MADISON

Tee Tee’s hair couldn’t be any smoother if an elephant sat on it. I know that drives Denise crazy because she believes in natural curls. “Deenie, are you going to help or just drink that wine?”

“Wine.”

With a martyr’s sigh Tee Tee continues doing the florists’ job for them. “No, don’t put the lilies with the food! The smell is overpowering.”

I whisper, “She’s overpowering.”

Raising her glass Denise tells her sister, “Let the experts work!”

On her way out, Tee Tee throws a reproachful glance back before resuming her compulsive need to control other people. “You have to put the carnations by the food. They hardly smell. Lilies go by the doors and outside, only!”

Denise and I walk away from the pain. Bucky ambles along with us, no leash needed, blissfully unaware of Tee Tee’s eccentricities.

For the millionth time, Denise checks her phone. “They’re at the party now. I wonder how Billy’s doing.”

“Do you think anyone showed?”

“Nope.” Her eyes flicker to a wall and stay there. “It’s weird wanting to be in two places at the same time. I want to escape my family, but of course if Nana’s watching, can’t hurt her feelings. You think she is?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Do you think she’s rolling her eyes at Titty?”

I laugh, “Yes, definitely.”

Denise stares at her phone. “Billy was a wreck. I want to be there, too.” She looks at the ceiling. “No offense, Nana, but you’re like me—you always hated funerals. So morbid.”

“Did she?”

“Always wanted to escape them the second she arrived. Except my uncle’s.”

I touch Denise’s shoulder, “That was a terrible day.”

“She wouldn’t let go of his coffin.”

“I remember.”

Denise drinks a generous amount of wine, finally gasping for air and exhaling, “That’s better.”

Her mother appears at the top of Nana’s stairs. “Deenie, are you on that silly phone at a time like this? How important are you that they cannot wait for you to respect your Nana? Help me decide what I’m gonna wear!”

Sucking on her teeth, she glances to me. We head up. It’s assumed I’ll come along, too. I’ve been an honorary member of the family since childhood.

And frankly there’s no place I’d rather be. Denise might claim to want to be at Billy’s party, but she doesn’t mean it. If I suggested we leave right now she’d be angry with me. Part of being a friend is not calling out your friend’s bullshit when they’re coping with grief. Just humor them while they work it out for themselves.

Mrs. Jabari spazzes at the sight of Bucky’s smiling tongue. “What is that beast doing in my bedroom?” He cowers, and instinctively I squat to pet him. I’m about to say, “We can go downstairs,” but Denise doesn’t give me time.

“This is not your bedroom, Momma!” Her eyes fire up as she inspects the display of wardrobe potentials that Rhonda Jabari has laid out for tomorrow morning’s funeral, the open closet with her clothes hanging in it. “This was Nana’s room! Look at you, moving in already!”

Her mother cries out, “This house was left to me in the will. Momma told me that, so I have every right to it!”

“She just died! Can you give it a fucking second?”

“I was raised in this house!”

“So was I, Momma!” Denise glares at her. This argument has been years in the making. “Remember how you were never there except when it suited you? Or when you were single? This is Nana’s house, not yours. If you got it, it’s by default, not by deserving it!”

“She left it to me!”

“You’ve been waiting for this day! You’ve been waiting for her to die!”

Rhonda rushes over and slaps Denise so hard that Bucky growls. I hold onto him, but he makes such a scary sound that Rhonda takes a step back, eyes wide. “Get that beast out of here!”

Denise shouts, “The only beast in here is you!”

“You are my daughter! Show me some respect!”

I cry out, “Enough!” tugging on Bucky’s collar to guide him from the room. It’s only a few steps, and the women are silent while I close the door, leaving just us crazy humans inside. “You guys, you always get like this when something bad happens. You take the pain and make it worse. Mrs. Jabari, remember your divorce from Tom? You called each other names then, too. And Denise, when you and I were fifteen and shoplifted at the Piggly Wiggly and went to jail for a night, more names.”

“I was appalled,” Mrs. Jabari exclaims.

“You were just embarrassed because your new boyfriend thought I was a low-life.”

“You were!”

“I was going through a phase!”

