30

THE DIAMOND FAMILY SUNDAY FEAST

Normally, I would stay at church and socialize for a while, but you and I have some serious cooking to do,” Bibi said as we nearly sped back to her house.

“What time will they be here?” I asked.

“Six.”

I glanced at the kitchen wall clock. It was just after noon.

Bibi hurried to change her clothes and advised me to do the same. “Around here the cooks get their clothes dirty.”

First we diced onions, celery, green onions, bell peppers, tomatoes, and garlic, and set it aside. Then we got the short ribs going. Next we put on the butter beans. And after that we chopped up the chicken for the jambalaya. Even with the kitchen door and window open, it was hot and both of us were sweating.

“Maybe we should turn on the air conditioner?”

Bibi laughed and pointed to the window. “You’re looking at it,” she replied.

The smells from the food filled the kitchen and Bibi was humming happily when she decided to put on a CD. “You like Nina Simone?”

Not knowing who Nina Simone was, I shrugged.

The music sounded like it was from a long time ago, but it was still good.

“She’s my favorite . . . well, she and Nancy Wilson,” Bibi said, and began singing along about Sunday in Savannah, swaying to the melody.

We were working fast, but I liked it and wondered if this was what it felt like to be a restaurant chef. In my mind, I added chef to my list of potential careers.

By four o’clock everything was cooked or still baking, and Bibi gave me a high five.

Together we put the extension in the dining room table and brought in chairs from the closet so there were enough seats for seven people. We each took an end of the white lace tablecloth and lifted it. Like a parachute it floated to the table. Bibi took out her real silverware from the china cabinet, good dishes, and cloth napkins, and we set the table.

“Do you always make it so deluxe?” I asked.

“Deluxe? That’s a funny word for someone your age to use.”

“I like funny words,” I told her.

Bibi stopped what she was doing, clutched a gold-rimmed dish to her chest, and smiled at me. “You’re so much like your father,” she replied. “And to answer your question, no, I don’t usually make it so deluxe, but this is a special occasion,” she added.

“Because I’m here?”

“Yep . . . because you’re here. Been a long time since I shared this house with anyone.” For a few nanoseconds, she stared kindly into my eyes, then said we should get dressed.

I went to my room, slipped on my purple and lavender striped dress, and was gazing in the mirror, fixing my curls, when the doorbell rang.

Right away, loud voices came from the living room, a man’s deep one and a boy’s voice.

I stepped out of the bedroom and heard the boy yell, “So where is she?” He zoomed into the hallway, and as soon as he saw me he ran toward me so fast, we bumped into each other and I nearly fell.

“You should really watch where you’re going,” I told him.

“Mr. Diamond!” the man shouted from the other room. “What’d I tell you about running in the house?”

“Mr. Diamond” was just my height, with brown skin, dark eyes so big they looked like any minute they might pop out of their sockets, and a round face. Something about him reminded me of a grasshopper. I tried not to, but I couldn’t stop myself and I giggled.

He sneered. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing,” I said, then asked, “What’s your name?”

It sounded like he said, “I’m Ed.”

“Hi, Ed,” I replied.

“Not Ed.” He snickered and spelled out A-M-H-E-D. “Amhed. It means ‘highly praised.’”

Right then I felt like what Poppy calls a nincompoop. “Oh.”

The man came up behind Ahmed. “Violet?” he asked.

“Why’re you askin’ her that? You can tell it’s her from those pictures on the wall,” Ahmed told him, and stared at me hard. “She looks just like those pictures, doesn’t she?”

The man was tall, about as brown as me, and bald, with freckles on his cheeks. “Nice to meet you. I’m your second cousin Harris.” He reached out to shake my hand.

“Hi, I’m Violet,” I told him.

“We already know that,” Ahmed teased.

“And this is my son, Ahmed.”

“Hey,” Ahmed said.

“Hi,” I replied.

The way these two were gawking at me, I felt like a mannequin in a store window. And I was glad when the doorbell rang again.

As if it were his house, Ahmed shouted, “I’ll get it!” and bolted to the living room.

Harris and I stopped at the kitchen, where Bibi was still working on dinner.

“Smells awful good in there,” he told her, then turned to me. “Your grandma’s a mighty good cook. You could learn a little something from her.”

I beamed. “I helped Bibi with the whole feast.”

“Bibi? Who’s Bibi?” he asked.

“I’m Bibi. It’s Swahili for ‘grandmother,’” she informed him.

