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The rest of the week was mundane. Xavier drove on Wednesday and he walked me to class. Jessa drove on Thursday and she walked me to class. JJ drove his dad’s car on Friday and he walked me to class. I didn’t ask them to do that. I wasn’t even sure I wanted them to. But by the end of the week, I felt loved.
None of my teachers asked me any questions and I didn’t raise my hand. No one had called me “Pinky” this week either—except Tisha and Mars on Monday.
It’s Sunday. Dad and Gram are trying to get me to come to church, but I don’t feel like it. It just doesn’t make sense for me to sit in church, talk about how good God is and how much He loves me, or sing about how I love Him. If God loved me, why’d he take my skin color? Why’d he take my Mama? Why’d he have me be an only child, putting Mama through two miscarriages?
It’s wet and cold outside. Another dreary morning and I’ve been forced to ride with Dad and Gram to early morning service.
Once we get there, I sit at a high-top table in the Church cafe and drink hot cocoa. As per normal, the flat screen on the wall displays the church service. I can see JJ in the background playing piano and Xavier on the opposite end of the stage playing the drums. My friends are talented. Smart and talented. I've longed to be good at something just like they were, but I can’t sing, hadn’t been good at playing an instrument, and I’m definitely not a math or science buff.
“Clove.”
I hear a voice behind me and for a second, I think it’s my mom. But it’s JJ’s mom; they sound alike. She kisses both my cheeks as a form of greeting as she’s always done. I do the same.
Kiss. “Hey Dearest.” Kiss. “You know, I’m short a volunteer for Children’s church. You think you could help me today?”
I could, but I don’t want to. Mrs. Jourdan has a friendly face and an aura of kindness that’s hard to ignore. Her dark-colored sisterlocks are curly and frame her brown freckled face. She has hazel eyes and that’s about the only thing JJ has in common with his mom. His white skin color, red hair, freckles, and everything else is from his dad’s side.
Mrs. Jourdan waits for my response. I let my shoulders slump. She wouldn’t be asking if she didn’t really need the help. I toss my half-full cup of hot cocoa in the trash and follow her down the long hallway into the kid's area.
“Wash your hands and put these things on your shoes.”
She hands me some soft shower cap-looking things to put on. I thought maybe she needed help with the elementary kids but I can see that we’re headed into the infants and toddler room. Babies make me nervous. They’re all tiny and unpredictable. I like kids, but from a distance.
I step through the baby gate and Mrs. Jourdan immediately hands me Adah, JJ’s baby sister. She just turned one on my birthday—or I guess it’s our birthday. Her one-year party was supposed to be the Saturday after mine—-if she still even had party.
Adah sucks her thumb while holding on to a teddy bear. Out of all of the Jourdan kids, JJ and Adah look the most similar. They both share the same light complexion and thick hair except JJ’s hair is straight and Adah’s has spiral curls like her other brothers, Zach and Caleb. They are the most diverse looking family I have ever seen. JJ used to hate that he didn’t look mixed like his brothers because, once people saw his mom, they would constantly ask if he was adopted.
Adah lays her head on my shoulder and it’s like she senses I need a hug. There are little fingers touching my foot. A baby uses my leg for leverage to stand up. There’s another one behind me. Not gonna lie, this is kinda creepy. It’s like they sense my sadness or something and are coming at me like zombies.
“You might want to sit down,” Mrs. Jourdan says. “It’ll be easier for you to play with them."
I follow her advice. One baby brings me a book to read while Adah stays in my lap and continues to suck her thumb.
Wet fingers touch the white part of my cheek and another little one tries to squeeze into my lap with Adah.
This is too much. Don’t babies normally gravitate towards happy, friendly people? I’m neither of those today and I definitely don’t feel like reading a tiny little book of children’s Bible stories.
“Bonjour, Maman,” JJ’s voice draws my attention as he stands in the doorway. “As-tu besoin de moi?” Mrs. Jourdan is nursing a baby with a bottle. “Oui. Nous avons beaucoup d'enfants aujourd'hui. Pouvez vous aider?” she replies.
I only know a little bit of what they’re saying. They speak French at home often. I know Bonjour is hello, Maman means mom, oui is yes, and moi is me. Other than that, I’m lost. Dad had wanted me to take all Spanish courses so I could help translate for our Spanish-speaking members of the church.
Mrs. Jourdan touches my shoulder. “I’m so sorry Clove, we’re being rude. I’m asking JJ if he can help so that you can leave if you like. I didn’t expect this many children today.”
JJ sits on the rug and takes another book off of the tiny shelf. I should leave but I sit still and watch as all the little kids leave me and surround him including Adah. She’s left my lap and now climbs into his.
He begins to read them a Bible story about Jonah and the whale, but because he knows this story by heart, he puts the book down and uses puppets and hand motions.
The kids watch the puppets, oblivious to the fact that JJ’s mouth is moving. Being a ventriloquist isn’t one of his talents, but he does make the story interesting enough to entertain me too. Once the story is over, the kids crawl back to blocks and other toys.
Adah stays curled up in her brother’s lap and slowly starts to close her eyes. She’s sleepy. I’d be sleepy too if I was sitting that close to him. He’s got a way of calming people. Maybe it’s his voice or maybe it’s the scent of his soap and that other something that I can’t quite pinpoint. Whatever it is, it’s tranquil. For the longest time, I thought it was his laundry detergent so I’d spent plenty of time in the laundry aisle trying to figure out which it could be. But I think it’s just him.
He catches me staring at him so I avert my eyes. Feeling somewhat awkward, I decide to leave. I walk back down the hallway and go straight outside into the humid air.
