Page 30 of Leave It to Us
“And you don’t contribute to that at all with your constant backtalking and complaining?” Yvonne asked.
This turn in the conversation had Lana back to rubbing her temple again. It was probably too optimistic to think they’d never broach this subject while staying here.
“The fact that I have an opinion other than Mama’s doesn’t qualify as backtalking,” Tami snapped. “But I guess since you’re her protégé, you wouldn’t think so. But I swear, if you’d take ten minutes to think for yourself instead of mimicking everything Mama has said and done her whole life, you might just start to live a little.”
“Okay, I’m not going to take much more of this from you,” Yvonne told her. “If you have something to say about the renovations and thishouse, then we’ll hear it and consider it. As for your opinions about my life, you can keep that shit to yourself.”
“Oh, I can keep my opinions to myself, when all you ever do is toss your opinions out as if they were law!” Now Tami was shouting, and Yvonne looked as if she were ready to reach out and touch her.
Lana figured it was her turn to keep the peace, the role she thought she’d given up a long time ago.
“Calm down, Tami, damn!” she yelled at her. “You came to this meeting already on ten, and we’re just trying to have a mature discussion. We both hear what you’re saying, and I don’t think we disagree on the point of bringing this house back to its former glory.”
Tami rolled her eyes. “You just want to sell it once we’ve done that.”
“It’s the option that makes the most sense,” Lana said, trying to project the calm demeanor she’d advised Tami to take but that she didn’t feel herself. “We all have lives back in the city. What are we going to do, renovate this house and then leave it sitting empty?”
“We could rent it out,” Tami replied, her eyes going wide again. She had such pretty whiskey-brown eyes that captured her every emotion, whether extreme happiness or debilitating sadness.
And because of them, Tami had never been able to hide her feelings. Not that she’d ever tried. If there was one thing you could count on about Tami, it was to tell you exactly how she felt, in the moment that she felt it. A tiny part of Lana had always envied her sister for the ability to say things without a care about how anyone else took them. While that could seem rude or insensitive sometimes, Lana could only imagine how freeing it was to not carry around so many bottled-up thoughts and emotions.
“I don’t want to be a landlord,” Yvonne said. “It’s time consuming, and I’ve already got my hands full with my full-time job and Mama. Speaking of which, don’t forget about the agreement we all made to split the proceeds from the sale of this house, but that you two will alsoput up at least fifteen percent of your proceeds to go toward fixing up Mama’s house so she’ll be more comfortable.”
That was another discussion Lana didn’t want to have. Quite simply put, she didn’t want to talk about any of this shit. What she wanted to do was go upstairs and lock herself in her bedroom. There, she could at least sit in the dark while her mind continued to war over her marriage.
“So we can fix up Mama’s house and make it more of a shrine to her, but we can’t save Grandma Betty’s house?” Tami was back to her snappish mood.
Lana hadn’t missed the dramatics her younger sister could perform, but she couldn’t help leaning a little on Tami’s side with that last comment. Yvonne was always hyperfocused on their mother—like almost to the point of being obsessed with making Freda happy. Whereas Lana had given up on that effort a long time ago.
“That’s not what I said,” Yvonne told her.
“Okay,” Lana said, holding up a hand. “So let’s get this straight: Tami wants to fix up the house and keep it in the family. Yvonne wants to sell it and dictate how we spend our portion from the sale.”
“And what do you want, Ms.High and Mighty?” Yvonne asked. “You’ve been walkin’ around here acting like we’re upsetting your very busy schedule all day long. Snapping at Deacon each time he said something, and then stomping off to go take your pictures just like you used to do when you were young and didn’t get your way.”
Now Lana turned to glare at Yvonne. After this morning’s waterfall in the kitchen, she’d pulled her wet hair up into a high ponytail that swung down to the nape of her neck. Her normal hairstyle—the one she’d been wearing since college—was down to her shoulders in big fluffy curls. And that wasn’t a bad style, especially not on Yvonne’s cute, round face. But it was almost just like Mama’s, only a little longer, which was probably why Yvonne kept it that way.
Freda had never allowed them to cut their hair. When they were younger, she would wash it on Friday nights, then give them big chunkyplaits until it dried. On Saturday afternoons, she’d take it out to press with the hot comb, which burned Lana’s ears and neck every damn time. They all had long, thick black hair, and by the time each of them had gotten into middle school, they’d expressed the urge to change the style. Glossy tight curls that came from those ridiculous pink sponge rollers weren’t exactly hip, and Lana could recall being teased on more than one occasion. All the other girls their age had been getting perms and wearing their hair in smooth and silky wraps or stylish rod and bump curls.
“Don’t get me mixed up with you and Tami,” Lana said with a dry chuckle. “I never needed either of you—or your mother, for that matter—to give me my way. I always knew where I stood as the middle and the darkest child. I did whatever I needed to do to keep myself happy, thank you very much.”
“Oh boy, there she goes with the ‘I’m the dark middle child, so nobody wants to play with me’ routine,” Tami snapped.
“Girl, if you don’t stop with all your nonsense,” Lana said to Tami. “You were too young for me or Yvonne to consider playing with.”
“And too spoiled,” Yvonne chimed in.
Lana looked at Yvonne and pointed a finger before she nodded. “That part.”
“Hold up, I wasn’t the one Mama spoiled,” Tami countered. “Not by a long shot.”
“Mama didn’t spoil anybody,” Yvonne said evenly. “She didn’t believe in giving children too much.”
“Didn’t believe in giving us anything but directives. ‘Do this.’ ‘Do that.’” Lana would never forget those directives, especially the ones aimed directly at her.
Don’t stay on the phone too long with those fast-tail girls. And stop talking about those nasty boys. They only want one thing, and that thing ain’t gonna pay none of your bills or put a roof over your head after you’ve given him what he wants. And make sure you put some lotion on. Can’tstand you out here lookin’ all ashy. Next thing you know, the ladies down at the church’ll be sayin’ how I must can’t afford lotion since your daddy left.
Lana’s teeth clenched at the sting those memories brought back.
