally admitted you like each other. Honestly, the way you two look at one another.”
“I’m not glowing,” I say, too quickly.
“You sure are. And it looks good on you. Don’t hide it.”
“I’m not—I just, I don’t know—”
“Lyric—” Grammy interrupts me. “I gotta use the toilet, and then I need help getting into my clothes for the day. But I have to tell you something before we go back out there. You deserve joy, baby girl. A joyful life—and that includes love and all the gifts the world has to offer. Don’t shut that out. I’m not going to keep you from that. I won’t. That’s why I’ve been talking to your mom lately—and she’s doing real good, baby. She’s the one who sent me that money for your Winter Formal. She wants to help out more, be in our lives. And—I want you to consider it, OK? Especially for next year—when you’re off to cosmetology school. You don’t have to do everything for me. She can help.”
Grammy says this in a rush and then waves at me to turn around so she can relieve herself with some privacy. The warmth I’d felt in Juniper’s arms turns into a cold sweat; my throat goes tight, my hands clammy. This is too much.For how long has Grammy been back in touch with Mom? What does “she’s doing real good” even mean? And how the hell can she help us now—it’s too fucking late! I’m grown. I don’t need her.Wedon’t need her.
“Lyric, honey, did you hear me? What do you think?” Grammy says, now at the sink washing her hands.
I know I am shutting down, that what’s about to come out of my mouth is cruel, but I don’t care. I feel a wave of rage building up inside me.
“No.” It comes out as a hiss. “Absolutely not, Grammy. Mom is cut off. You know that. I don’t care how much she’s changed or wants to be in our lives. It’s too late.”
“People can change, baby,” Grammy says then, and the rage wave hits roughly against my rib cage.
“No, not her,” I say.
Grammy sighs. “Well, I’d like you to give her a chance. Hear her out,” she says after a beat. “She’s coming by to visit on the thirtieth.”
Suddenly I am a child again. I cover my ears to block out Grammy’s voice and squeeze my eyes shut. I know she is trying to reach me—but I’m gone. I’m deep in the dark of my body. I’m thrashing around, drowning in the tempest inside me. It’s only when I hear a loud knock on the bathroom door that I come back to reality.
“Are y’all OK in there? We’re going to open gifts in fifteen.” Alice’s sweet drawl wafts through the closed door.
“We’re good!” I manage. “We’ll be out in a minute.”
Then to Grammy: “We can talk more about this later.”
Grammy nods. “You know we will.”
I escort her back to the spare room and get her dressed, then try to make myself somewhat presentable. In my rush to pack things for Grammy, I barely brought much for myself, but I throw on a fresh T-shirt, wash my face, and then I always have my favorite Fenty gloss—so I add a few swipes to my lips. We head back into the living room. I don’t feel like being aroundanyone,let alone celebrating after Grammy’s confession, but Juniper’s eager smile greets me and I try to soften the muscles in my own face to give her a weak grin back. I see her eyes flash with concern for a moment, but then her moms arehanding us steaming mugs of coffee and ushering us to sit down in front of the tree.
“Looks like Santa came!” Mara says with a wink.
