I laugh. Just a little. Is it happiness, or am I about to lose my shit? I can’t tell. Instead of waiting to find out, I go downstairs to the kitchen, where Krys and Jamal are making dinner. I watch them for a second. Jamal sings along with a song on the radio that I don’t know as Krys laughs and dances.
Is this normal? And what the fuck is it going to do to me?
“Can I help?” I ask.
“Yep!” Jamal says. “Come mash these avocados.”
And just like that, I’m helping. I’ve never made guacamole in my life. I would have, if I’d known how simple it was.
“Seriously,” I say a few minutes later. “This is all there is to it?”
My uncle tosses some cilantro into the bowl to go with the onion and garlic he added before. Then, he squeezes lime juice over it. “Pretty much.” Then, he throws some tomato and diced-up peppers in as well. “Stir that all up, please.”
By the time we have everything ready, my stomach is growling, which is good, because we’ve got enough food to feed everyone at Sparrow Brook, I think.
We eat at the kitchen table. It’s all so good that I eat until I feel like I’m going to puke. I have no regrets.
We go to the living room afterward. Jamal turns on the TV and calls up a screen with movie posters on it. “Pick which one you want to watch,” he says.
“The Autopsy of Jane Doe, Get Out, or Happy Death Day?” They all sound crazy.
He nods excitedly. “Since you’re new to the genre, I’m thinking either of the last two. They’re all fairly current. The last few years, anyway.”
I pick Get Out and hand it back to him. He arches a brow. “You didn’t even read the descriptions. Did you just pick this one because it’s got a Black guy in it?”
Heat fills my face, and he starts laughing.
Krys whips a dishtowel at his leg. “Don’t tease her, Mal.”
My uncle stops laughing, but he’s still smiling. I guess I didn’t offend him. “Okay, we’ll start with this one, but I’m going to make you watch the others too.”
“I’ve been made to do worse,” I retort with a hint of a smile. His face falls, and I realize what I’ve said. “That was supposed to be a joke.”
Jamal smiles again, but it doesn’t look quite right. “Ten bucks says you’ll be a fan before the end of the night.” He turns to get a drink from the kitchen. Krys touches his shoulder and gives him a loving look. I’ve watched people have sex, but this exchange between the two of them seems more intimate than any other I’ve seen. I can’t look away.
“I didn’t mean to upset him,” I say, when it’s only my aunt and me. I scratch my thumbnail along the skin of my wrist.
She catches my hand, stopping me from drawing blood. “You didn’t. The situation you were in upsets him.” She turns my other hand over in hers. We both look at the red marks I’ve made. “I used to pull my hair out. It didn’t leave the scars that cutting does, but I had a bald patch I had to cover up.”
“You did?” She nods. “Why?”
She strokes her thumb over the welts. “A long time ago, I was at a party and some boys decided to have some fun with me. I didn’t think it was fun. Let’s get you some cream for that.”
My chest feels like my heart is trying to squeeze out between my ribs. I leave the room with her, stupid and silent. I don’t know what to do or what to say. I stand by the bathroom sink and let her rub the antibiotic ointment on my wrist like I’m a little kid who can’t do it myself. It feels nice.
“Let’s go watch that movie,” she says when she’s done. “Jamal’s already watched them all.”
“Why would he watch them again?”
She looks at me like I’m an idiot, but not in a mean way. “Because he wants you to like them. And him. He wants to have something in common with you.”
Well, I don’t want to like him. I don’t want to trust him and be disappointed when he comes into my room at night.
But what if he doesn’t? What if he really is as nice and decent as he seems? What if he protects me rather than hurts me?
I glance toward the living room. “Okay.” My aunt takes my hand and leads me into the room.
The sofas have built-in recliners so I get way too relaxed. It’s hard to relax when you’re watching a freaky movie though. It’s so good, but so messed up. A couple of times I’m on the edge of my seat, yelling at the TV. Krys and Jamal laugh at me.
Afterward, I look at the two of them. “What is wrong with you guys?”
“Admit it,” Jamal urges. “You liked it.”
“It was awesome,” I admit.
“Ready for the next one, or are you done?”
It’s only nine o’clock. “Do it up.”
He puts on Happy Death Day. It doesn’t mess with my head like Get Out, but there are a few good scares. It’s a fun movie, more about how the character needs to change than horror.
“Okay,” Krys says after that one. “It’s been a long day. Time for bed.”
I’m not really tired, but I’ve got a few books I want to read in my room. Before I go, I turn to Jamal. “Can we do this again next weekend?”
His grin is huge, like the biggest, whitest smile I’ve ever seen. “The Autopsy of Jane Doe, next Saturday. Maybe even Carrie.”
I smile and say good night. In my room I put on my pajamas, use the bathroom, brush my teeth, and wash my face. Before climbing into bed, I check my door. There’s a lock on the knob. I turn it to be safe.
I crawl into bed. Oh, God—the sheets are so soft and clean, and the bed is so big and comfortable. I close my eyes. It can’t be real. This is all too good to be true. Something terrible is going to happen.
But nothing happens while I read my book. I turn pages until my eyes are heavy and my head starts to swim, then I turn off the light.
There’s a soft glow coming from the far corner of the room. It gives off enough brightness that I can just barely make out my surroundings. A night-light. How did Krys know I don’t like the dark?
I roll onto my side, facing the door, and tuck up into a ball on these impossibly awesome sheets that smell like summer and feel like a dream. I stare at the doorknob for as long as I can, but my eyes keep drifting closed.
Finally, I fall asleep. No one tries to get in. There aren’t any screams in the night. I don’t even dream. Nothing bad happens.
But I know it’s coming.
* * *
“What are you writing?” I ask my uncle the next morning. We’re at the table having breakfast like a family on TV or something.
Jamal smiles. His teeth are perfect, I realize. Mine are okay, but a little crooked. He obviously grew up in a family with more money than ours. What would it be like to grow up that way? A john once knocked out one of Jasmine’s teeth. Mitch bitched and moaned about having to take her to get it fixed. Good thing he knew a dentist that would take payment in trade.
“I’m making a list of movies for us to watch,” he replies. “You want some more bacon?”
He plops a couple of pieces onto my plate, and I dip them in the yolk of my egg before eating them. As I chew, I think about the motel and how long ago it feels.