like the paper had been dropped in a puddle. Tati opened the letter and the rst lines, written in Nadia’s own hand, jumped at her. H o w d o y o u c a r r y a c h i l d i n f e a r ? S t e p 1 . I t s t a r t s w i t h h i m n o t b e i n g h e r e “T ATI, HURRY UP !” N ADIA YELLED through the heating vent in the basement. “It don’t take that long to nd them damn rollers. They right there.” Tati folded the paper, shoved it in her pocket, and ran back to the basement. “It’s about time,” Nadia said as Tati handed over the rollers. She didn’t respond. On the futon, across from Nadia and Mrs. Loretha, Tati placed the note inside her magazine and read to the end. H o w d o y o u c a r r y a c h i l d i n f e a r ? S t e p 1 . I t s t a r t s w i t h h i m n o t b e i n g h e r e S t e p 2 . F o r g e t t h e f a i r y t a l e s S t e p 3 . R e m e m b e r t h e l i e s I ’ m g o i n g t o l e a v e m y w i f e . I d o n ’ t w a n t t o l i v e m y l i f e w i t h o u t y o u . S t e p 4 . R e p l a y t h e r e a c t i o n w h e n y o u t o l d h i m t h e n e w s W h a t t h e h e l l y o u w a n t m e t o d o ? Y o u k n o w , I a l r e a d y g o t a b a l l a n d t h r e e c h a i n s ! S t e p 5 . S i n g t o y o u r s e l f , “ I s m y l i v i n g i n v a i n ? ” S t e p 6 . P r a y S t e p 7 . B r e a k t h e n e w s t o m a m a S t e p 8 . G o t o c h u r c h w i t h h e r S t e p 9 . B e m o r t i fi e d b y h e r t e s t i m o n y fi l l e d w i t h y o u r s h a m e S t e p 1 0 . E x p l o r e A L L o p t i o n s K e e p i t ? A d o p t i o n ? A b o r t i o n ? S t e p 1 1 . M a k e a d e c i s i o n S t e p 1 2 . D o u b t d e c i s i o n
S t e p 1 3 . R e p e a t s t e p s 1 0 , 1 1 & 1 2 u n t i l y o u ’ r e t h r e e m o n t h s o u t f r o m y o u r d u e d a t e S t e p 1 4 . R e a l i ze i t ’ s t o o l a t e S t e p 1 5 . T r y t o t e l l h i m a g a i n S t e p 1 6 . F i n d o u t h e ’ s m o v e d S t e p 1 7 . M a k e a p l a n S t e p 1 8 . D o u b t t h e p l a n S t e p 1 9 . C r y u n c o n t r o l l a b l y , i n c o n s o l a b l y u n t i l y o u ’ r e o u t o f t e a r s S t e p 2 0 . R e m e m b e r S t e p 1 , H e ’ s n o t h e r e T ATI KNEW THE NOTE WAS about Roman. Looking over the top of the magazine, Tati stared at Nadia as she clipped Mrs. Loretha’s ends. They talked about movies. What was better between T h e W o o d and T h e B e s t M a n . Nadia wasn’t particular about either, only that she couldn’t stand Morris Chestnut’s hypocritical character Lance. “That’s men.” Mrs. Loretha chuckled. Her butter-rich voice was full with an inside joke that was as good to her as scratch-made pound cake. “You can’t understand their madness. You just gotta love ’em through it.” “Guess that’s why I ain’t never been in love.” Tati raised the magazine as the women went through plot points of both lms, loud-talking over the new Mary CD. She read the note again. The handwriting was rushed, in splotchy blue ink, as if the pen had burst from writing too hard, too fast. The words w i f e , a b o r t i o n , and a d o p t i o n levitated from the page. Tati read it again, each st ep a new revelation. S t e p 1 6 . F i n d o u t h e ’ s m o v e d . Tati read the line over and over. Anger rose with each word. S h e ’ s k n o w n w h e r e h e i s t h i s w h o l e t i m e , she thought to herself. Tati closed the letter in the magazine. For most of her life she’d wondered about Roman. His whereabouts. A question to which Nadia would only answer, “Not here.” When Tati asked, “Do you know where he is?” Nadia said, “No.” Tati had always thought it was a lie, but to con rm it hurt worse. The di erence between knowing the truth and
