A Deeper Love Inside (41 page)

Momma asked me politely that night, “When can I get out of these cuffs and chains?”

I said, “When we can trust one another again.”

Dragging the box of unopened letters over to Momma, I said, “I know it’s boring being trapped. If it’s okay with you, Momma, and whenever you are ready, could you please open these letters so we can rescue Mercedes and Lexus from wherever they are?”

“Wherever they are, it’s better than here, don’t you think?” Momma said. “Do you think me, you, and the twins could live down here together? It’s bad enough just you and me,” she said. Momma’s words were bitter, but at least she wasn’t screaming no more.

“We can afford an apartment, Momma, I work. When you get better, you can work, too.”

“You must think the twins are still babies. What year is this?” Momma asked.

“1998,” I answered swiftly.

“Winter was born in ’77. You were born in ’86, and the twins were born in ’89,” Momma said. “So they’re . . .” Momma calculated. I was so excited Momma’s brain and memory was both working. Now, if we
could only fix her broken heart and bring all of her natural feelings back.

“They’re nine years old now,” Momma said.

“No matter what age, Momma. They’re ours and family should stay together,” I said with my truest feelings.

“I guess in some dream world somewhere, ‘family should stick together,’ ” Momma muttered. She shifted through the letters and chose one to open.

By the end of the week, she had all the papers opened, sorted, and read. She circled all of the numbers she needed to call, and names of people she needed to speak to, to get information on the twins. When she was fully recovered, I would uncuff and unchain her, and we would walk up those cement stairs together for the first time and into the sun.

I laid a pen and paper on the floor for Momma.

“Write Poppa,” I requested softly. “I wrote his address for you in case you forgot.”

“I know his address!” Momma said with attitude, revealing some traces of the meanness still in her. “You think he’s a god or a king, don’t you?” Momma asked me.

“He’s my poppa,” was all I answered.

“He’s not only your poppa!” she snapped.

“I know. Winter is his favorite, and the twins were his babies, but I’m his daughter, too,” I said, feeling bad for having to say that. Why couldn’t she just treat me the same as my sister?

“Listen to what I’m telling you!” she said in her mother tone. “Your father has a son. He named him after himself, Ricky Santiaga Jr. Your father had another woman. Bitch thought she was better than me.” Momma was looking angry-faced again.

“Where is he?” I asked. “Where is my brother?”

“Hell if I know. You might run into him on the streets. Somebody should’ve said something. Brothers and sisters not knowing one another could be out there fucking each other!” Momma was mad.

I hoped by her saying all this, she was somehow squeezing out her hurt.

“I tell you one thing. Don’t waste your time giving your whole
heart to no man. A woman always loves him a thousand times more than he loves her.”

I didn’t say nothing, just let Momma’s words swirl around my head and heart.

• • •

“Should I go again?” Siri asked me on Friday.

I was worn out from all of my jobs: Big Johnnie’s, Mr. Sharp’s, the meter duty, the cigarettes, and Momma! In fact, the other jobs were easy to me. Momma weighed a ton.

“Siri, do you like Elisha?” I asked her.

“I like you, Porsche,” Siri said softly and sincerely like she always does.

“I know you like me. But do you also like Elisha?” I asked her, looking into her pretty eyes.

“He’s nice. His skin is really nice. His hair is so nice. His teeth are so white. His body is . . .”

“Stop!” I interrupted her.

“But, Porsche, he’s yours! The nicest thing about him is how he feels about you. He wants to take care of you,” she said.

“Siri, no kissing, no touching or anything like that . . .,” I told her.

“We never did any of that with Elisha,” Siri said.

“And we still shouldn’t,” I said firmly. “We can’t give him our whole heart,” I warned her.

“You can give him yours, Porsche. He loves you more than Momma loves you,” Siri said, poking another hole in my already damaged heart. She saw my hurt expression and came to hug me.

“No touching, no kissing. I promise, I won’t, but I think
you should
,” Siri urged me.

By the time Siri returned, Momma still had not wrote one word on the page for Poppa.

“How about a letter to Winter?” I proposed. Momma looked blank. “Winter didn’t do anything wrong to you,” I said.

“How would you know?” Momma asked me.

“What then? What did Winter do wrong?” I demanded to know. I was in tears and angry at my tears.

“She was laughing at me,” Momma said.