“Lord have mercy! Here you go with that Africa mess again. This is not Africa, Roxanne. Let the child call you Grandma.”

Bibi turned up her nose at him and went back to cooking. “As usual, Harris, I’m ignoring you. And this is not your business.”

“I like Bibi,” I told him. “Really.”

“All right then. So what’d you cook for us, Bibi?” Harris started looking in the pots.

“I know you’d better get outta my kitchen before I hurt you. And where’s your wife?”

“Victoria had to work a few extra hours at the hospital. One of the other nurses had some kind of emergency. She’ll be here after while.”

Harris grabbed one of the hot hush puppies Bibi had just taken out of the fryer, popped it in his mouth, grinned, and ducked out of the kitchen.

Whoever had rung the bell had come inside, and I heard women’s voices in the living room. I peeked in and saw two ladies who were dressed the same except for their shoes and looked just alike. Twins. Their faces looked older than my mom’s, who is in her forties, but younger than Bibi’s, who’s old enough.

“Roxanne Diamond! Do I smell short ribs?” the one wearing red shoes asked as she made her way to the kitchen.

As soon as Bibi saw her, she stopped what she was doing, dried her hands on her apron, and hugged her for a long time. The two of them were still hugging when the woman finally noticed me and pushed Bibi away. “This your grandbaby?” she shrieked. And then whoever she was hugged me—hard. “I’m your cousin Lorna Diamond. We’ve waited a lot of years to meet you.”

“I’m Violet.”

She turned to Bibi. “And she’s beautiful, too! And look at all that hair.” She glanced my way and asked, “That is your real hair, isn’t it?”

“Yep, it is.”

“Hard to tell now’days,” Lorna told Bibi.

With all that commotion, the other woman, whose shoes were yellow, had come into the kitchen. “Hi, I’m Violet,” I told her, and stuck out my hand for her to shake.

But that didn’t stop her from hugging me just as tight as her twin sister had. “I’m Laura Diamond, Lorna’s twin.”

Obvious.

“Ain’t she pretty, Laura?” Lorna asked.

“As a picture,” Laura replied.

Later, I would find out that Lorna and Laura Diamond were both third-grade teachers. Neither had ever been married. The way they acted, it was kind of like they were married to each other. I wondered what it felt like to have an identical twin. Two Violet Diamonds—nope, I didn’t want another me.

The last person to show up was Victoria, who rushed in uttering an apology. “Sorry to be late. Tell me y’all didn’t eat yet.” She was wearing pink nursing scrubs and her braided hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She smiled when she saw me.

“You must be Violet.”

“Duh,” Ahmed said.

“I’m your cousin-in-law, Victoria,” she said, gave me a shoulder hug, and hurried to the bathroom to wash up.

Cousin-in-law? I didn’t know there was such a thing.

Bibi, Lorna, and Laura began putting the food out on the buffet table, and I was just standing around. “Do you need me to help, Bibi?” I offered.

“Bibi?” the twins said at the same time.

“Swahili word for ‘grandmother,’” Harris informed them from where he was sitting in the living room, watching Poppy’s favorite station, the Golf Channel.

“Bibi,” Lorna and Laura repeated. “Cute,” they added.

But Ahmed scowled. “Bibi? Why don’t you just call her Grandma or Nana like I used to call my grandma before she died?”

For some reason, probably because everyone was fawning over me, treating me like I’m special, I was beginning to feel like a star. I looked Ahmed square in the face, cocked my head to the side, and replied, “I don’t want to call her Grandma or Nana . . . I wanna call her Bibi.”

Ahmed gave me a snide look. “Doesn’t make any difference to me. You can call my auntie whatever you want.”

My auntie? The way he’d said it made it sound like he owned her.

Creature.

“Time to eat!” Lorna shouted.

In a flash, everyone surrounded the table and joined hands while Bibi recited a short prayer. “Our Father in Heaven, we give thanks for the pleasure of gathering together for this occasion. We give thanks for this food prepared by loving hands. We give thanks for life, the freedom to enjoy it all, and all other blessings. Amen.”

And all of the Diamonds, including me, echoed, “Amen.”

The feast of foods-I’d-never-eaten-before was yummy. And talk around the dinner table was filled up with jokes, stories, and a lot of laughing. None of them acted like they’d just met me—they treated me like they’d always known me. I liked this funny family and the way they made me feel—like I belonged to them.