assuming the truth was slight but mattered. With an assumption there was chance for error. The possibility of being wrong. Tati had always wanted to be wrong. She looked at Nadia, who wore her smock over black leggings, and a Whitney Houston in T h e B o d y g u a r d T-shirt. Her hair was dyed so jet black it shined blue. She had it secured in a low ponytail, having nally let her French roll go only a year before. Tati searched Nadia’s face for answers as she put end papers and rollers to graying hair. Her blank gaze was gone. Her eyes were engaged, intense, in the conversation with Mrs. Loretha. W h a t h a p p e n e d ? W h e r e i s R o m a n ? Tati wanted to know the real story and not the twenty-st ep guide Nadia had written to help her cope. She rolled up the magazine and stood from the futon. “I’ll be back,” Tati said. “Where you going?” Nadia asked. “To see that boy?” “Xay and I broke up before we even left for school.” “I bet you still wanna see him, though. Y’all was together all four years of high school.” Tati hu ed. “I’m going to see Desi.” “You know they moved.” “I know.” Tati rolled her eyes and shook her head as she grabbed her coat, scarf, and purse and headed for the bus stop. T HE SMELL OF FOOD HIT Tati as soon as she st epped out of the eighth- oor elevator. Cinnamon and nutmeg were in the air for either candied yams, sweet potato pie, or both. Tati knocked against the Christmas music playing loudly from the other side of the door. The full falsetto from the Temptations’ “Silent Night” blared out once it swung open wide. Desirée’s father opened the door holding a drink in one hand and the knob with the other. He was light-skinned and curly-haired like the timeless R&B icons of the ’80 s, his thin, rimless glasses sitting square on his face the only tell of his older age. “Hey, Mr. Cortez. I’m Tatiana, Desirée’s friend.”
“I know who you are,” he said forcefully. “C’mon in.” He closed the door and yelled for Desirée. She and Toya burst into the combination living and dining room and smothered her in hugs. “Tati, whatchu doin’ here today?” Toya asked. “Yeah, girl, I thought you were coming tomorrow?” Desirée added. “I thought I’d surprise y’all today. I hope you don’t mind.” “Not at all, Tati,” Toya said. “You’re family.” “Thanks,” Tati said hesitantly. “We’re pr epping in the kitchen for tomorrow, I’ll leave you and Desi to it.” “Mama, you mean y o u ’ r e pr epping,” Desirée jabbed. “Daddy, you know you can’t cook.” Tati smiled at the singsong voice Desirée used to taunt her father. She’d only ever heard her cousin Alexis use the tone with her uncle Terry. She thought it must’ve been something particular daughters did with fathers. Though Tati didn’t know much about Mr. Cortez. She hadn’t met him until she and Desirée graduated high school, but he teased her like he’d been in her life all along and not just during spring and summer break. “Girl, I’ve been cooking longer than you’ve been on this earth.” He grinned. “Ordering takeout,” Toya said. Desirée rolled her eyes, grabbed Tati by the hand, and pulled her into her bedroom. Its stark white walls were plastered with photographs. Four-by-six- inch photos, in cheap ve-by-seven-inch black frames with white paper matting. Desirée’s walls were a shrine to her young life. There were pictures in the park, at school, in the hall, in class, and some Tati didn’t recognize. They were recent, many snapped downtown, where Desirée attended the Art Institute. A last- minute decision she’d made after her parents reconnected and started dating again, even though she’d gotten into Savannah College of Art and Design. “What I’m leavin’ home for?” Desirée had asked seriously when she looked over all her acc eptances. It was a question Tati couldn’t answer. Desirée had good memories and more to make. She was living her dream, photographing city life and trying to intern at E b o n y , J e t , or one of the papers. “Where’s your brother?” Tati asked, looking at the photos.