“Huh?” I asked.

“Winter didn’t do anything wrong except she was laughing at me. I didn’t see it at first. Looking back now, I see it, clearly. I’m sure,” Momma said in her mother tone. “Winter had everything that come from me. I shared everything I had with her, gave her everything. She didn’t share with me. When things turned fucked up, she laughed at me. She didn’t save me.”

“I did!” I told Momma anxiously. “And I will,” I promised Momma again. She ignored me as though it wasn’t possible for her to believe one word if it was sprinkled with love or trust, or if was coming from my tongue.

Maybe Winter knew that even if she gave you everything she had, you still wouldn’t love her. Maybe Winter saw that after Poppa had a son with another lady, you were determined not to love none of us no more,
I thought to myself.

Chapter 38

At 8 a.m. on the twenty-first day I removed the chains and cuffs, two hours after I finished working at Big Johnnie’s. Momma had gained some weight back. In the dim light of the underground, her skin was glowing from the daily treatments I gave her. The shea butter had softened and healed her skin. The insides of the aloe vera leaf, which I smeared on the cuts I cleaned on the first night, had caused them not to scar. The whites of Momma’s eyes were clear now. Even her hair, that I washed and braided many nights, looked a lot healthier.

Momma didn’t run. She showered herself alone for the first time, and put on one of the dresses I had purchased for her recovery. In her new shoes and coat, which was really attractive, but not as badass as the Gucci outfit I got her, Momma looked familiar to me. We climbed the cement stairs together and pushed open the iron floor doors and walked into the sun. Momma threw her hands up to shield her eyes from the sun.

“Here Momma, use these.” I handed her my sunglasses.

“It can’t be!” Big Johnnie said when he saw Momma walking past the front door of his store. He was standing there, probably looking out for the deliveryman.

“You know it is!” Momma said, stopping for one second and striking a pose. I waved to Big Johnnie, linked arms with Momma and kept walking on to Esmeralda’s.

“Make Auntie look nice!” I told Esmeralda after greeting her.

“Oh. It’s nice to meet you,” Esmeralda said in her thick accent.

She looked at Momma as though she might’ve seen her before. Then she let it slide and serviced Momma nicely because she was with me.

• • •

“Perfecto!” Esmeralda said when she finished, spraying some spritz on Momma’s hair. She pulled out her big handheld mirror so Momma could check herself out, all angles. Momma was touching her skin
while looking in the mirror. She kept staring at me, then at herself as though maybe she wasn’t sure. I walked over and paid Esmeralda. Momma’s eyes watched the money leaving my hand. Additionally, I handed Esmeralda my bags of quarters after I pulled out a fistful.

“I’ll be back, I have to take Auntie somewhere. If I’m late . . .”

“Okay,
mami
,” Esmeralda said.

I dropped the quarters that I held in my hand in each of my customer’s parking meters as we left.

• • •

“The twins have been adopted. There, that’s it. It’s finished,” Momma said as she came outside of the office building where I was standing and waiting for her. Brooklyn Family Court and all of those marbled out buildings were all “official” type of places, so of course I didn’t go inside.

“What do you mean, it’s finished?” I asked, feeling panicked. “We can still see them, can’t we?” I asked, as I followed Momma. She was walking really fast.

“Depends on how bad you want to see ’em!”

“What do you mean?” I pushed.

“The funny name person who adopted them said it’s okay for the mother to make contact except
he lives in Africa
!” Momma said.

“Africa?” I repeated.

“Yeah, in the goddamn jungle!” Momma said. “Who the fuck would let a man take two little girls in the first place? Then of all places, out to the jungle?” Her eyes began bulging, all over again.

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t have no idea about Africa, what country it was, where it was located, or how to go about getting there. I didn’t think the jungle was a bad place unless they were in the jungle with a bad man. I shivered in the November cold air. My mind was moving in a dark direction. Pictures of myself waking up, a young girl in a strange place, checking in between my thighs, pushing a finger up into my pussy to see if I had been molested or raped flashed through my mind.

“What’s his name?” I asked momma. “The man who adopted the twins?” I asked. Instead of saying a name, Momma pulled out a business card, flipped it around, and started spelling something.

“B-i-l-a-l-o-d-e, how that sound?” She had her hands on her hips asking me.

“Can I see?” I took the card.

