Pride(42)

“I’m sorry. Did you say your hood? So it is a little—how do I say—underdeveloped? Darius, I told your father to wait a few years, at least until Georgia is in college, to buy a house over there. You don’t fit in. None of you do. Your parents did not raise you that way. I’m sure it’s a culture clash for you, Darius. But my ambitious son wants to be a real-estate pioneer. I can’t believe he’s putting my dear grandchildren through all of that.”

I pay attention to how she holds her fork with her pinky up, how she sips her wine, how she pats the side of her lips with the white napkin, and even how she looks down her nose at me.

I glance at Darius, who is shaking his head a little. He’s not looking up at me at all. He doesn’t say a word to come to my defense. And Georgia is too busy with her lobster to get a word in. So, like the girl from the hood that I am, I stick up for myself. “Bushwick is a very nice place to grow up, Mrs. Darcy. We have block parties, we hang out on stoops together, and we look out for each other. And Georgia? Me and my sisters will look out for you when you come. Just like I look out for Darius now.”

With that, he finally looks up, and I squint my eyes at him.

“Oh?” Mrs. Darcy says, and laughs a little while putting her fork down. “Is that why he brought you here? So you could look out for him?”

“Grandma!” Darius says.

Mrs. Darcy turns her whole body to Darius now and asks, “How did Carrie get home? I thought you two were hanging out in D.C. today. I was expecting her, and this is what you bring to my door instead?”

“Excuse you?” I say. “Mrs. Darcy, I didn’t ask to come here. I’m supposed to be on a bus heading home right now. But your grandson invited me. So I will gladly invite myself out. Now, can someone please get me a cab?”

I stand from my seat, grab my bag from the floor, and start to make my way out of that kitchen.

“Oh, you will not talk to me like that in my own home, young lady,” Mrs. Darcy says.

“And you will not to talk to me like that to my face.”

“Grandma!” Darius says through clenched teeth. And that’s all he says.

But I don’t pay him any mind. I keep walking toward the living room, even as he comes chasing after me.

“I’m sorry, Zuri,” he says. “Let me grab my things.”

I open the front door and wait outside. I keep my arms crossed as my breaths get shorter, my heart races, and I feel like running back in there to curse that woman out one last time.

Georgia comes outside, and I look away from her.

“I’m sorry about that, Zuri.”

“You’re cool, Georgia, but your family is bougie as hell,” I say.

“Please don’t judge my family like that,” another voice says. I turn toward the doorway to see Darius holding a small leather suitcase. “You wouldn’t want me to call your whole family ghetto, now would you?”

Georgia’s mouth falls open. Darius and I just stare at each other for a long second until his grandmother comes prancing to the door. That’s my cue to keep walking away from that house.

“Darius, honey? It’s getting dark. You should stay over and go home in the morning.”

“I have to take Zuri home,” he says.

“Well, you can take her back to Howard,” she continues.

“I’ll call you when I’m on the road, Grandma.”

Darius comes around to the passenger side of the car to open the door for me.

“This whole thing was a mistake,” I say as Darius gets into the car. “Please take me back to the bus station. And listen to your grandmother. You shouldn’t drive all the way back to New York in the dark.”

“I’ve done it before. And you shouldn’t be on the bus by yourself.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Okay.”

That’s when I text my parents and finally tell them that I’ll be catching a later bus home. Their responses are going to come flying through my phone, so I tuck it into my bag. I don’t want to have to explain one more thing to them right now.

Darius starts the car as his grandmother stands in front of her house with her arms crossed. Georgia is waving to me frantically. I wave back.

“Your sister is cute,” I say, just to let him know that there’s at least one person in his family I like.

“Yeah, a little too cute and a little too naive,” Darius says. He backs out of the driveway and has to put his arm around my seat and turn his body toward me to do so.

He leans in a little bit too much, and part of me thinks it’s on purpose. When he’s out of the driveway, he says, “Oh, sorry.” Then he sighs as he drives away from his grandmother’s house. “Thank you,” he says.

“For what?” I say.

“For calling out my grandmother on her bullshit.”

“I didn’t mean to disrespect her, it’s just that . . .”

“I know. You held your own.”

I don’t say anything to that. I just sit back in my seat, letting this strange day wrap around me like new clothes. It’s familiar, but different, and makes me feel brand-new.





Eighteen


“WHAT DO YOU like to listen to?” Darius finally asks after ten minutes of driving in silence down a highway. “You said you’d deejay, remember?”