“More sure than I’ve ever been of anything in my life, Mama,” she said, and her mama grimaced as if that wasn’t the right answer.
Terry fell back in with her family after that though, as though Jackie saying she was sure had made it so. It started with him picking the baby up from Mama’s one night because Jackie had to stay late at work. When Jackie got home that evening, he still wasn’t back, and when she saw his car pull into the parking lot a few minutes later, she ran down the stairs to meet him. It had to be a good sign that he’d stayed so long, and she wanted to hear the details of the visit, unwind them, spin them out. Before all this he was just as entwined in their family unit as she was. Sometimes she’d drive up her parents’ carport, and she’d see his car out in front. She’d walk in and he’d be watching the Saints game on her mama’s sofa, clutching a bowl of gumbo in his lap. She had missed that familiarity as much as she had missed him, and she begged him to tell her it was back.
“We just talked,” he said, settling his white jacket on the arm of the sofa.
“Yes, I get that you talked,” she teased, “but talked about what? You were gone three hours.”
“Was I? Time flies when you’re having fun, I guess,” he chuckled, knowing he was leading her on, and Jackie slapped him with a pillow.
“If you don’t tell me everything they said and then everything you said back—” she threatened, smiling.
He rolled his eyes at her, sat down at the kitchen table. “You know your parents, baby. You know what they said better than I do. They drilled me at first of course. Wanting to know what my plans were for you and the baby.”
“What did you say?” She sat down next to him.
“I’m getting to that, Jackie. I said it was to make you happy, to make up for any wrongs I’ve done.’” He smiled at her then. “That was good, right?”
She nodded, trying not to laugh.
“They asked me about work, if I didn’t think it was too soon to go back, if I really thought I was in a position to handle that level of responsibility. ‘Now be honest with yourself, son’”—he was mimicking her daddy now—“‘every man has his weaknesses, but the important thing is to be honest about what they are.’”
Jackie laughed. “That sounds like my daddy.”
“He talked more than your mom did,” Terry went on. “She just listened, looking halfway like she felt bad for me.”
“And that’s my mama,” Jackie added.
“I answered them best I could.”
“That went on for three hours?”
“No, indeed. I couldn’t have handled it. After a little while, we just watched the Cosby show, laughed over that fool Cliff. Your mama wanted me to eat before I left.
“What’d she cook?”
“Red beans and rice.”
Jackie nodded. It was a Monday.
“How do you feel?” she asked finally.
He sighed, a long exhale. “Good,” he said. “Really good actually. Like all the missing pieces are back in place. I didn’t want to admit it to myself, but I was worried they weren’t going to take me back.”
“They loved you. You were a son to them.”
“They loved me, but I hurt you. I wouldn’t blame them if they couldn’t get over it.”
“They’re good people.”
“They are.” He paused for a few minutes. “And I’m going to do right by them.”
She pulled him to her then. “You are,” she said. “You are,” she repeated. She kissed him for a long time the way they would kiss when all they had were ten minutes in her daddy’s Lincoln before curfew. She straddled him, and he groaned. She dipped her body down to feel him beneath her. She clutched him to her as tight as she could, and the heat of the embrace poured over her, reached through her and back out again, radiating between them both as if they were one unit. Soon their clothes were off and it felt so much like before that she let herself believe no time had passed. When they were done, he wanted to talk. He’d missed her so much, he’d needed that more than she could imagine, he never wanted to be without her a day in his life. She’d grunt here and there. Though she felt the same way he did, she just lay still, afraid to speak or move for fear she’d unsettle this new feeling.
It was more of the same after that. Jackie and Terry dropped by her mother’s as much as they could, sometimes to leave the baby so they could catch a movie at the Plaza or grab a bite at Praline Connection, but often they’d just sit on her mama’s sofa and talk about city politics, stuff their faces with jelly cake. Her parents always asked Terry about work, and he’d say it was fine and change the subject. He still ironed his white jacket and whistled on his way out the front door, usually some Prince song they’d listened to the night before while making love. Those days, she’d go to work whistling herself, feeling as if the world were organized in her favor, the way she’d grown up thinking it would be.
Sure, she thought he seemed despondent some nights. He wouldn’t say much to her or the baby. Rather, he’d just stare at the TV screen as if he were engrossed in some show, but he wouldn’t always laugh when a joke was told, and he’d fall asleep in that position, sometimes without changing from his work clothes.
She told herself he was just tired. After all, he got up at 5 a.m. every day, watched her while she nursed the baby, then when she was done, he’d shower first, start breakfast, and, sure, she did it too, but he wasn’t used to it. Surely it would take some time to adjust.
He seemed to perk up when it came time to schedule T.C.’s first birthday party, and at the first sign of his excitement, she did too. The morning of, she woke up at 4 a.m. to cut finger sandwiches and break off the crusts; she made homemade ice cream and pasta salad; she cut grapes in half and baked a three-layer chocolate cake. She wasn’t good at frosting, so she stood over Terry’s shoulder as he etched roses along the circle’s border, then drew in scribbled white icing, happy birthday t.c.!