I lean against the brick wall of the church. The streets are wet and cars make swishing sounds as they go by. The scent of rain brings back memories. Mama and I used to hide from humid days like this. We’d go to the bookstore and find a corner to read or share a dessert in the bookstore cafe. It’s crazy to think that just a month ago Mama and I were at the bookstore. She was finishing a book by Maya Angelou and I had just started reading The Princess Bride by William Goldman for the second time.
I’m jarred away from my memories as people start coming outside talking and laughing. I pretend to be a fly on the wall, watching them lift their umbrellas and listening to them talk about various things.
“Jackson is available now,” someone says. “How long you think he’ll be in mourning?”
How dare they? Mama’s barely been gone a whole month and they’re already talking about going after my dad.
“I don’t know, you know every man is different,” another one says.
I fake a sneeze. The two women try to act nonchalant like they hadn’t said anything about my father.
“Clove, aren’t you cold? You’re going to catch your death out here,” one of the women says to me.
Catch death? Did mom catch death? Is that what happened? Did she run right into it? Was the death angel the one who was drunk driving?
If he was, then I hate him too. Shame-faced, the two women walk briskly to the parking lot.
I just keep standing in the same spot as people pass by. Cars roll up and wives get in. More people try talking to me.
“Clove sweetie, it’s so good to see you. How are you?”
“Clove baby, how you been honey?”
“Oh sweetheart! How are you doing?”
How do they think I’m doing? I put my hoodie over my head. It’s rude I know, but I just want to be invisible. The interesting thing about not talking is that my ears can hear so much better. The noisiness of people’s whispers echo in my thoughts.
“You know they said she ran outside during that tornado.”
“I heard she tried to chase it and kill herself.”
“She must be suicidal. Hope Jackson gets her some help. I’m going to make sure I give him my card; she should come and see me. I’d be a much better therapist for her.”
That’s Ms. Anita talking. We have over a thousand members but I know her gossiping voice anywhere. I don’t want her help. Anyone who can talk about someone within an earshot of them is more harmful than helpful. I won’t be sitting down with her for any sessions.
There’s a second service starting in thirty minutes. I start walking across the parking lot and onto a sidewalk lined with trees and flowers. I have no destination, just a need to move away from all the gossipers.
Cars whoosh by me as I walk past a pretty, blooming tree. I take my phone out and zoom in. Drops of water rest on the petals. I take a couple of photos and try to see if I can search for the name of the flower.
“That is a Japanese Morning Glory. It’s blooming early,” a voice says behind me.
JJ stands there with his hands in his pockets. He takes off his slouchy beanie and his hair falls over his ears. Then he rakes his hand through his hair to move it mostly to one side. He should wear his hair down more often.
I keep walking and take another picture that I show to him.
He squints through his glasses, then raises them up to see my phone better. “Magnolia tulip,” he tells me while putting his glasses back down.
I nod, turn back around and take a couple of more steps to another flower. This one is a beautiful bright yellow and I know exactly what it is. It’s a Buttercup. Mama’s favorite. I take a picture of it as well.
“That’s a Narcissus bulb or you probably call it a Buttercup," JJ tells me.
It’s where Mama and Dad got my nickname from. It’s why I also like the story The Princess Bride. The protagonist's name is Buttercup.
“I saw you walking and thought you might want company. But if not, that’s cool too and I can just go back," JJ says.
I look down the street and then back at him. He nods his head as if that’s my answer and takes a step or two backward, then pivots on his heel.
He’s moved too far for me to reach for his arm to stop him. “Wait,” I call out.
JJ turns back around and waits, his hands still in his pockets. He’s going to make me say it.
“Will...will you...” I don’t know how to ask even though it’s a simple question.
“Yes,” he says.
Just having him here with me makes me comfortable. We stroll for about five minutes or so until a butterfly crosses our path. It’s not a monarch, but it’s pretty. I get my phone out to take a picture. JJ touches my arm. “You know they say that if you whisper ‘I love you’ to a butterfly it will take your message to heaven.”
Is he serious? Of course he’s not, but still...I wonder. The butterfly is sitting on the bloom like it’s waiting for me so I tiptoe as cautiously as possible and try to carefully bend down to it. But...where are its ears? Do I just whisper over it? This is silly. The butterfly flies away as though it may have been thinking the same.
“We can keep going,” JJ says. “Maybe we’ll find another one.”
Up ahead of us and to the left is a cemetery. It’s where Mama is buried. I hadn’t been by there yet nor was I planning to go today.
There’s a part in the clouds and the sun begins to shine. JJ’s hazel eyes are beautiful in this sunlight and he allows me to gaze into them for only a couple of seconds before he shifts them downward.
He pushes his hair back from his face, “You uh...would you like to visit your mom?”
I shake my head no. Now we’re just uncomfortably standing here.
He takes a step towards me. “Would you like me to take you to the bookstore later today?”
It’s very kind of him to ask, but I don’t know if I’m ready to go there yet.
“Just let me know if you want to go and I’ll get my dad’s car and take you,” he offers.
To the left of him, a beautiful array of colors arc across the sky and over his head. I feel something small release within me though I’m not sure what it is.
JJ twists his body to see what I’m staring at. When he turns back around, the corners of his mouth move upward. “There it is,” he says. “I was hoping I would see that again.”
Is he talking about the rainbow? He takes another step closer and softly touches my chin. “Not the rainbow. I’m talking about your smile.”
Before I can even think of blushing from his touch, he drops his hand. My heart has started racing and my hands feel sweaty. What is happening right now?
I walk back towards the church.