“
Bilal Ode
,” I repeated out loud first. Then it swirled in my mind repeating fifty-six times. I thought to myself,
I’ve heard that name before, but when and where?

“Your father signed off on the adoption papers,” Momma said. It was the only sentence she said as we rode the train together.

At 3:00 p.m. Momma and I were standing in front of the organic market as Elisha approached. He had a look on his face like he wasn’t sure. I guess he was surprised to see me after being with Siri two Fridays in a row. And I was standing with a second person, which I had never done before.

“Elisha, this is Momma,” I said before realizing that I should’ve said Auntie. Seeing him forced the truth out of me naturally. I was screaming at myself on the inside.

“Mrs.?” Elisha said, extending his hand.

“Santiaga!” Momma said a little boldly. I had not used that last name since my escape, only between me, Riot, and Siri.

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Santiaga,” Elisha said calmly with excited confidence. “Should we take lunch together?” He directed his question to Momma.

“Dangerous,” Momma said.

“Momma?” I asked.

“He’s too handsome and got manners, too!
Hmph
, a handsome charmer,” she said, like it was a big problem.

“Ladies tend to like me,” Elisha said, smiling. I hit his shoulder so he could straighten up and act right. “What? It’s true,” he said seriously as we entered the market to the café sitting space.

“What would Ms. Santiaga like to have?” Elisha asked Momma.

“Coffee and something sweet,” Momma said.

“Herbal tea and a raisin wheat muffin for Momma,” I said. “No sugar!” I called behind him; I knew coffee and sugar were no good for Momma. It would start her back having intense cravings, and one thing would lead to another. A trail of caffeine, to a trail of sugar, to a trail of cocaine; the thought alone had my head hurting.

When Elisha returned with the market designer bag stuffed with
lots of stuff, he placed the herbal tea and raisin bran muffin on the table first.

“That must be for Porsche cause that’s not what I ordered,” Momma said in her bossy mother tone. I put my hand over my forehead and dropped my head down. I had asked Momma a hundred times not to call me Porsche in front of anyone else, and to call me Ivory instead.

“You’re right, Ms. Santiaga. I have your order right here.” Elisha pulled out a hot coffee in a paper cup marked coffee and a hot cross bun drizzled with vanilla frosting and confectionary sugar.

“That’s right,” Momma said. “A man’s supposed to give a woman what she wants.” She pulled the cup over and bit into the sweet bun. Elisha sat down, shaking a carrot juice for himself and peeling the cap off.

“Porsche,” he said to me. I didn’t lift my eyes. I ignored. “Porsche,” he called me again.

“Why aren’t you answering him?” Momma said. “That’s not polite.” I looked at Momma, couldn’t believe the game she was playing against me.

“Siri,” Elisha said to me. “Siri!” I wouldn’t lift my head. Why was he calling me her name?

“Ivory,” Elisha said. I picked my head up and looked at him.

“How many names you got?” Momma asked.

“I like all of them,” Elisha said, still looking my way.

“So, you like pretending,” Momma asked, or accused.

“Of course, I’m a movie director. Porsche is gonna be a worldwide movie star,” Elisha said without laughter and with unbreakable confidence.

“Oh, really,” Momma said dryly. “It must be nice to be young.”

“I’m serious,” Elisha said. “Ivory is a great dancer. Siri is an amazing singer. I just met Porsche today,” Elisha said, turning away from convincing Momma and back towards me.

“What can Porsche do?” he asked me.

“Oh, believe me! She can do way more than the other two!” Momma laughed.

“I see you prefer Porsche,” Elisha said to Momma.

“She’s the only one of them I know!” Momma said. “It’s the name
her father gave her. And Porsche
is the dancer.
You better believe that if you don’t believe nothing else. I don’t know what Ivory does,” Momma said.

“She cries a lot,” Elisha said, without a smile.

I felt naked and panicked beneath the weight of Momma’s words. Elisha had always tried to make me happy after seeing some seconds of my sorrows. Back when I was eleven, he gave me the Godivas. Every time he saw me since then, he always brought me something tiny and sweet. He’d enjoy me till my tears appeared, then he’d give me something I never had before, some slices of mango, butterscotch, kiwi, some balls of tamarind, sherbert, or sorbet. Once, he even fed me a teaspoon of honey that made my lips squeeze in and my tongue dance.