A moment later, her brother Rodney opened the door for us. Star had called him a string bean and she was right. Even though he was about eight and a half years younger, he was already only a few inches shorter than she was. He had her nose and eyes, but I could see that whatever innocence and softness he still possessed was well hidden beneath his cautious and distrusting eyes. He lifted the left side of his mouth and tilted his head to shout back.
"It's just Star and her friend," he cried.
"You say 'Hello,' Rodney," Star lectured. "That's what you do first, and you don't go shouting who's here. You introduce people," she added, with a biting sharpness that actually made him flinch.
"Sorry," he said. "Hello."
"This is Cathy."
He nodded at me and I said hello, but barely loud enough to hear myself. It brought a tiny smile to his lips. "Did you break your leg?" he asked.
"No, just fractured my ankle."
"Oh." He looked disappointed. Then he turned and sauntered down the short hallway, lifting his shoulders with pride. He stopped at the doorway of the kitchen.
"Star's back," he said, and stepped away for us to enter.
Granny Anthony wiped her hands on a dish towel and turned to greet us. The aroma of her cooking filled my nostrils. Despite the worn, tired look of all the furniture, the floor, the appliances, and even the walls, I could see how well kept and clean her kitchen was. She beamed a wide smile at us.
"Welcome honey," she said.
Star's grandmother had smooth, rich skin with just the tiniest wrinkles at her eyes and at the corners of her mouth. Her big, round eyes were full of warmth.
She wasn't more than five feet four inches tall, but she held her head high and proud. She had smoke gray hair brushed back and tied neatly in a bun.
"Thank you for inviting me," I said.
"Are you in any pain, dear9" she asked me.
"No, I'm fine."
"Good. Y' all make yourselves at home. We got fried chicken, mashed potatoes, black-eyed peas, corn on the cob, and a peach pie Rodney helped me bake."
"Did not," Rodney said quickly, embarrassment filling his eyes.
"You cut the peaches, honey," she insisted.
"That's nothing," he said, glancing at me.
"Without cutting himself," Star contributed. "That's good."
"Oh, he never cuts himself, Star. Don't go teasing him"
"Okay, Granny. C'mon," she said to me. "I'll show you where to leave your things. I'll be right out to set the table, Granny."
"Done," Granny announced. "Rodney did it."
"I didn't do all of it," he protested. Helping with domestic chores obviously made him very selfconscious.
"Thanks, brother," Star told him, and reached up to run her hand through his hair, but he jerked away quickly and she laughed.
No matter how she teased and admonished him, I thought, it was easy to see the love between them. Already, I was jealous. The warmth among them was palpable. I welcomed the opportunity to be washed in it.
Star's room was very small and crowded. Pieces of furniture touched. It was possible to approach her bed only from one side because of the tiny space between the one dresser and the bed frame. Rodney's cot was against the other wall. He had a poster of Michael Jordan above his bed. That and a few other sports pictures were all the decorations. Even his dreams were rationed in this room, I thought sadly. I also imagined he had just about outgrown the cot.
"Just drop your overnight bag on the dresser," Star instructed. She went to her narrow closet and sifted through some of her garments. "I'll just change into this dress," she said, holding up a maroon tank dress that reached mid-calf. "Granny expects it," she whispered.
"Oh. Maybe I should have worn something nicer," I thought aloud.