It’s nice to meet you.”
I smiled. “It’s nice to meet you. Your son said he had something to show me, so I came over.”
“Oh, that’s okay. We’re happy to have you over.”
Wolf tugged at my arm. “Come, come, come,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” I told his mother. “Your son wants me to follow him.”
She laughed. “That one, that’s the way he is. He’s so insistent when he wants something. You let him show you what he wants to.”
“Thank you,” I said. Then I allowed Wolf to pull me into the kitchen.
“Look at this,” he said, and placed a large sheet of cardboard on the counter. “Look what I made.”
It was a mosaic of a house on a hill. “Oh, this is nice, Wolf,” I said.
He beamed with pride.
I took a closer look. “You made the image out of little colored paper triangles.”
“Yes,” he nodded. “I got the idea while reading about how 3D images are rendered on computers, and I thought it would be nice to try something like it with the mosaic.”
The mosaic had a blue sky, an orange sun, and white clouds over the house. The house itself was made out of rust-red triangles, and beside the house stood two stick figures holding hands.
“Who are they?” I asked.
“I don’t know. There was this old white lady who visited our class one day. And she had a similar mosaic with her that she showed to the class, and there were two people in it. So I made two people.”
“Oh, okay. Who was the old lady?”
“Her name was Lavinia. She was an artist.”
“That’s a lovely name.”
“She died a few months after visiting us.”
“Oh, that’s too bad.”
“‘So it goes,’” he said with a giggle.
I saw the joke and laughed along.
“What’s so funny?” asked Junior, stepping into the kitchen.
“Nothing,” Wolf said. He picked up his mosaic and held it to his chest. “It’s between just me and Desire.”
Junior chuckled as he reached into the fridge and picked a bottle of water. “Okay, young man. Nobody bore.”
“Go back and dance like a little girl,” grumbled Wolf.
Junior and I laughed and caught each other’s eye. “You can waltz, I see,” I said to him.
“I’m now learning,” he replied.
“Okay.”
“The classes are every weekend. They teach the waltz, the tango, salsa, and even the jive. We could go together if you want.”
He was selling, but after what had happened with Addison, I was in no mood to buy.
“Thanks, but I’m not much of a dancer,” I said.
“Oh, some of them are really easy to learn. I’m a beginner myself.”
I shook my head. “That’s nice, but I’m sorry.”
“Okay. Well, I’m going to continue teaching my mother. I’ll see you.”
“See you.”
5
“WHY WOULD YOU DO SUCH A THING?” ASKED MY mother that Saturday when I told her about Junior’s invitation. “You, you think you’re growing younger, eh?”
Of course I couldn’t tell her about Addison, so I just said, “I wasn’t interested, Ma.”
“Love can grow. Love grows with time. Even sometimes you have to fake it small.”
I switched the receiver to my other ear and sighed. “Yes, Ma.”
“You be there and ‘Yes, Ma’ me. Don’t you know that people like that don’t get married? You shouldn’t be so choosy and picky. Haven’t you seen Auntie Dorothy? You see the way she has become?”
“Ma, ah!”
“Be quiet. You, you don’t think about the future. You don’t care about me koraa. How can my mind rest when you’re not married? You better find someone you’re interested in. Or me I will look for one for you. I’ve said my own. Goodbye.”
“Bye, Ma.”
I limped back to my bedroom and threw myself into bed. The cramps were awful, as they always had been ever since I was nine.
My mother just didn’t understand. She imagined I was waiting for some knight in shining armor to come sweep me off my feet. And while that would be nice, that wasn’t it. Half of the men I met cared more about themselves than me. And the other half cared more about me than us.
I hadn’t even made myself comfortable when the phone rang again. I hauled myself back out of bed and to the living room.
“Hello?”
“Sweetie, good morning.”
“Who is this?”
“Ah, so you don’t know my voice?”
“I’m sorry. Please who are you?”
“Herh, sweetie, I shock give you oh. So you don’t know my voice. I’m offended.”
“I said I’m sorry. Just tell me who this is. People sound different over the telephone, and I’m having a bad—”
“You have to make it up to me, sweetie.”
“Please don’t call me that.”
“Make it up to me, sweetie, and I’ll tell you who I am.”
“Fine. How?”
“Call me darling.”
I kissed my teeth. “No. I’m going to hang up now.”
“No, wait! Okay I’ll tell you. It’s me, Gerald.”
I almost banged the receiver. “What do you want, Gerald?”
“Ei, can’t I call my sweetie and fine out how she’s doing?”
“Gerald, I’m not your sweetie. Stop it. How did you even get my telephone number?”
“You too you’re
