Love Allen yearned and survived, carrying the American zeitgeist in her skin.
It began just after the last day of school. Because she loved her two children beyond reason or sensibility, she let them have the first week free and clear—no chores, no bedtimes, no healthy snacks, and unlimited tech privileges. She let Piper create obstacle courses in the backyard, cover her arms in fake tattoos, curl her 10-year old self into a kitten ball at Love’s side and snuggle herself to sleep binge-watching Top Chef Jr. She let VJ play basketball in the park past dark, ride his bike to Kensico Dam, or walk up North Broadway for pizza with his friends—whatever seemed good to him. When Vince Sr. complained that she was letting them run wild, she told him that free-range parenting was in. When he scoffed, she showed him the article from her twitter feed about Utah passing a law.
“Look,” she told him, “look at that picture: little free-range black girls smiling and laughing in Utah.”
“We’re not Mormon,” he said and meant it.
“Don’t be ignorant,” she said.
“That’s offensive. You’re changing our whole lifestyle based on one article; maybe you’re the one who’s ignorant.” He glared at her before stomping off to go to the gym. She thought about apologizing but decided to wait 24 hours so that she could enjoy the silence. Then she upped the ante and started giving them chocolate cake for breakfast and ice cream for dinner, though she continued to make salmon and quinoa for Vince Sr.
The first week of July, though, she woke both kids at 8:00 am, made them egg white, spinach and feta omelets, and sat them down at the kitchen island with notepads, pens, and planners. VJ gave her the crazy eyes.
“Mom, what is this? Do you want me to, like, write something? It’s early!”
She rubbed the top of his head. He didn’t duck away, though he continued to eye her suspiciously as he made his way through a second omelet.
“It’s time we made our summer plans,” she told them.
“My plan is having fun. Done.” Piper poked at her omelet. “I don’t like spinach. So not fun.”
“You don’t have to like it. And once you eat it, you don’t have to look at it. Also, having fun is not a plan.”
VJ shrugged. “Sounds like a plan to me.” He grinned at his sister.
“This is the summer we all learn balance. Self-improvement and self-indulgence, all in moderation.”
“That sounds like work.” Piper was aghast.
“Oh, it totally is work. Like, totes.”
“Nobody says ‘totes’, Mom.” VJ rolled his eyes.
“I do. I so totally say ‘totes.’ Like, all the time. Pick up a pen. We’re going to write down three growth goals for this summer. Things you want to accomplish that will make us better people.”
Piper’s voice hit whine, and her mutiny face came out full force, “Mom! This is so unfair! It’s summer! I bet nobody else has to do this! I bet Sofia doesn’t have to make growth goals!”
“Sofia isn’t black.” That halted the revolt, though not the eye-rolling. They knew by heart the speech about having to work three times as hard to get ahead because they were black. They had once protested such unfairness, and Love had agreed that yes, it was unfair, but the injustice didn’t make it any less true or them any less black. They picked up their pens and began to think, and then to write.
Love worked on her list, the first item on which was to find a job. She and Vince Sr. had agreed that she should stay home until their oldest was headed to high school. Of course, as soon as she brought it up, he started making noises about it not being the right time, girls needing their mothers, etc. She’d smiled and said she could always just divorce him and live off the alimony. He’d been angry that she’d even brought up “the d-word,” but he’d shut the hell up about her going back to work. She didn’t think it would be too difficult to find an opening. She’d been an excellent lawyer—better than Vince Sr.—and even now she was sure that someplace had a diversity quota to fulfill.
The second item, she didn’t write down. She vowed to see more of Declan, the dark-haired, blue-eyed musician with skin the color of white chocolate. Part of her shuddered at falling into the cliché: middle-aged housewife, bored and lonely, falls into a torrid affair with an old friend. Mostly, it made her happy. Vince Sr. still expected weekly access to her relevant parts, but he rarely looked her in the eye, and she found that she didn’t want him to. She wanted something, though, and had been plagued by a persistent longing that she thought was just about needing more purpose than motherhood. And then Declan had found her on Facebook because she was too old for Twitter.
