The Hate U Give(81)

My slippers scuff against the concrete, sounding like brooms sweeping the floor. Daddy looks around the truck. “There go my baby.”

I hand him and Uncle Carlos a plate and get a kiss to the cheek from Daddy in return. “You sleep okay?” he asks.

“Kinda.”

Uncle Carlos moves his pistol from the space between them and pats the empty spot. “Keep us company for a bit.”

I hop up next to them. We unwrap the plates that have enough biscuits, bacon, and eggs for a few people.

“I think this one’s yours, Maverick,” Uncle Carlos says. “It’s got turkey bacon.”

“Thanks, man,” Daddy says, and they exchange plates.

I shake hot sauce on my eggs and pass Daddy the bottle. Uncle Carlos holds his hand out for it too.

Daddy smirks and passes it down. “I would’ve thought you were too refined for some hot sauce on your eggs.”

“You do realize this is the house I grew up in, right?” He covers his eggs completely in hot sauce, sets the bottle down, and licks his fingers for the sauce that got on them. “Don’t tell Pam I ate all of this though. She’s always on me about watching my sodium.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t tell,” Daddy says. They bump fists to seal the deal.

I woke up on another planet or in an alternate reality. Something. “Y’all cool all of a sudden?”

“We talked,” Daddy says. “It’s all good.”

“Yep,” says Uncle Carlos. “Some things are more important than others.”

I want details, but I won’t get them. If they’re good though, I’m good. And honestly? It’s about damn time.

“Since you and Aunt Pam are here, where’s DeVante?” I ask Uncle Carlos.

“At home for once and not playing video games with your li’l boyfriend.”

“Why does Chris always have to be ‘li’l’ to you?” I ask. “He’s not little.”

“You better be talking about his height,” says Daddy.

“Amen,” Uncle Carlos adds, and they fist-bump again.

So they’ve found common complaining ground—Chris. Figures.

Our street is quiet for the most part this morning. It usually is. The drama always comes from people who don’t live here. Two houses down, Mrs. Lynn and Ms. Carol talk in Mrs. Lynn’s yard. Probably gossiping. Can’t tell either one of them anything if you don’t want it spread around Garden Heights like a cold. Mrs. Pearl works in her flower bed across the street with a little help from Fo’ty Ounce. Everybody calls him that ’cause he always asks for money to buy a “Fo’ty ounce from the licka sto’ real quick.” His rusty shopping cart with all of his belongings is in Mrs. Pearl’s driveway, a big bag of mulch on the bottom of it. Apparently he has a green thumb. He laughs at something Mrs. Pearl says, and people two streets over probably hear that guffaw of his.

“Can’t believe that fool’s alive,” Uncle Carlos says. “Would’ve thought he drank himself to death by now.”

“Who? Fo’ty Ounce?” I ask.

“Yeah! He was around when I was a kid.”

“Nah, he ain’t going nowhere,” says Daddy. “He claims the liquor keeps him alive.”

“Does Mrs. Rooks live around the corner?” Uncle Carlos asks.

“Yep,” I say. “And she still makes the best red velvet cakes you ever had in your life.”

“Wow. I told Pam I have yet to taste a red velvet cake as good as Mrs. Rooks’s. What about um . . .” He snaps his fingers. “The man who fixed cars. Lived at the corner.”

“Mr. Washington,” says Daddy. “Still kicking it and still does better work than any automotive shop around. Got his son helping him too.”

“Li’l John?” Uncle Carlos asks. “The one that played basketball but got on that stuff?”

“Yep,” says Daddy. “He been clean for a minute now.”

“Man.” Uncle Carlos pushes his red eggs around his plate. “I almost miss living here sometimes.”

I watch Fo’ty Ounce help Mrs. Pearl. People around here don’t have much, but they help each other out as best they can. It’s this strange, dysfunctional-as-hell family, but it’s still a family. More than I realized until recently.

“Starr!” Nana calls from the front door. People two streets over probably hear her like they heard Fo’ty Ounce. “Your momma said hurry up. You gotta get ready. Hey, Pearl!”

Mrs. Pearl shields her eyes and looks our way. “Hey, Adele! Haven’t seen you in a while. You all right?”

“Hanging in there, girl. You got that flowerbed looking good! I’m coming by later to get some of that Birds of Paradise.”

“All right.”

“You not gon’ say hey to me, Adele?” Fo’ty Ounce asks. When he talks, it jumbled together like one long word.

“Hell nah, you old fool,” Nana says. The door slams behind her.

Daddy, Uncle Carlos, and I crack up.

The Cedar Grove King Lords trail us in two cars, and Uncle Carlos drives me and my parents. One of his off-duty buddies occupies the passenger’s seat. Nana and Aunt Pam trail us too.

All these people though, and none of them can go in the grand jury room with me.