“With his dad.” “So, your mom and dad are really back together, huh?” “Yeah. It’s been nice. And we nally moved out of Englewood, so that’s de nitely a plus.” Desirée gestured around her bedroom, which was twice the size of the one she’d had when she and Toya lived on the second oor of a two- at on Sixty-Fifth and Green. “I wish I could say the same,” Tati muttered. “Whatchu mean?” Desirée asked. “I’ll show you.” Tati shed Nadia’s note out of her bag and handed it to Desirée to read while Tati unraveled from her winter wear. “Damn!” Desirée yelped from the rst line. She pulled the paper back and looked at Tati before she continued reading, her excited utterances p eppered throughout. “Oh, shit.” “Well, damn.” “Oh, shit!” “Gaaaaaahttttttdamn!” she said in nal exclamation, dragging out the syllables. She folded the paper and handed it back to Tati. “I guess that’s where you got the writing from.” “Doubt it.” Tati lay back on Desirée’s bed. “I ain’t never found nothing else she wrote.” “Seeing as how that’s the rst thing you found, you don’t know what else your mama got. When’d you nd it, anyway?” “A couple hours ago.” “Oh.” Side by side, Desirée and Tati stared at the popcorn ceiling and fan. Tati couldn’t help but wonder even more about Roman. Roman and Nadia together. What they were. When they weren’t. Who’d been the rst to realize they couldn’t. “You think they know?” Tati asked, sitting up on the bed. “They who?” “Your parents?”
“Know about what?” “About my mama and Roman?” Desirée sat up on the bed. The weight of what Tati asked was wedged between them. They’d grown up as close as sisters, though their mothers were barely friends. They only really spoke when it was about their girls. Sure, they’d make plans to get together, but they were never k ept. And Tati and Desi both had been witnesses to the half smiles and rolled eyes Nadia and Toya traded. “It can’t hurt to ask,” Desirée suggested. Tati waited until Desirée stood rst. She knew Nadia’s note was re and what she wanted to ask was liable to burn everyone connected to it. When Desirée opened the door and headed to nd her parents, Tati followed behind her, resolved to get the answers she’d always wanted. In the kitchen, Desirée’s parents waltzed around each other like two partners anticipating each other’s moves. They passed pots and pans, and placed platters of pr epped food in the refrigerator nearly wordlessly. Both in sweatpants, they looked like a young couple, so in love they’d begun to dress alike. “Y’all are just in time to do these dishes,” Toya said when she noticed Tati and Desirée. “Ugh, of course we are,” Desirée said. She moved to the sink on the far wall of the kitchen and began running water. Tati stood beside her. She said, “Why don’t I wash and you dry, since I don’t know where anything goes in here.” “Fine with me,” Desirée said, switching places. With her back to everyone and her hands plunged into hot water Tati washed the few forks and cups in the sink before moving on to the dirty pots. Desirée bumped her elbow and shot her side glances, but it did nothing to encourage Tati to ask the question she’d long wanted the answer to. How could she even bring herself to form the words? It wasn’t anyone’s responsibility but Nadia’s, and Nadia had made it clear she didn’t want Tati to know. And what if Desirée’s parents did know? What if they told her what they knew? What would she do then? Knowing instead of just assuming like she’d done all these years, these last few hours. “Tati has something she wants to ask you,” Desirée blurted.