They’d been casual friends in undergrad, and she hadn’t seen him since before VJ was born, and then he’d appeared out of thin air, called into existence by the goddess of lust, she imagined. He was subletting a friend’s studio for the summer. He was a slave to the gig economy, playing sax for two different bands and giving guitar lessons out of the apartment. Would she want to meet for lunch, show him the neighborhood? She’d gone to his place, expecting nothing more than surface-level catch-up chat, but he’d asked questions about her real self, her old self, and he was pretty, and the way he looked at her made her remember that she was connected to her body. Just one time, she thought when she leaned in to kiss him, and he, surprised but willing, kissed her back. Just once.
Afterward, she lay on her stomach, waiting for guilt to assault her. It didn’t. Declan wound an index finger through her curls, traced her jaw with his thumb, and asked her how she felt. She told him that she felt like she wanted to see him again. He asked if she wanted to catch something at the French Film Festival in Greenwich. So, she vowed to see more of him, until he found better gigs in other states, or until she got bored.
“I’m done. Can I go now?” VJ tossed down his pen shoved back his chair.
“You thought it would be that easy? Have you met me?” He rolled his eyes, and she rolled hers back. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
“Why do I have to go first?”
“Why did you have to be born first? Take it up with God. But first, read your list.”
He heaved a painstaking sigh. “Build more muscle, read a book, learn guitar.”
“Oh, those are great starting points. Now let’s refine.”
“Mom!”
“Yes, that is, in fact, my name.”
“Why are you only picking on me?”
Piper chose that moment, of course, to interject. “She’s not picking on you, she’s just talking to you.”
“Shut it!”
Love prided herself on maintaining outward calm and patience with her children. If, the closer he got to fourteen, the more she found herself wanting to punch VJ in the face, there was no reason for him to know it. For months, he’d been swinging between childish overreactions, grating obnoxiousness, unprovoked anger, and sudden sweetness. Love thought the third item on her list ought to be to get them all a good therapist.
“Dude. Just breathe, okay? We’re doing this, so just steady yourself.”
Piper scooched her chair closer to Love’s. “I think it’s actually kind of fun.” She nestled her head into Love’s shoulder.
VJ glared at Piper, fists clenched. “Nobody asked your opinion about anything!”
“So why do you want to build more muscle?” Love ignored Piper entirely and turned VJ’s head so that he looked only at her. He pulled his chin out of her hands.
“Because!”
“Yes? Because?”
He slouched in his chair. “Football. I want to make varsity”
She thought about it. “Can freshmen make varsity? Is that even a thing?”
“Yeah. I mean, it could be.”
“Well, I’m all for that. Would it make sense to try to burn more fat while you’re building the muscle?”
“Yeah.”
“So maybe you want to alter your goal to include better nutrition along with strength training and more cardio so that you can be the first freshmen in the school’s history to make varsity?”
He shrugged and smiled a bit. “Yeah.”
“Once you decide on a nutrition plan, tell me about it. I can try to alter the grocery list, maybe try out some new recipes with you. And so why do you want to learn guitar?”
“Huh?” He’d been busily writing and paused to stare at her. “Cause it’s awesome.”
She suspected that it had something to do with a girl but decided not to ask. “Well. If you’re serious about it, it so happens that I know someone who gives lessons.” She ignored the voice telling her not to involve her children with her lover. Declan was good at what he did. What mattered was getting the best for her children. She could compartmentalize.
They spent the morning revising their lists and making plans, and the afternoon running around buying supplies. Piper had insisted that they walk everywhere since one of her goals was to reduce her carbon footprint. When they walked into Sam Ash, the music store where Declan had agreed to meet them to help VJ pick out a guitar, the a/c raised goose pimples on Love’s damp skin and all but froze her wet fabric to her torso. She felt Declan see her. He cleared his throat and turned his attention to VJ, who was affecting ennui and had his hands shoved in his pockets while looking around with an air of studied indifference.
“You want to learn guitar, huh? Electric or acoustic?”
VJ clearly thought this was a dumb question. “Acoustic. I’m not metal.”
“I mean, you could be. But whatever.” He shrugged to show that he, too, was cool. “Let’s check out a few options.”
“Secondhand,” Love insisted.