Frustrated, I exhale, “Nobody here is perfect. I’m sorry I brought that up. Look, back to present day, okay? You both love and miss Nana, but you can’t use her to work out your resentments. It’s not right. Mrs. Jabari, I understand what you’re doing here, by moving in so quickly. You just lost your mom and you’re trying to hold onto a part of her. I understand that’s what really is going on.” Denise cocks her head at me with a that’s-reaching-pretty-far-Maddie. I address her next. “And yes, your mother wasn’t there when you needed her, and Nana pretty much raised you. That sucks, believe me, I know how much it sucks. But you two are family. If you could somehow put the past behind you, all the anger and expectations, maybe you can help each other through this!”

They glare at each other.

After a moment of no talking, I try another tactic. “You guys, a lot of people will be hurting, too. Nana was very kind, very generous with her heart…”

Denise bites off my sentence, “Unlike you, Mom!”

“I am kind!”

“To every man you come across!”

I throw my arms out. “Stop it! This isn’t helping!”

“Why don’t you go back to Atlanta and leave me alone!”

“Don’t talk to my friend like that!”

“I was talking to you, Deenie!”

“Maybe I will!”

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

I groan, “No. You will not.” Turning to Denise I implore her, “You will regret it if you don’t stay. You know you will.” Her anger downshifts to frustration, an improvement that gives me hope. I turn to Rhonda. “Mrs. Jabari, think how bad it will make your family look to all those guests if you don’t get along.” Vanity is her weakness, and her jutted chin softens a little, so I continue while I still have an in. “Imagine how much nicer a party it will be if you’re all here, unified. Your guests will go home saying good things about you.” Her eyes flicker with interest.

I’ll take what I can get.

I ask Denise, “Do you want this house?”

“No, I don’t want to move back to Richmond. But that’s not the point!”

“You want Nana’s memory respected with a little more time and consideration.”

“Yes!”

Mrs. Jabari snaps, “I am respecting it!”

We stare at her. I take a deep breath to maintain my patience. “I need a little self-awareness here, and so does your daughter, who I know you love. Mrs. Jabari, no disrespect—just honest communication, okay?”

“Fine,” she grumbles, crossing her arms.

“You’re moving a little too quickly, and that’s not taking into consideration how much Denise is hurting.”

“That’s because she loved my mother more than she loves me!”

The room goes silent.

There it is.

The real reason.

When you dig underneath anger to its root cause, you’ll always find pain. If you can approach that hurt with compassion and honesty, that’s where healing begins. I learned this when I studied child-psychology. And we’re all really just adult children, trying to find our way.

Denise quietly says, face softer now, “I just loved my Nana, Mom. She was there for me when you weren’t.”

Mrs. Jabari walks to the only black dress, stroking it like she knows it’s the one she’s supposed to wear. Chewing on her lip, she confesses, “I wasn’t meant to be a mom.” She swallows and clears her throat. “I got pregnant too young. I didn’t want to spend my life as a grown-up yet.” Her chin raises as she meets her daughter’s eyes, so like her own but with less life experience. “I think I resented you…a little.”

Denise says, understanding, “I was your jail,” for the first time able to put herself in Rhonda’s shoes. Not as a mother, but as a person. Denise has told me many times that she doesn’t want to be a mother.

Slowly I walk backwards to give them space. It’s so huge, and never talked about. You’re supposed to be elated when you’re pregnant, but not everyone is meant for this job.

“I didn’t mean to be born. I didn’t have a say in that. I was just a little girl who didn’t understand why her Momma didn’t want to spend time with her.”

Mrs. Jabari grimaces against rising emotions. “I’m proud of you, Deenie.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“You’re the woman I wanted to be.”

Denise whispers, “Momma!”

“People love you. They don’t look at me like they look at you.” Mrs. Jabari blinks to the dress. “Maybe I’ll wear this one. It’s more appropriate for a grown-up.”

Tears gather as Denise rushes over and embraces her, “Please don’t push Nana’s memory out of this house so fast. Wait until I go home. I’m begging you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Let’s just put it behind us.”

Bucky stands up, tail wagging as he sees me. I give him a pet, and close the door.

After a few more moments, Denise walks out, wiping her eyes and we head downstairs.

Tee Tee’s voice travels up as she insists to the staff, “I didn’t order lavender napkins. I ordered white and yellow! What is this?”

Denise mutters, “Do me a favor. Don’t cure me and my sister. I like hating her.”

“You got it.”