“Really, Desi!” Tati shrieked. “Yes, really, because I wanna know too.” “Know what?” Toya asked. Tati turned around and dried her hands against her jeans. She looked from Toya to Mr. Cortez. He leaned forward against the granite counter. She leaned back against the refrigerator. They were comfortable in either their oblivion or their lie. T o o c o m f o r t a b l e , Tati thought. She exhaled. “Do you know where Roman is?” “Roman!” Toya exclaimed. “Yeah. My father.” “Tati, I...” Toya started and stopped herself three more times before she gave up trying to form words and hung her head. “He’s in Indianapolis.” “Lou!” Toya exclaimed again. “It’s time she knows. I mean, for God’s sake, she looks just like him.” “Now you wanna say something,” Toya accused. “She needs to talk to Nadia.” “For what?” Tati asked. “It ain’t like she gon’ tell me anything. I might as well nd out about Roman from y’all.” “Roman and I go way back.” Lou turned and began making himself a drink from the egg nog in the refrigerator. “Me and Toya and your mom and dad used to kick it real heavy back in the day.” “Really?!” Desirée and Tati exclaimed. “Really,” Lou answered as he poured. “Then what happened that y’all can’t stand each other now?” Tati asked. “We don’t see eye to eye on some things,” Toya answered. “Those things have to do with me and Roman.” “You need to talk to Nadia, Tati. We don’t agree. And we’re not as close as we used to be, but—” “But you’re still ke eping her secrets for her,” Tati nished. “The same way you would for Desi even if y’all fell out,” Toya said. “You know I’ve been lookin’ for him all this time and you’ve never said a thing.”
“Wasn’t for me to tell.” “Desi, did you know too?” “No! I’m just nding this shit out right here with you.” “Watch your mouth in my house!” “What happened?” Tati asked. “Between my mom and Roman?” “He was—” Toya held her arm in front of Lou. “Talk. To. Nadia.” “I already know he was married,” Tati said. “Then you know why he’s not around.” Tati’s eyes widened at Toya’s response. It sounded so much like Nadia. Too much for her to acc ept. She screamed, “I don’t know shit but the lies y’all tell me. Y’all may not be friends no more but y’all just alike. Always ‘Do what I say, not what I do.’ Fuck y’all. You and my mama.” “Tati,” Desirée pleaded as she stormed out of the kitchen and back to the bedroom. Tati shoved herself into her coat and scarf and snatched up her purse as tears fell from her eyes. She couldn’t help it. She’d been holding back the stings for years. She’d been holding out hope for the truth for just as long, and yet every adult in her life was lying dead to her face. Toya. Nadia. Mimi. “Tati, what are you doing?” Desirée asked, coming into the bedroom. “I’m going home. This is some bullshit. You know they lying.” “I know, but what can you do about it?” “Fuck them,” Tati raged. “I’ll nd him my damn self.” “How?” Desirée yelled as Tati burst through the door. “I don’t know, but it’s time to shake shit up.” “Okay, Tati, but there’s a di erence between shaking shit up and burning shit down,” Toya said, meeting Tati and Desirée at the condo door. “The fuck you know?” Tati yelled, incredulous. “You don’t want to tell me anything, but you don’t want me to nd out on my own. You ke ep telling me to ask my mom, and you know she ain’t gon’ say shit. So tell me, Miss Grant, what do you want me to do?” “Tati, stop cursing.” “Get the fuck outta here.”
“I know you’re mad, but cussing everybody out ain’t gon’ make you feel no better.” “And you think lying to me does?” Toya didn’t have an answer. The answers she did have, she couldn’t give. She’d lied to Tati for Nadia, just like she and Lou had lied to Nadia for Roman. She’d lied for so long she didn’t know what to do with the truth. “That’s what I thought,” Tati said as she swung the door open. It closed heavy behind her just as Desirée managed to eke out, “Happy Thanksgiving.” It wouldn’t be a happy one if Tati had anything to do with it. She stomped back to the bus stop, ignoring the grown men who looked her way every time she passed. They had been giving her looks and licking their lips and tongues at her since she was twelve and ran laps around Jesse Owens Park to improve her track times. They were always there. A part of every neighborhood. The d a m n , g i r l , y o u fi n e men. The c a n I r u n w i t c h u ? men. And eventually, the f u c k y o u , t h e n , b i t c h men when she didn’t respond to their advances. She didn’t care if they cursed her today as she tried to understand Lou’s willingness against Toya’s refusal to answer her questions. She couldn’t be sure—all she had were more half-formed assumptions—b ut Tati believed whatever it was had fucked them all up. Her and Desirée. Toya and Lou. Nadia and Roman. By the time Tati returned home, her tears had dried. She went down to the basement, ready to listen if Nadia was ready to talk. On the futon she watched Nadia swe ep and sing “Your Child” along with Mary. She bobbed her head, rolled her neck, stamped her feet, and added her own emphasis to parts where Mary had none. Nadia even jabbed the air with two ngers like she was mu ng a man in the middle of his forehead. Roman, Tati suspected. She wondered what he looked like through her mother’s eyes. Which moments in their relationship did she revisit over and over? The beginning, the end, or somewhere in the middle? As Tati watched Nadia, her face smooth, clear, and contorted in pain, she realized the nearly two-decade-old a air was as raw as it was when she wrote the letter. That her mood, calm yet angry, was always simmering just beneath the surface. A tectonic plate on an active fault line, ready to rub Earth the wrong way.
