Page 29 of Lily In The Valley
“She’s just scared, Khalil.” Mrs. Risse stared out into the parking lot. “That’s my fault. I taught her to think love meant weakness. It’s why her standards are so high. But you? You’re the chink in the armor she works so hard to keep up.” She chuckled to herself, then started to hum the opening to a gospel song I haven’t heard since going to church with my aunt.
“Lily in the Valley,” I stated.
“Ummhuh. My mama loved this song like she loved the flower.” Mrs. Risse hummed a minute more, the humming turning to singing a few of the lyrics. Her voice was smooth and low. “You know what my mama used to say about lilies?”
I nodded my head. “They bloom in hardest of places.”
“Kelly is the valley,” she continued. “She keeps herself surrounded with work and chasing the next big accomplishment. And I love that for her. But you, you’ve alwaysbeen the lily. Sure. Steady. Soft. Kelly needs that kind of love desperately. Deserves it. Especially after me and her daddy’s bullshit.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything. The words rested in my soul like an echo of the hymn Mrs. Risse sung. Wetness clouded her eyes before she shook her head, laughing away the disappointment.
“I know we have the celebration dinner for her and Nessa coming up,” she said, her eyes still twinkling from the unshed tears. “I was thinking, before she leaves for Seattle and busies herself again, could you take her away?”
“Like on a trip?”
“Doesn’t have to be far. Just somewhere she can rest her mind. Enjoy life a bit. Somewhere she doesn’t feel the need to perform. Just be.”
I laughed. “You really think she’ll go?”
“I know my daughter. She trusts you more than anyone,” Mrs. Risse said. “She’ll go.”
“Okay, I’ll take her.”
“Good,” she said, placing her hand over mine, sitting back with a satisfied smile. “And promise me you’ll keep her soft, even when she’s stubborn.”
“I promise, if you make me one in return.”
“What’s that?”
“Stop saying she’s stubborn. Kelly’s a lot of things. Headstrong. Ambitious. Caring. Bossy.” I turned to look Mrs. Risse in her eyes so she could see the conviction with which I spoke. “But she’s never been stubborn. She’s just a hurt little girl. I can make sure Kelly, the woman, is soft. But you and Kenneth need to do something for the little girl that had to grow up in the middle of y’all bullshit.”
Chapter 9
Kelly
“Mama,if you bring me another plate of food, I’ll be no good,” I whined, pushing the plate filled with oxtails, rice, callaloo, and Jamaican meat pies. She stood behind me, one hand on her hip, lips pursed.
“You love this restaurant, Kelly Belly.”
“I do, but that doesn’t mean I have to eat like I won’t be able to have it again.”
“Tee Risse, if she won’t eat it I will.” Vanessa reached over and grabbed the plate for herself, chomping on the meat pie. “I haven’t been able to keep anything down. This is the first meal my stomach hasn’t revolted in days.” She stuffed another meat-filled bite into her mouth as Xavier shook his head, filling her glass with more ginger ale like it was Dom Perignon.
“This baby is already spoiled,” Aunt Viv beamed across the table, sipping her wine.
The laughter, the clinks of silverware hitting fine china, the overlapping conversations happening around me. It all felt like a moment I should have embraced. Instead, I was but a bird perched on the balcony above observing, speculating, reading the room for something that would take the joy away. And Ifound it. My father. Sitting just out of my view, like every bite offended him. His“I’m not saying nothing”silence louder than everyone else’s joy.
If it weren’t for the faint brush of Khalil’s knee against mine, tethering me, I’d be awash in trying to regulate my father’s emotions.
“You good?” he murmured under the noise.
“Mmhmm,” I said, followed by a tight smile.
He didn’t buy it. Just reached under the table, found my hand, and squeezed once. A silentbreathe, babyin a language we only spoke. Across from us, Nyah sipped from her glass of wine like it might save her marriage. Her husband, Antonio, sat beside her, checking his phone under the table. Every now and then, she’d side-eye him like she wanted to break the glass over his head and shove the pieces down his throat.
Maverick, sitting two seats down from me, caught the glance. Watched Nyah. Watched Antonio. Then went back to his plate like minding his business was a full time job, even though his eyes said otherwise.
“Viv. Charisse. You remember that night we went down to Frenchman? Had these clowns,” Aunt Lisa said, pointing to Uncle Doug and my father, “chasing behind us.” She downed the champagne in her glass and raised it for Wesley to refill.
