Piecing Me Together(9)

Maxine steps forward. I don’t move at all. “Nice to meet you, Jade,” she says.

I cross my arms.

“I’m really sorry about today,” she says. “A ton of stuff happened that was completely out of my control, and I couldn’t make it.” Her cell phone rings. She takes it out, pushes a button, and puts it back into her purse.

“It’s okay,” I tell her. It’s not, but what else am I supposed to say?

“Can I, ah, do you mind if I come in?” she asks.

I guard the door. “My uncle’s watching TV.”

“Oh.”

“But, um, well, hold on.” I close the door, leaving her on the porch. “E.J., my mentor is here. Can you go to my room for a sec?”

He looks out the window. “She is fiiiine. She looks— Wait. I know her.”

“You do not know her.”

“How you gonna tell me who I know?” E.J. says. “I was just talking to my boy Jon about her today.”

“E.J., will you please go to my room?”

He finally gets up. I pull the sheets off the sofa and toss them into his closet. I run to the bathroom and grab the can of air freshener and just about empty it, spraying the hallway and living room. E.J. starts coughing. “Is it that serious?” he yells.

I pick up his sneakers. “Yes. It is. Have you smelled these?” I throw his shoes into the closet too. And then I turn the lights out. I flick the lamp on instead, hoping the darkness will hide how sad the house is.

“You owe me,” he says. He walks down the hallway.

I open the door. “Come in,” I say. “Sorry to make you wait.”

“I just wanted to meet you and give you this.” She hands me a gift bag.

Is she trying to buy my forgiveness? I think about giving the gift back to her without even opening it, but then I stop being rude and remember how upset I was earlier today, how I wanted to meet her, and how now that I have what I want, I need to appreciate it.

I open the bag, taking the tissue paper out and neatly folding it before I dig in. It’s so fancy, I don’t want to mess it up. I look inside the bag. “Whoa, look at all this stuff!” I fan through the different colors of paper—some prints, some solid. Then I pull out the oil pastels and the sketchbook. “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome,” Maxine says. She lets out a sigh. We’re probably thinking the same thing: all is forgiven.

“I thought you could add it to your collage materials. Hope it’s useful,” Maxine says.

“I love it.”

“So tell me what kind of art you make,” Maxine says.

“Well, I like to take things that people don’t usually find beautiful and make them beautiful. Like, blocks here in the Villa, or sometimes people in my neighborhood. I don’t know. I get ideas from everywhere.”

“Can I see some of your artwork?”

I walk over to my bookshelf, take my sketchbook, and hand it to her. “These are only small collages. I like to make bigger ones, on canvas. But sometimes, when there’s no space, I just make stuff in this,” I tell her.

Maxine looks through my book. “Wow, Jade. You’re, like, a real artist. I mean—this isn’t kid art. You are for real.” She flips through the book and stops at the page of Lee Lee. Part of the collage is old photos from when we were in elementary school. In the image, Lee Lee is standing, her hands on her hips, wearing that serious look she always has. The one that says, I can handle anything. Nothing’s going to stop me. I made the collage the day after her grandmother was buried. I took different scraps of fabric from her grandmother’s old handkerchiefs and ripped up an extra copy I had of the funeral program to make the background. “This is really, really lovely, Jade.”

“Thank you.”

“I have to tell my sister, Mia, about you. She’s an artist and she owns a gallery on Jackson Avenue. You two have to meet.” Maxine’s cell phone rings again, and she ignores it. Then, seconds later, it rings once more. She takes her phone out and looks at the screen to see who’s calling.

“You can answer it,” I say. “Must be important.”

“Sorry. Give me a minute.” Maxine answers her phone. “Jon?” she says.

So E.J. was right?

She pauses for a long time, and even though I can’t hear what’s being said, I know it isn’t good. I can tell by her eyes. “I can’t talk about this right now, okay? I’m at my mentee’s house.”

Mentee. I don’t like that word. I just want to be Jade.

I try to act like I’m not listening, which is hard to do because the living room is small. I put everything back into the gift bag, even the tissue paper, and put it on my bookshelf. The whole time I’m thinking how I pictured Maxine would be a woman with strict eyes and a voice that says she doesn’t play around. But instead Maxine’s eyes look nervous and gentle. Like she’s new to this.

But her voice.

Her voice is not mean, but it is rich. Sounds like those St. Francis girls. The way she hangs up the phone from Jon and asks, “Mind if I sit here?” like she has a problem sitting on the sofa, like she wishes there was something else to sit on. I mean, yes, it’s low. So low you have to rock yourself a few times to build momentum to get up, but it’s not dirty.