“Jesus, Tati!” Nadia yelped as she brushed up against her feet. “How long you been sittin’ there?” “Since the song came on.” Nadia crossed over to the stereo and turned the volume down. “You must think I’m crazy,” she mumbled. “No, I don’t think you’re crazy,” Tati said softly. “Just makes me wonder—” “Wonder what?” Nadia’s defenses emerged like lawn sprinklers out of the ground with just the in ection of her voice. A warning to tread light. Tati anked her suspicion. Asked instead whether Nadia had ever been in love before. The question gave her pause. “I heard you and Mrs. Loretha talking earlier,” Tati explained. Nadia nodded. She understood the curiosity. It was in the basement, when her music was on, and her hands were in a client’s head as they talked about life, experiences, movies, music, celebrities, and whatever may have been on TV, that she spoke freely. Unguarded and un ltered, her conversations with customers were propulsive. Fed by honesty, no matter if it was joyful or bitter, sweet or sour. The salon was sanctuary and safe space for wearied women who would always look their best, no matter if they were at their worst. “Can’t say that I have,” Nadia said. “Not even with my—” The cold look that crossed Nadia’s face silenced Tati. Her eyes sliced the boldness right out of her body. Nadia exhaled through her nose but didn’t speak. Instead, she bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. They were in new terrain. Nadia exhaled again and released her cheek from between her teeth. “Like I said,” she began again, “can’t say that I have.” Tati nodded her acc eptance and lounged back on the futon. “How was everything by Desi and Toya?” Nadia asked. “Fine,” Tati answered curtly. “They were just getting ready for tomorrow.” “You going back over there?” “Nah. I think I’ll spend the day with family.” She grabbed her purse, pulled out her magazine, and opened to the page with the note. Tati read the words as she simmered in the truth Nadia wouldn’t give
her. She didn’t know whether to marvel at her mother’s self-control or pity the tight grip that let nothing she didn’t want out es cape. Nadia was gas in a jar, unstable, potent, and invisible. Tati the match. T i m e t o s h a k e s h i t u p , Tati thought, not knowing that cornering Nadia into answering her questions was to make her relive what she never wanted to remember.
O c to b e r 1 9 8 0 The sound of the dial tone hollowed Nadia in half. There were no more numbers to dial. No one else left to tell exc ept the family she’d been avoiding. She couldn’t tiptoe around Gladys any longer. She placed Toya’s phone back in the cradle, walked into the living room, and packed a bag. “Where are you going?” Toya asked. “Home,” Nadia answered. “You know you can stay here as long as you like.” Nadia lifted her head. She choked back tears. Her face a dissertation of bad decisions, she patted the stings at the corner of her eyes, shook her head no. “I can’t,” she said. “Why not?” Nadia held her bag so tight her knuckles turned colors. Eyes hardened and glazed over like acrylic on nails, she said, “Honestly, staying here with you... It’ll just remind me of how I got myself into this situation in the rst place.” “What?” Toya asked, her voice tinged with hurt. “I met Roman because of you and Lou.” “Wait,” Toya said, cocking one hand on her hip. “You blame u s ... for what happened between you and Roman?” “Who else is there to blame?” “You can’t be serious,” she said. “When we introduced you to Roman, all we said was talk to him. Ain’t nobody said fuck him. You did that dumb shit all on your own, knowing he was married, so try again, sis.” “Like I said, I’m going home.” Toya nodded. “Maybe you should.”