“Gotcha.” He rolled his eyes, as did VJ, thus strengthening the bond. VJ didn’t see Declan wink at her. As they walked away, Piper turned thoughtfully to her mother.
“So, did you like, used to date him or whatever?”
“Nope. We were just friends a long time ago. Why?” Love held her breath as Piper answered.
“Well. He’s very cute.”
“You think so?” She hadn’t realized that her daughter had come to think of boys as anything other than gross.
“Yeah. And you were beautiful before you had kids.”
“Um. Thanks, Piper.”
“Oh, you’re welcome. So, I thought maybe he was your boyfriend before.”
“It takes more than just being cute to build a relationship.”
“How come?”
“Mom! Check this out!” VJ popped up with a guitar strapped over his shoulder. His eyes shone like the polished wood. She felt the familiar heart-click of seeing her children fall in love. She only half heard Declan listing the instrument’s merits, but she saw VJ stroking the satined body. She gave him cash so that he could purchase the guitar himself, and he strolled away. Declan focused on Piper.
“What about you? Interested in learning guitar?”
“No thanks.” She smiled at him. “I play the flute. My teacher says I’m a prodigy.”
“I bet. How long have you been playing?”
“About a year. But I’m dedicated. My mom says there’s no point in doing something if you’re not going to excel.”
“Your mom has always excelled.”
“I know.” Her smile deepened. “You’re very cute. Do you have a girlfriend?”
A sudden shouting made them all turn. Love’s heart jumped when she saw a paper-colored security guard dragging VJ by the arm.
“Mom, get this guy off me! Tell him—”
“You this boy’s mother?” The guard’s voice was gruff.
“I am. Take your hands off of him.”
“I caught him stealing!”
“That’s not true!” VJ’s hands were balled, and his face was a rictus of fury.
“I am telling you again to let my son go.”
The guard opened his mouth, looked at her face, and released VJ, who went to stand in front of her. She pushed him to the side. Other customers were staring and whispering. Declan was trying to intervene when the young, red-haired store manager came running.
“Look, there’s clearly some misunderstanding.”
“No sir.” The guard shook his head. “No sir. I caught him red-handed.”
“What’s going on here, Ted?” the manager demanded.
“I caught this boy trying to steal that guitar!”
“I was getting in line to pay for it!” Vince spat out.
“You can’t afford that!” Ted’s face reddened as he yelled.
Declan and the store manager shrank in on themselves. Love froze, just for a second. She saw her son’s eyes, almost leaking with anger and pain. She saw Piper’s confusion. She steeled her spine to do what was necessary, though what she wanted to do was vomit and cry and bang her fists against the wall.
The store manager covered her eyes with her hands. “Oh my God. Ma’am. I am so. Sorry.”
Love held up a hand. “You owe an apology to the customer.”
“Right.” She turned to VJ. “Sir, please accept our sincerest apologies. Of course, we will give you a discount on the instrument.”
“I don’t want it now! But I could pay for it.” He dug into his pocket.
“Gun!” Ted’s face purpled. He stretched out a hand, stepped toward VJ, and collapsed. VJ stood stock still, holding out a sweaty wad of cash. For a moment, there was a silence as deep as snow.
When the police came, Declan and the manager tripped over themselves to explain that none of it was VJ’s fault. The manager tried to give him the guitar for free. VJ stared at the sheet-covered body on the ground, then looked to his mother. She nodded. If he didn’t take it, he would be branded as angry and sullen in the face of righteous apology, even if he never touched it, even if it sat in a corner collecting dust, even if it became a daily reminder of all that as wrong with the world. He stretched out his hand to accept the long-necked albatross. Unfairness didn’t change the facts. She watched him accept this and hate her.
*** Originally published in Minerva Rising – Issue 16 Spring 2019***
Shinelle L. Espaillat teaches writing at Dutchess Community College in Poughkeepsie, NY. Her work has appeared in the collections How Higher Education Feels: Commentaries on Poems That Illuminate Emotions in Learning and Teaching and Shale: Extreme Fiction for Extreme Times, as well as in Two Hawks Quarterly, Minerva Rising Literary Journal, Ghost Parachute, The Westchester Review, Cleaver Magazine, and Midway Journal.