CHAPTER 10

“Hey, Mama! You home?” Yolanda yelled.

“Yeah, baby! I’m in the kitchen!”

Yolanda walked through her parents’ house, glancing at the destruction her father had caused with his latest remodeling project. She shook her head as she looked at the living room; where once there were walls, now there were only exposed beams.

Her parents lived in Acres Homes, a black neighborhood in northwest Houston. It was the perfect blend of city and country. Roosters crowed in the mornings, and you were never surprised to see a horse beside your car. It was a poor neighborhood, but not poor on values or respect. It was the kind of neighborhood where everyone knew each other and their family history just by giving a street or name.

You Trisha Collins? Old Trisha on West Montgomery Street? Girl, I know you from way back. How’s your mama?

She loved riding up and down the streets remembering how some of them used to be old dirt roads but were now paved, and had street lights and stop signs to boot.

Walking through her parents’ house reminded her of how much things can change yet stay the same. The outside never changed; it was always painted white, with a dark forest green trim. Two massive trees stood close to the chain-link, steel fence that surrounded the house, and her father still hadn’t fixed their cracked up, crooked concrete driveway. Her mother had been dreaming of a carport for years, but her father never got around to it, arguing that in Acres Homes, nobody needs all that excess stuff. But the inside of the house was totally different. Gone was the old brown carpet that she and her sister, Gina, would play on, but gave her mother sneezing fits because of her allergies. It was replaced with mahogany-stained hardwood floors that took her father months to restore. Gone were the space heaters and Frosty, the name Gina gave to their window-unit air conditioner. When her father got the roof replaced two years ago, he got her mother the best gift: central air and heat. Now she could cook all day without sweating her hair out from the heat.

“Hey, Mama,” Yolanda said, walking in the kitchen and planting a kiss on her mother’s round face. Her mother smiled warmly, tucking a wisp of thin brown hair behind her ear. Yolanda wished she could’ve been blessed with her mother’s body. At her age, she was still short and curvy in all the right places. Instead, Gina took after her mother, leaving Yolanda with the beanpole figure that her father had cursed her with.

“Where’s Daddy?”

“In his study,” her mother replied, taking a fresh batch of cookies out of the oven. “Go speak.”

“I don’t feel like it.”

“Girl, get yo behind in there and say hello! What’s wrong with you?”

“Okay,” Yolanda said, dragging herself to her father’s study.

She knocked lightly on the door.

“Come in, baby girl!” he yelled through the thick oak door.

Yolanda walked in.

“Hey Daddy…”

“Oh, shoot. Thought you was Gina. She supposed to be bringin’ the ham. What you want?”

“Nothing, Daddy, just speaking.”

“Well, come over here and give me a cheek.”

Yolanda walked over and pressed her cheek against her father’s, a ritual he started because he thought it was inappropriate to give his daughters kisses. His cheek was rough and scraggly from not shaving.

“So, Six, what you been up to?”

I hate when you call me that.

Yolanda had been given the nickname Six O’Clock at thirteen, when her father had noticed she wasn’t developing into a woman. So he called her Six O’clock, meaning that she was straight up and down like the hands on a watch at six o’clock. She never found it funny, and always told him to stop calling her that. He told her he would stop when she gained weight and filled out like a woman. Neither happened, so the nickname stuck.

“Nothing much, I guess. But at work—”

“Did your sister call you and tell you that the baby, Porsche, is trying to walk?”

“No, she didn’t.”

“That girl is eight months old and so smart. I tell you, Gina’s doing something right. All her kids are gifted.”

“Yeah they are smart.” Smart-mouthed. “Anyway, at my job—”

“Mama, where are you?” Gina screamed in the background, interrupting Yolanda, as always, when she had something important to say.

“Gina, that you?” her father yelled, jumping up from his chair and turning the TV off. For Gina, he would cut the TV off; for Yolanda, he barely made eye contact during the commercials.

“Move out the way, Six,” he said, gently pushing Yolanda aside, away from the door. “Gotta see baby girl.”

Yolanda nodded and watched him walk out, wondering how he could talk about her when he was tall and skinny himself. Well, except for his beer belly. If you took all his features apart—his big ears, bulbous nose, the heavy moustache that hid a mole on his upper lip, and his thick, outdated bifocals, you would think he was unattractive. But he wasn’t. All together, he made a good package and you could see how, back in the day, he was a very handsome man.

Yolanda walked back into the kitchen and watched her father give Gina a big hug. They exchanged cheeks.

“Where those babies?” he asked her, taking a huge pan covered with aluminum foil from Gina’s hands and placing it on the counter.

“Trevor is staying with them. Anita and Devon were fighting again, so they’re on punishment. I couldn’t stay in that house another second; I had to break free.”

“What? Your little angels fighting? I just don’t believe it!” Yolanda said, with a dollop of sarcasm.

Her mother gave her the don’t start look, so Yolanda added, “Seriously, are the kids okay?”

“They’re fine, just missing their Aunt Yolanda,” Gina said, walking over and giving Yolanda a hug.

Yolanda hugged her, feeling a roll of fat on Gina’s stomach. Good, she still hasn’t lost all the baby weight.

Gina’s short hair, which was usually in tight curls, was laid down smoothly and had a sleek side part. Gina was much shorter than Yolanda, being only five feet, four inches tall. Her face was still round from the extra weight she gained during her pregnancy with Porsche, which was her third. For a little while Yolanda had the upper hand, until Gina lost the last ten pounds she needed to lose. Then she was back to the Coke-bottle figure she was known for. Maybe if I popped out a few babies, my boobs would get bigger.

“When are you gonna baby sit again? You know the kids love you.”

Never. When pigs fly…

“Baby, why don’t you take ’’em this weekend? You could take ’em to the zoo like you been promising,” her mother volunteered.

“They would love that!” Gina screeched.

“Yeah, Six, take ’em. You ain’t got no man, so we all know you ain’t got no plans.”

“I can’t this weekend,” Yolanda answered, ignoring her father’s comment.

“Why not?” he asked.

“I have something to do.”

“You got a date or something?” Her father laughed for the longest time, as if Yolanda having a date was the funniest thing on the planet. “Well, is he at least black this time? That other one you brought home a couple of years ago…”

“Arthur, leave the girl alone!” her mother interjected. “You know she’s sensitive about that.”

“No, Mama, it’s okay.” Her heart seized just at the mention of her ex-boyfriend, Russell, but she played it off well, not wanting to rehash old memories.

“See, Cathy, she all right. I just wanna know what Six been up to, that’s all. So come on, girl, spill it. Why can’t you watch the kids this weekend?”

“Can this wait until dinner?”

“No, it can’t…”

“Dad, don’t worry about it. If she has plans…” Gina began.

“Don’t you worry, baby girl, it must be a good reason your sister has for not watching those kids. So what is it, Six?”

“I got a job promotion,” Yolanda blurted.

She wasn’t sure why she lied, but she needed something to put her on even ground with Gina. She didn’t have a man, so she should at least have a promising career.

“Really? To what?” her mother asked excitedly.

“Assistant manager,” Yolanda mumbled.

“What?”

“Assistant manager.”

“You don’t say!” her father said, smiling. “Come give me another cheek, Six!”

Yolanda walked over and gave him another cheek.

“Congratulations, Yolanda! If I had known, I would have baked you a cake,” Gina said.

“Baby girl you always did make the best desserts. Say, Cathy, remember in high school when Gina won that contest? Got a certificate and everything. I sure am proud of you, baby girl, you can bake your butt off! Can’t she cook, Cathy?”

Her mother nodded and looked at Yolanda and mouthed, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Yolanda mouthed back.