When I get home, it’s ten o’clock and Uncle Billy is waiting for me in the kitchen. He’s wearing a neatly pressed button-down shirt tucked into a pair of Wranglers. His hair is neatly braided, and best of all, his eyes gaze at me without the sheen of alcohol.
“I’m ready,” he says.
“Ready for what?” I drop my keys on the counter and walk to the refrigerator.
“For you to take me to Walmart,” he says patiently, as if I’ve forgotten. “We’re going to buy supplies for the yellow corn maiden.”
“Uncle, I never said we’d go tonight.”
“You said you’d take me.”
The last thing I want to do is get back in the truck and drive to Walmart where we’ll spend at least an hour as my uncle wanders around, as distractible as a child, gathering supplies.
“Another night, Uncle.” I peer into the refrigerator without much interest.
Uncle Billy’s finger feels skeletal as he pokes me in the back. “Maybe I should be picking up some black yarn. Maybe I should be making the blue corn maiden.”
I shut the refrigerator door. “What are you talking about?” I search my uncle’s eyes, twin black coins currently sparkling with humor. For a moment, I glimpse my grandfather in his broken, weathered face.
“The professor’s daughter. You were with her.”
“How did you know?”
He smiles. “We were talking at dinner.”
A blush creeps up my neck. “What was everyone saying?”
He blinks innocently. “That you have taken an interest in her.”
An interest? A rush of heat ignites in my body. I kissed her. And it was amazing, but what was I thinking? “We’re friends.”
Uncle Billy laughs. “Friends?” He teases. “Since when do you go riding around for hours with a girl? Just where did you go?”
I look away from his sharp, knowing gaze. He probably wouldn’t like my answer. Wouldn’t think she belonged there. “Since when is this any of your business?” I say it as if I’m teasing. My intention is not to disrespect him.
“This girl,” he persists, “she reminds me of the blue corn maiden.” His face realigns itself from teasing uncle into the composed features of teacher, which, when he’s sober, is his favorite role. Who else will remember if I don’t pass the stories along to you? “Do you remember the story?”
I fold my arms and lean against the edge of the tile counter. “Of course.”
“The blue corn maiden,” he says, completely ignoring me, “was the most beautiful of all the corn maiden daughters and the people loved her because of the delicious blue corn she gave them every year.”
“Uncle, I know this.”
He lifts his brows and gives me an injured look. I resign myself to the retelling— how the blue corn maiden was captured by Winter Katsina and brought to his house and kept there until Summer Katsina found her. A fierce battle between Winter and Summer—fire and ice—ensued, and then the two katsinas realized neither could win and they needed to make peace between themselves. They agreed to share the blue corn maiden, each getting six months of the year with her.
My uncle stops talking, and yet there’s more he wants to tell me—the lesson he wants to make sure I understand, although I’m pretty sure I know where he’s going with this.
“Jalen,” he says, “if you get involved with her, she will divide you in half. It will be your world and her world. You cannot live like that. If you learn nothing from me, learn that.”
Am I not already divided in half by blood? I bite my lip hard not to say this. And yet, if I have to choose, don’t I already know which side I would take? Paige and I were happy today, but would she ever want to live on the Nation? What about her family? How would they feel about me?
“Uncle, with all respect,” I say, “you don’t know what you’re talking about.” But he does, and before he spears me with any other truths I walk out of the kitchen.