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“So, why was I in bed with everybody I went to high school with?” Mekhi stood, walked into the restroom and came out in sweatpants.
“Do you remember Darlene Barnes from high school?”
“Yeah, of course. She and Kris. Voted best couple.” Mekhi paused. “She was pregnant, right?”
“And he went into the service,” I added.
“Yeah, I remember them. It’s been a long time. Almost ten years.” Mekhi plopped down on the bed again.
“She’s a resident at the shelter.”
Mekhi frowned. “Wow. That’s messed up.”
I nodded.
“I thought they got married.”
“They did. He’s dead. She said he was shot last summer. She’s pregnant and has three children.”
Mekhi’s head snatched back. “That’s really messed up.”
I reflected on it all again. “I was really shocked to see her, you know, like that. I guess you just never expect to see somebody that you know.”
Mekhi shrugged. “We all grew up in the hood, baby, so I’m never surprised to see where anybody ends up.”
I paused. “But he was one of the good guys.”
“Good guys, bad guys. Death will steal any guy it can get its hands on.”
“I suppose so,” I said. “I wonder what happened to him, though.”
Mekhi fell back on his hands. “I guess if she hangs around there, you’ll get caught up on her story.”
I dropped my head to the right and considered that. “I suppose so.”
Mekhi stared at me for a moment, then asked, “You still okay with doing this?”
“Yeah, babe. I just thought I’d tell you.”
“Maybe we can sponsor her family for the Secret Santa thing.”
I nodded. “Of course.”
“Look, I gotta go get on a conference call with publicity. I should only be about thirty minutes and then we can do whatever you want. Maybe we could go to the tree farm down the road.”
Tree farm, seriously? We’d both grown up in the land of trees that came out of boxes with metal stumps. “I don’t want a Christmas tree, Mekhi.”
He paused in the doorway. “Why not?”
“It’s not necessary, and I’m not feeling festive.”
Mekhi crossed his hands over his chest. “Come on, baby. We need to liven things up. What’s the point of having a big ‘ole house if you don’t do fun stuff with it? And my mama always said you have to have a tree. It can’t be Christmas without one.”
I didn’t disagree with Evelyn Johnson often, but I disagreed with her on that. It could be Christmas without a tree and had been Christmas without one for more than twenty years. I continued my protest. “You have a tree at the studio, and it’s right outside your office.”
Mekhi looked confused. “That’s at work. This is my first house, so I want to do it up this year. It’s tradition.”
“Tradition for you. Winnie Jacobs didn’t care about Christmas trees.”
Mekhi frowned and dropped his arms.
Surrendering, I raised a hand. “Don’t let me get in the way of your dream home fantasies. I’m cool with tree shopping as long as you don’t expect me to decorate tonight.”
Mekhi approached the bed again. He leaned down to give me a kiss. When he raised his head he said, “Not tonight, but one night this week, we’re putting on some Christmas music and decorating.” He walked out of the room.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and groaned. What else could I come up with for us to do? A movie? I picked up my phone to see what was showing in the theater.
It vibrated and I recognized the text from Ebony.
Call me when you can. I forgot to tell you something.
The words repeated in my head. I forgot to tell you something. And then I remembered.
I got off the bus from school and walked in the house. My daddy was yelling. “I came home because I forgot to tell you something.”
“Free, you making too much out this,” Mama protested. “I called maintenance about that outlet. You know, the one for the Christmas tree plug. It won’t work. I told you that it didn’t work. He came to fix it and we just got to talking.”
“The nigger was sitting on my sofa with his feet up on the table watching my television while you were sitting there in a slip and you want me to think he was fixing an outlet?”
“You not listening to me.”
“Is it all fixed, Winnie?” Daddy asked. “If I plug in the tree, will it light up?”
My mother didn’t say anything.
“Everybody kept telling me I needed to come home and check on things, but I was too stupid to listen. God had to make me come home to find out what kind of woman I was married to.”
I heard something slam and then my daddy came out of the room with a duffel bag in his hand. Mama followed, her face wet and red.
“Samaria, what you doing here?” Daddy asked.
“I got off the bus.”
“She come home every day this time, Free. I wouldn’t have nobody in here,” Mama pleaded. She had never begged before.
He looked at my mama and shook his head, then turned back to me. “I have to go take care of some business. You stay here with your mama.” He hugged me tight and patted the top of my head. Then he rushed out of the apartment. I dropped my book bag and followed until I reached the door. I pushed my nose against the glass that separated me from him. Daddy got in his car and sped away.
I was only five years old, but I knew something was wrong. Whatever it was, it was bad wrong, because my daddy didn’t call me Samaria. Not ever. He always called me Sam-Sam Marie.
I was right about that fight. It was more than something wrong. It was a marriage over. Family broken. Daddy gone. My life was forever changed, because the only person in that house that wanted me was my daddy. I never saw him again and the tree never lit up that Christmas or any other Christmas after that.