I resist the urge to salute. I agree with him, though—there’s nothing funny about this situation. I feel terrible.
The whole morning drags on. I feel like I’m covered in tar, each movement of my body requiring so much effort. I must’ve gotten a flu bug. I’m worn down, just like Hope had warned, due to the two jobs, the full load, the worry about Harvard. I pushed myself too much this semester and now I’m paying for it.
When the shift is over, I barely have the energy to pour myself into the car and drive out of the parking lot. I make it home, but the minute I hit the kitchen, another wave of nausea strikes. I slap a hand over my mouth and rush to the bathroom.
“What’s wrong with the two of you?” grumbles Ray, who’s standing at the open door. He’s wearing one of his stained white tank tops untucked over a pair of gray sweatpants. In one hand is a beer.
You. You’re what’s wrong with us.
Then the meaning of his words sinks in. “What do you mean the two of us? Is Nana sick?”
“So she says. She didn’t finish making my breakfast. She got sick and had to go pass out in the bedroom.” He jerks his head toward Nana’s room.
I drag myself to my feet and stumble into her room. “Nana, you sick?” I ask.
The room’s dark and she’s lying on the bed with an eye mask on her face. “Yeah. I think I came down with the flu.”
“Shit. I’ve got it too.”
“I heard you puking this morning.”
“Sorry.”
She pats the bed. “Come over here and lay next to me, baby. You done with work?”
I nod, even though she can’t see me. “Yeah, I’m off until tomorrow morning. No club tonight.”
“That’s good. You work too hard.”
I crawl onto the space that she’s made for me. Back when I was little, I used to sleep with Nana. I’d get scared and she’d find me huddled under my blankets, crying into my pillow. Mom was off with Ray or one of the many men she had before Ray. Nana would carry me into her room and tell me that the monsters weren’t going to get me as long as we held on to each other.
I find my grandmother’s hand and twine my fingers through hers. “It’s only for a few more months.”
“Don’t kill yourself before then.”
“I won’t.”
She squeezes my fingers. “I’m sorry about what I said.”
“What’s that?”
“That you’re uppity. That your momma thought about getting rid of you. I’m glad she didn’t. I love you, baby girl.”
Tears prick my eyes. “I love you too.”
“I’m sorry I’m not a better parent to you.”
“You’ve done a good job,” I protest. “I’m going to Harvard, remember?”
“Yeah. Harvard.” The word is filled with disbelief and wonder.
“What about me?” Ray whines from the doorway. “You never finished cooking breakfast and it’s now fucking lunch time.”
Next to me, I can feel Nana’s slight body shake and I don’t know whether it’s from anger or sickness. I force myself to sit up. “You stay here, Nana. I’ll get it.”
She turns her head away from the door, away from Ray, but also away from me. I guess, secretly, I wanted her to tell Ray to go fuck himself.
He grunts as I pass him on my way to the kitchen.
“What do you want?” I open the fridge and find it surprisingly empty. I wonder if Nana’s been feeling sick for a while and I haven’t noticed.
“Grilled cheese and tomato soup,” he says. He drags a chair away from the kitchen table and drops his skinny ass into it.
“Go watch TV,” I tell him as I pull out a block of cheddar cheese, butter and milk.
“Nah, I like seeing your ass in the kitchen. It’s just as good as any show.” He folds his arms behind his head and leans back. I can feel his beady eyes following my every sluggish move.
The bread looks surprisingly inviting and I tear off a small piece, chewing it slowly to see if I can keep it down. When my stomach doesn’t send it straight back in revolt, I eat another small piece. After a few moments, the dizziness and queasiness subside.
The cast-iron pan is already on the stove, and I have the sandwich ready to brown in no time.
“Don’t forget the soup, missy.”
I rub the side of my neck with my middle finger before crossing the room to grab a can of soup out of the cupboard.
“Why are you such an asshole?” I ask conversationally as I root around in the drawer for the can opener. “Is it because you’re a worthless sack of shit and can’t bear to look at yourself in the mirror? Or is it because the only woman you can con into your bed these days is a member of the AARP?”
“I’ve got plenty of pussy, don’t you worry about me. Someday you’re going to fall off your high horse and come crawling to me.” He makes a gross smacking sound with his mouth. “And maybe I’ll agree to fuck you, or maybe I’ll just let you suck me off when I feel like it.”
I’d rather kill myself.