On the Come Up(102)

Oh, dear God. “Um . . . yeah. Sure.”

“Hey! Dinner ready, and I’m hungry,” Granddaddy calls from downstairs. “So bring y’all asses on!”

“Sit your behind down somewhere and hush!” Grandma says.

“Ah, the sweet sound of dysfunction,” Trey says as he leaves my room. “We’ll have to deal with that all the time now.”

“Lord, help us,” Mom adds, following him out.

I stay back and glance around. Like I said, I have a lot of good memories in this room. But I also woke up here a lot of nights, screaming for my mom not to leave me. See, the one thing good memories and bad memories have in common is that they both stay with you. I guess that’s why I’ve never known how to feel about this place. Or about my mom, even.

And you know what? Maybe that’s okay. Maybe we’ll be okay.

Maybe I’ll be okay.

All six of us sit at the dining room table and pass platters and bowls around. Grandma has gotten all in Kayla’s business while Trey was upstairs and gives us the 411. Kayla is a straight-up saint because she lets her.

“She say she got two brothers. One older and one around your age, Brianna,” Grandma says. “Her momma is a teacher at some private school, and her daddy is an electrician. Senior, I got his card. He can fix that light on the back porch for us.”

“Ain’t no man coming in my house fixing nothing,” Granddaddy says. “I got it.”

Grandma goes, “Mm-hmm. That’s why it’s been flickering forever. Trey, you found a smart girl here. She got a high GPA. Studying marketing and even pursuing a music career on the side.”

“Look at that,” Mom says. “It’s possible to go college and rap.”

I don’t even justify that with a glance.

“It’s hard juggling it all,” Kayla admits. “I work to not only pay my bills but to fund my music projects. I’m independent.”

“An independent woman!” Granddaddy grins as he opens his can of soda. “Go ’head, then!”

“Granddaddy, she means independent music-wise,” says Trey. “Not that she’s not independent overall, but she doesn’t have a record label behind her.”

“Like Junior before he passed—Brianna, put some more greens on your plate!” Grandma snips.

“Oh my God,” I say under my breath. I swear, I’ll never eat enough vegetables to meet this woman’s quota. Besides, as many ham hocks as she’s got in these greens, it’s hard to say they’re vegetables anymore.

“Aww, leave my Li’l Bit alone,” Granddaddy says. He presses his greasy lips against my cheek. “She a carnivore like her granddaddy.”

“No, she stubborn like her granddaddy, that’s all that is,” Grandma says.

“He’s not the only stubborn one,” I mumble.

“Heh-heh-heh!” Granddaddy chuckles and puts his fist out to me. I bump it. “My girl!”

I laugh as he kisses my cheek again. Not long ago, my mom asked me who I am. I’m starting to think I know.

You see, I’m headstrong (and petty) like Grandma.

I’m creative like Granddaddy. If that’s what you can call what he is, but yeah, I’m that.

I speak my mind like Mom. I might be as strong as her, too.

I care so much that it hurts. Like Trey.

I’m like my dad in a lot of ways, even if I’m not him.

And although Kayla isn’t family (yet), maybe she’s a glimpse at who I could be.

If I’m nothing else, I’m them, and they’re me.

That’s more than enough.





Thirty-Four


On Thursday night, Trey chaperones me to the Ring.

Mom asked him to go. She refused to come along herself. She said she might hurt Supreme, and that wouldn’t help me at all. Plus, according to her, “We only need one family member in jail.”

Yeah, I’m going for it. Things may be looking up, but who’s to say they won’t fall apart again? What I look like, giving up this chance?

Trey lets all the windows in his Honda down and blasts “On the Come Up” on high as we roll through the Garden. There’s a chill in the air just like there was when Aunt Pooh took me weeks ago. The combination of the cold and the warmth from Trey’s heater is just as A-1 tonight as it was then.

“‘You can’t stop me, dun-dun-dun-dun,’” Trey tries to rap along. “‘You can’t stop me, nope, nope. Dun-dun-dun-dun, get done up.’”

The rap gene clearly skipped him. Clearly.

Sonny and Malik snicker in the backseat. “Yas, kill it, boo,” Sonny eggs him on. “Kill it!”

“Get it, Trey!” says Malik.

I glare back at them. I swear to God, if they don’t stop encouraging this, I will murder them.

“I got bars, son!” Trey says. “Bars! Deadass.”

Oh my God, since when did he become a New Yorker? I tug my hoodie over my eyes. He’s trying to amp me up, I get that, but this? This is the hottest of hot messes.

It’s totally something Aunt Pooh would do though. Except she’d get the lyrics right.

It’s weird going to the Ring without her. Actually, it’s weird that she’s not around, period. This isn’t like when she’d disappear and I’d worry about where she was. Somehow knowing where she is feels worse. If she were here, she’d tell me to shake it off and keep it moving. That’s what I’m trying to do. That’s what I gotta do if I wanna kill this performance and get this record deal.