“Let me guess—you’ve already been to the farmers market and showered and made breakfast?”
“Yeah, I ate, like, two hours ago,” she says. “It’s almost noon.”
“It’s Saturday.”
“Stop being cranky, Dovie. Wasn’t yesterday your last day?”
Behind her, I see the unfamiliar walls of her new apartment. She just moved in a couple of weeks ago, when her semester ended. Dad offered to drive up to Milwaukee and help her, but Mimi said she and her friends had it covered. It feels strange for her to be out of the dorms and living somewhere I’ve never seen.
“Yeah, and I get to spend half my summer in SAT prep,” I say. “Can’t wait.”
Mimi sighs. “I know. But she’s not going to get off your back unless you just do it. Suck it up, kick ass on the test, and then the summer before your senior year is free.”
That seems so far away. Another year of prep and testing and serious discussions about college applications before I can rest. All the lead-up is exhausting, but I’m actually looking forward to college. I’m not positive what I want to study, though I’m leaning toward civil engineering. I’ve always been fascinated by how the train tracks and bridges and streets are built and operate (almost) seamlessly. Or maybe architecture because I’ve been in love with the beautiful buildings around Chicago since I was a little kid. Tribune Tower and the Civic Opera House are my very favorites.
“Didn’t it seem like this would never end when you were my age?” I ask. Because Mimi studied just as much as I did, if not more.
The first time Mimi came home after she’d been away at college, she showed up sporting a low fade with a side part. My mother looked like somebody had slapped her. They have a barber at the shop, but Mimi had always kept her hair long and natural and braided, occasionally straightening it when my mother fussed over things like graduation and prom. Mimi said the new cut felt more like her. It took me a minute to get used to it, but the more I looked at her, the more I liked it. Mimi is super pretty with creamy brown skin and the same big, clear brown eyes as Mom.
“Yes, and it sucked,” she says.
“It would suck a lot less if I were playing right now.”
Her voice softens. “You really miss it that much?”
“I do.”
It is soccer, and I started playing in competitive youth leagues when I was in third grade. I was on the middle school team, too, and I loved it. All the running that we complained about during practice was suddenly fun when we were on the field. Sweating through my jersey made me feel like I was working hard, and shit-talking the other teams when our coaches couldn’t hear was one of the most rebellious things I’ve ever done. I felt uncontained when I was on the field. Free.
“Well.” Mimi stops because she knows firsthand there isn’t much she can say to make me feel better about the decision my mother has made for me. “Maybe you can play in college.”
“I’m not good enough, Meems.”
That was the reason Mom decided it would be best for me to stop playing and focus on extracurriculars like quiz bowl and the environment club. Her logic is that schools wouldn’t necessarily be impressed by my athleticism unless I was good enough to be scouted. The fact that soccer made me happy wasn’t enough.
“Sorry,” Mimi says, and she looks away from the screen, but not before I see a flash of regret in her eyes. She had to give up cheerleading. She was really good—a lot better than I am at soccer. “But you have to get through it. And then you’ll go away like I did and you can do whatever you want.”
“College doesn’t sound easy, though.”
“Of course it’s not. But I’ve gotten through my first two years, even with my hellish load.” Mimi is premed, which makes both of our parents extraordinarily happy. She thinks she wants to go into dermatology. “And it’s a lot better to deal with the pressure here than there.” She scratches the tip of her nose. “Dad said Aunt Carlene is staying with you guys?”
I nod.
“How is she?”
“She’s good.” I don’t know if she’s here, but even if she is in Mimi’s room, I don’t think she can hear us.
“She was always nice when she came around.”
“You remember her?”
“A little bit,” Mimi says. “She sent us toys a couple of times, and Mom used to get all weird about it. Like she had to know where they came from, and she’d make sure they were age-appropriate before she let us play with them instead of just accepting a gift like a normal person.”
Our mother is definitely downstairs in the salon by now, maybe even finishing up with her first client.
Still, I lower my voice as I say, “Mom is weird around her. She’s keeping tabs on her and, like, sniffing her mugs to make sure she isn’t drinking.”
And then I remember. It hits me suddenly—the last time I saw my aunt. It was after the shop opened, but before we’d moved in up here, so I couldn’t have been older than eight. She was a skinny woman I didn’t recognize, and as soon as she stumbled into the shop, Mom hustled her through the salon and out the back door and into the alley. The woman kept trying to look behind her, and at one point she met my eye and stared.
I noticed how the dull roar of the shop had quieted to a hum, and how Ayanna was looking worriedly toward the back. I slowly inched closer and closer to the door, trying to hear what they were saying. Trying to figure out who the woman was.
I couldn’t hear anything as I peeked through the screen door, but I could see them. My mother tossing her arms in the air and frowning, the woman raking her hands through her disheveled hair and pleading. My mother shook her head again and again, and I saw the first tear fall down the woman’s cheek before Ayanna was there, yanking me away.
“Who is that?” I asked as she deposited me by her station, where she was pressing someone’s hair.
Ayanna looked around the shop as if searching for anyone else who could give me the answer. Then she sighed and studied me, her eyes soft as she said, “Your mother’s sister. Carlene.”
“Her sister… My aunt?” I didn’t know anything about my aunt, and I wanted to get a better look at her. I started to run back to the door, but Ayanna caught me by the arm before I could go.
“You stay right here, Dove. They need privacy.”
“I just want to see her,” I whined, but I shut my mouth when Ayanna gave me the universal Black Mom Look. I knew not to argue with that.
When my mother came back in, she closed both doors firmly behind her and locked them. Carlene wasn’t with her. Mom disappeared into the tiny break room for a while, and even I didn’t have to be told not to bother her until she came out.
I consider asking Mimi about this—where was she that day? Am I remembering this correctly or is my brain making up stories?—but for some reason, I want to keep the memory to myself for now.
My sister sinks down onto her bed and rolls her eyes. “Of course Mom is keeping tabs on her. Takes some of the heat off you, though. Right?”
I shrug. “It’s not so bad.”
But we both know I’m lying, and Mimi doesn’t let it go. “Bullshit, Dove. You’re her precious treasure. Do you know she didn’t even offer to come help me move?”