“That everything?” Amir asked and then quickly clarified based on the question he could already see forming on Alonzo’s mouth. “Everything you need for tonight?”
Alonzo smiled and nodded.
It was actually a ridiculous question to ask since they’d been moving Alonzo into Amir’s condo for a couple of months. They’d gotten Alonzo a new bed since they were donating the old frame to a young couple in the neighborhood who’d been sleeping on mattresses on the floor. After the bed was in place, they started moving the rest of Alonzo’s stuff in, piece by piece; some bookshelves that Amir had filled, organizing them by mood, the way he knew Alonzo would like, his typewriter on a spare desk in Amir’s office, and his record player placed right in the center of his dresser.
They’d even done a few test runs. For the past few months, Alonzo had spent the night at Amir’s here and there to let him get the feel of sleeping elsewhere. But this night wasn’t a test run. Alonzo was leaving the house he and Ada had scrimped and saved and hustled to buy for good. He’d never sleep here again. He’d never make coffee in the kitchen that somehow always smelled of cinnamon, nutmeg, and vanilla. He’d never pull his grill out of the garage and dance to Earth, Wind & Fire with his wife in the backyard. The unspoken finality of this moment went unsaid, but they all felt it.
So, Amir asked as carefully as he could. “You got everything you need, dad?”
Alonzo was watching the house, looking at it the way Amir thought he might have the day after they got the keys — as if he couldn’t believe that it was his. Theirs.
“There’s a, uh…” He rested a palm on his forehead and closed his eyes to think. This was a familiar pose, so Amir and Amaya stood by and waited for him to find the perfect word to finish his sentence.
“There’s a picture I haven’t packed up yet,” he said after a while. “It’s in our room on that old dresser we’re giving to, uh…” He snapped his fingers a few times.
“Kathy’s niece Syrenity,” Amaya offered helpfully.
Alonzo nodded. “Anyway, there’s a bunch of framed photos on that dresser. Gon’ get that for me, would you?” he asked, turning to Amaya, even though Amir had asked the question.
“I’ll get it, pops,” Amir offered.
“Nah,” he said. “Maya, would you mind?”
“Sure, dad.”
Amir watched as Amaya headed back into the house. “I could’ve gotten it, dad,” he said once she’d disappeared inside.
“Let me do what I do, would you?”
“What’s that mean?” Amir asked and then pressed his lips shut when Alonzo raised an eyebrow at him.
Alonzo walked to Amir’s car and opened the passenger door. He crouched and sat down but kept his legs outside the door, feet planted firmly on the ground in his driveway. Not for the last time, but close to, sure enough.
Amir leaned against the side of his car and waited.
When Amaya returned, she had a small stack of picture frames clutched in her arms and pressed against her chest. She pulled the front door closed and checked to make sure that it was locked before walking back toward them. As she got closer, Amir realized that her eyes were wet.
“Maya?”
“I’m fine,” she said, but she didn’t look at him. She walked to their father and squatted in front of him, placing the frames on her thighs. “Daddy?”
There was a soft smile on Alonzo’s face. “Your mama always meant to give you these pictures,” he said. “I swear she spent months, hell, maybe even years, trying to find just the right frames for each one. When she…” He stopped abruptly and took a slow, deep breath. His eyes became glassy with tears, and he tried to blink them away as he looked at his daughter.
Amir looked away with wet eyes himself.
“When she passed, I found this stack of pictures in her studio. All of you. Your mama must’ve spent a small fortune on film when she was pregnant with you. If we could have afforded it, I think she would have taken a picture of herself every day she was pregnant with y’all. Actually, no, I know she would have done that.” He was laughing gently when Amir turned around.
Amaya had balled her hand into her sleeve and was wiping at Alonzo’s face.
He placed a hand on top of the frames, drawing their attention to the one on top. It was sepia-toned, a close shot of chubby baby Amaya in a pair of overalls and white t-shirt. “Most of ‘em had frames, but for the ones that didn’t, I took ‘em down to Mr. Brewer. I picked this one out. I can remember the day she took this picture. You were supposed to be wearing this big white dress. It was bigger than your whole body. But just as soon as she sat you down on the living room floor, you spit up all over it.”
Amaya was wiping at her own face now.
“She took you upstairs to change, and then you had a little…accident,” he said with a smile.
“Dad,” Amaya sighed.
“So then we had to give you a bath. And somehow, these overalls were the only thing clean, even though this was not the look your mother wanted. But wouldn’t you know it, as soon as she set you back down on the living room floor, you didn’t spit up, you didn’t fill your diaper, and you didn’t cry. All you did was smile and laugh. She took this picture in one shot. She said you taught us a lesson that day, to just let you be you. That’s what she wanted to capture. Every day she was pregnant, every outfit you ruined.”
Amaya burst into a pained huff of laughter.
“Every day she spent being your mother, she wanted a picture to commemorate it. And when she was looking for all these frames, it wasn’t ‘cause she cared about the frames themselves but because she wanted you to hang them in your apartment and be swept away by the memories of how much she loved you.” He cupped her face lovingly. “These were your mother’s very favorite pictures of you, Amaya Kenya Reid. She wanted you to have these pictures so you would always remember yourself as she saw you: her baby, her twin, even though I did help a little. Perfect. From the moment you came screaming and howling into the world with those big doll eyes and head full of hair, your mama thought you were perfect.”
There were rivers running down Amaya’s face, and she squeaked each time she swallowed a small whining cry. But there was still a smile on her face.
“We thought the same thing of your brother,” Alonzo added after a while, “even though his head was a little big.”
Amaya’s laughter sounded more like a pathetic howl of grief. Because it was. It was both.
Amir and Alonzo watched as Amaya clutched the picture frames to her chest, her body wracked with sobs. Alonzo brushed a soft hand over her hair, and Amir shielded his sister from as many prying eyes in the neighborhood as possible with his body, tears falling down their faces.
There was no rushing grief.