Bet on It (9)

Chapter 4


Aja tried not to spend too much time overthinking how her best friend, her only true friend in the world, really, was ten years older than her and her sister-in-law. Upon further contemplation, maybe it was less weird and more just sad as hell. But it was what she had. Most of the time she was grateful—until Reniece got into one of her moods and decided to treat Aja like the younger sibling she often forgot she was.

“You need to make sure you’re greasing that scalp regularly. And don’t forget to moisturize them with some leave-in either.” Reniece’s hazel eyes were scrutinous even through the slightly fuzzy FaceTime feed.

“Believe it or not, this isn’t the first time I’ve had braids, Niecy, I know what to do.”

Aja had her phone propped up against a bag of rice in the kitchen while she snapped fresh green beans into thirds. She had no idea what was going on in Reniece’s house, but her nephew’s high-pitched voice was in the background, joyful as you please. It put a smile on her face.

“Uh-uh,” her sister-in-law snorted. “The last time you got some they lasted for all of a week before you were in my kitchen begging me to take them out for you.”

“They were too tight,” Aja argued. “The lady I went to had my edges in a death grip. If I hadn’t gotten them out when I did, who knows where I’d be right now. Probably involuntarily bald. Which is why I don’t need you holding that situation over my head.”

Reniece hummed, pursing her lips like she had something shady to say but was trying to keep it in.

“Anyway,” Aja continued. “Is there something you wanted to talk about? I need to get this food prepped before bingo tonight.”

The other woman paused, and Aja looked up from her green beans to see Reniece’s mouth screwed up in a different way. Whatever she wanted to say next wasn’t shady, it was concerned. Aja’s stomach knotted. She preferred, by far, good-natured jabs to delicately asked questions about her shaky well-being.

“I was just wondering if you made it out to that mixer you were thinking about going to.”

The First Church of Zion in downtown Greenbelt had been advertising their Black Women Rising mixer for months. She’d seen posters around town and had heard people speak about it in passing. She had even been approached in the Piggly Wiggly by a church leader who had given her a welcoming smile and a flyer. Aja didn’t consider herself to be religious by any means, but she’d really wanted to go.

The only people she knew in town were either from the few businesses she frequented or some of the older ladies at bingo. She was well versed in how rewarding friendships with older women could be, sure. But there were disparities that made most of the decades older and much, much whiter crowd less than desirable for the kind of companionship she was looking for. She wanted to make friends—real friends. It seemed like such a simple thing on paper but had proved to be almost maddening in its difficulty.

After running into Walker on Friday, having a great experience at the new salon, and trying Minnie’s cobbler, she’d been determined to carry her good mood to the event on Sunday evening. But when the actual day had rolled around, she’d been a tight ball of nervous energy.

She worried about the possibility of wearing the wrong type of clothes and standing out. She worried about whether she had anything worthwhile to say to the other women. She even worried about the minute possibility of being asked to lead a prayer circle. Aja wondered how she could attend an event like that when most of the time she didn’t feel like she was a Black Woman Rising. She felt like she was falling into an ocean of fear and doubt, the water unyielding as it surrounded her up to her ears.

So she hadn’t gone. She’d made a pizza instead. Spent hours distracting herself with a homemade dough and topped it with the things she loved most. Then, after she was full, she did a little work. Her job as a remote social media manager for a medium-sized millennial-focused clothing company meant there was practically always something to be done, even when she was off the clock. Once she couldn’t spend any more time drafting corporate tweets, she fell asleep on her couch with some awful action movie playing. When she woke up on Monday, her anxiety had dampened down, but in its place was shame. A shame that hadn’t subsided enough to not make her want to throw up when Reniece broached the subject.

“No, I didn’t end up making it.”

There was silence, and Aja was too afraid of what she’d see on the screen if she looked up, so she kept her eyes on the green beans.

“Well, that’s all right. You know Black churches love to throw an event, so there’ll be plenty more,” Reniece joked. “In the meantime, you’ve got me.”

“Don’t remind me.” Aja tried to blink back the tears in her eyes.

“Keep playin’ with me, little girl. I’m about to send your darling little nephew out there for the summer and see how appreciative you are of me once I pick his little bad ass up.”

“Justin is not bad! Leave that baby alone!”

Reniece growled. “He’s six, and he’s a menace. Yesterday he damn near threw a fit when we didn’t let him ride his bike off the roof of my car onto the driveway. He’s still got training wheels, Aja!”

“Oh, he gets that from his daddy,” Aja laughed. “Tyson was obsessed with Jackass when he was younger. It got to the point where Mama banned him from ever watching those ‘goofy-ass white boys’ in her house.”