Honey Girl(57)

He stares at her for a long moment. He is wary of Grace, wary of the way Meera follows behind her, asking questions about school and life and the universe while they’re between customers. But Grace says please, and he opens his mouth for a slice of cake.

“It’s good,” he mumbles, and she smiles.

“Of course, it is,” she says. “Your mama made it.”

August 26, 2012

“Hey, Mom,” she says. “Just checking in.” She stands outside this little Salvadoran restaurant in the city that sells tres leches cake

“Hey, Porter,” Mom says. There is a bunch of noise behind her. She might be in Scotland this month, or maybe it’s Madrid. “Happy birthday, baby!”

She smiles in the window reflection. “Thanks. Are you busy?”

She can barely hear Mom when she answers. “We’re at a summer festival!” she yells. “It’s way too loud, but I’ll call you when I get back to the room? We’re staying in this quaint little house with—”

The call cuts out.

“Of course,” she sighs. She goes inside. The cake tastes sweet. She eats it alone at a table in the corner.

August 26, 2016

Sharone makes mac and cheese and string beans and fried chicken and a pitcher of margaritas. They sit out on the patio, reclined back and watching the sun go down.

“You’re going to do big things,” she says. “I hope you believe me when I say I see so much life in you, Porter. You make me wanna go back and do it all again. Your father is so proud of you.”

“I was supposed to do medicine,” Grace says quietly. “Not this.”

“So?” Sharone asks. “You ain’t supposed to do anything but stay Black and die. Anything you do beyond that is a feat in itself, you hear me?” She lifts up her glass in a toast, and Grace meets it.

“I hear you,” she says, clinking their glasses together.

The door opens behind them. Colonel leans against the door, still in his uniform, hat in his hand. “What are we celebrating?” he asks, limping out on the patio to perch on the arm of Sharone’s chair.

She gives him a poisoned look. Grace stares down at her lap, into her glass at the little pieces of fruit Sharone squeezed in. She’s starting to feel a little tipsy.

“We’re celebrating,” she hisses, “your daughter’s birthday.” She turns and plasters a smile on her face. “Baby, get that cake out of the fridge. We’ll cut it out here. The bakery messed it up a little, but don’t worry, I gave them a piece of my mind.”

Grace hurries inside. She hears Colonel’s muttered “shit” before the patio doors close behind her. In the fridge, there is a white cake with buttercream frosting. In pink letters on top it says Happy Birthday, Peter.

“Happy birthday, Peter,” she says quietly, swiping a finger through the icing.

August 26, 2018

Grace spends the day in the lab. Her neck and shoulders and back hurt from being hunched over one of their older pieces of equipment. She’s exhausted, but the distraction is nice.

One of the postdocs that added her on Facebook presents her with a small cupcake and a lone candle.

“I have to watch for these results,” Grace tells her. “But thank you.”

“You work too hard,” she says. “Take a break.”

Grace blows out the candle, and some of the icing begins to melt. She doesn’t remember what she wished for, or the name of the girl that gave her the cupcake.

August 26, 2019

“Las Vegas?” Grace asks, staring at the tickets in front of her. “You’re sending me to Las Vegas as a graduation present?”

Colonel clears his throat. He sits stiff in the chair across from her. “It was Sharone’s idea,” he says. “She thought you needed to let loose.”

“She does,” Sharone says. She turns to Grace, grabbing her hands. “You’ve worked so damn hard, Porter, and in a few months, you’ll be done. You deserve to have some fun.”

Colonel clears his throat again, and Grace straightens—muscle memory. “Everything is refundable. I advised her it was highly probable you already have things lined up. You’re in a competitive field, best to get things moving early.”

“I don’t,” she says, backtracking when his face goes blank. “I mean nothing that won’t still be there when we get back.” She holds up the three tickets. “Is it for us three?”

“Girl, what?” Sharone asks. “What grown woman wants to go to Las Vegas with their father and stepmom? And who says I want to go to Vegas with y’all?”

Colonel looks upward for strength. “In other words, no. Take who you want. I assume you’ll make sure they’re responsible and won’t influence you to do anything regrettable.”

“Oh my God,” Sharone says. “She’s never done anything that could even come close to regrettable in her life. Why would she start now?”

They bicker, and Grace goes over the specifics in her head. She can’t take Meera, because the trip is set for March, and she’ll have class. Grace would love for Raj to come, but she knows how much he loves the tea room. He would never want to leave Baba Vihaan to scramble alone with Meera, even for a few days.

That leaves Ximena and Agnes. She knows Ximena will commiserate while they’re forced to Travel While Black, and Agnes won’t let her stay in her head the whole time. What happens in Vegas will be experienced fully, and not sidelined by all the stress of completing her doctorate program. She’ll set foot in Vegas with her mission completed, her success achieved.