If The Shoe Fits
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Jordan wasn’t buying it.
“Here, take this tea,” he said, opening a cup with a milky streak running through it. I took creamer in my tea. Everyone but Jordan had always thought that strange. He’d always laughed at my old habit. He held out the cup and produced two packets of Equal from his pocket, another trend of mine he’d obviously picked up on.
Somehow I turned down the perfect cup of tea. “You have it. I’m fine, thanks.” If drinking black glue was fine, then fine I was. In my anger, I turned down even that small peace offering.
Tad sipped his just-right coffee with a smile, obviously grateful that Jordan had returned to prove him right. Something else—pity or understanding, I wasn’t sure—tinged his eyes.
Jordan took a pack of sugar from his pocket and emptied it into the tea. One stir with his finger and he took a gulp even though it was still steaming. He’d always been crazy like that.
Terri, who’d almost tricked me into thinking she had one sensible brain cell, refused to stay silent. “You didn’t think we were coming back, did you?”
I sighed, surveying the duck wallpaper. What did she want me to say? “No, I didn’t.”
Terri’s face clouded with anger. Her pink exterior shifted black. “You see, J? You see? She’ll never believe anything you say. I don’t know why you try so hard. Your son forgives you. Why don’t you move on so we can move on? It’s like she holds you captive or something.” She reached for Jordan, but he pulled away, taking a sip of my once-perfect tea.
He shook his head at Terri, then took my hand. “I don’t blame you. I haven’t given you any reason to believe in me. But I just thought—I thought that maybe you could.”
Why was I always the villain? “I have forgiven you, Jordan. Some things are just hard to forget.” I looked around the waiting room. Were those ducks the same ones from when my family had waited in this room? Surely not. Maybe they’d bought the stuff in bulk.
Jordan smiled weakly at Tad. “I guess some things don’t change no matter how much you pray.” His wide palm smacked Tad’s shoulder, before Jordan took a few steps and plopped down in front of the television. The NBA finals, of course.
Tad passed Jordan’s weak smile on to me with his own mouth. He scanned my face as if looking for something. Whatever it was, he didn’t find it. I pitied him. I knew the feeling. I wish I could say that Jordan’s pain or Tad’s frustration moved me, but I’d be lying. And Terri? Well, she was doing good to still be standing.
Lord, what does he expect me to say? What do You expect?
Tad walked over to Jordan, ignoring Terri as he sat down. “Give Rochelle more time. And yourself, too. None of this is easy.”
Wow. Tad sounded like some counselor assigned by family court. All he was missing was a comb-over hairdo and a bad suit. It was nice of him to be here, but right now, I needed my friends from my Sassy Sistahood—Jordan’s sister Dana, who was off at a trade show with her new husband and my other dear friend, newly married, quite pregnant and two hours away. How dare my friends have lives of their own? Right now, I’d even take Austin, one of our newest members and someone I hadn’t quite clicked with yet.
I wanted anybody who’d understand how bad I wanted to see my granddaughter, but how scared I was to see her, too. I’d failed at being a parent, made a mess of my own life and now had a pink-clad monster, the local weatherman and a washed-out NBA player to deal with, none of whom had a clue how I really felt. And vice versa. No, for times like these, a girl needs God…and her girlfriends.
“Let’s go back and see about the baby. They said twenty minutes.” It was all I could think of to say. This was supposed to be about the kids, wasn’t it? And the baby? How it turned into some grown folks’ version of baby’s mama drama, I had no clue.
Jordan and Terri walked ahead of us to Shemika’s room, with the former giving Tad the look of an apprentice hoping for his master to fix the situation.
Tad had sense enough not to signal any hope. Instead, he picked up my purse from where I’d almost left it. “Here. You might need this, Grandma.” His smile and his tone were comforting.
I pushed my purse up on my shoulder and stared down at my now war-beaten shoes, shocked at how good they looked despite the stains.
“Thanks.” This let me know that I was totally out of control. My purse was like an extension of my body, always attached.
His gaze rested around my ankles as we started back to the room. “I’m glad you found your shoes. Gotta take care of those—”
“Don’t say it.” I sucked up half the oxygen in Illinois. Didn’t he know not to go there while my illegitimate grandchild was being born? Goodness. My feet had been through enough. My mind, too.
He smiled, the little-boy-with-a-secret grin again. “I won’t say it. I don’t have to.”
The baby, whose cry had filled the room not long before, now rested in a nurse’s arms, swaddled by enough baby blankets to almost double her size. We’d only been allowed a peek at her before, but this time, the nurse motioned for Jordan and me to approach. The little face, cocoa with a splash of milk, looked beautiful to me. A bed of thick curls framed the baby’s face.
Her face.
“A girl, right?” Jordan asked.
“Yes,” my son said, pointing to the card attached to the bed. “Girl. Seven pounds, eight ounces.”
Tad patted my hand as I moved closer to my grandchild and then to my son.
Jericho smiled but didn’t say anything more. Instead, he mopped Shemika’s brow. The furrows in his forehead worried me. Terri chattered on, pulling designer baby clothes from her bag in more shades of pink than I knew existed. I paused, listening to the deadly quiet that had rushed into the room.