If we’re two friends who do what we want, I know what I want. And the more I discover about Lotus, the less simple it seems.
12
Kenan
There’s no place like home.
Being here in Philly brings back so many memories, most of them connected to my dad. His markings on the wall for Kenya and me as we shot past our father and mother in height. Him reading his Sunday paper in the bright kitchen of our Society Hill townhouse. His sigh, half weariness, half relief when he’d walk through the front door after a long day in court. I feel his presence and hear his voice in every room.
Simone and I are unloading the groceries we bought from Whole Foods. Since my mother sprained her ankle and stayed home while we shopped, it was good time alone with my daughter. Simone opens the cabinet to the left of the stove to put away salt, pepper, and oregano.
“Spices to the right, Moni,” Mama says, glancing up from her crossword puzzle.
“Sorry, Grandma.” Simone smiles at my mom and moves to the other side. “Daddy, can we go to Geno’s?”
Her eyes brighten with rare excitement and possibly hunger for the famous cheesesteaks.
“Sure. We’ll swing by after we check on Faded with Uncle Lucius. Sound good?”
She nods and presses in to me, batting the longest lashes known to man, or at least known to this man. “And Federal Donuts, too?”
“Cheesesteaks and Federal?” My arteries just wept.
“Where else can I get fried chicken and donuts together?” she asks, like that’s a logical rationale. “We have to hit Federal while we’re here.”
“Kenan, now you know you did Federal for breakfast and Geno’s for lunch growing up,” Mama says, her smile wider than I’ve seen it in a long time. “He might eat all strict and vegan now, Moni, but believe me when I tell you he didn’t always.”
She’s right. Lucius and I ate and screwed our way through the city back in the day. Neither of my favorite ladies need to know about the trail of condoms I left behind.
“Mama, I told you I’m not vegan.” To my mother, you’re either eating cheesesteaks and donuts or you’re vegan. Apparently, there’s no middle ground. “Moni, let’s do cheesesteaks today and Federal tomorrow,” I suggest. “Sound good?”
“Yes.” She nods and an eager light enters her blue eyes. “And maybe some shopping.”
My gut clenches. I gulp.
“Shopping?” I ask, trying disguise my trepidation.
“Daddy, please.” Simone presses her hands together and pushes her bottom lip out. “Maybe Forever 21 and GAP, and I think there’s a J.Crew at the—”
“Okay.” I massage the subtle throb that has started in my temple. “Some shopping. And I thought we could catch the outdoor movie at the Oval.”
“Eeeeek!” She throws her arms around my neck. “I’m gonna go change clot
hes.”
She practically skips toward the kitchen door.
“Erin Simone Ross,” Mama says, using my daughter’s full name and never lifting her eyes from the crossword puzzle. “If you don’t get back in here and finish putting those groceries away.”
Simone stops in her tracks and turns toward us with a sheepish grin.
“Yes, ma’am,” she says.
She chatters about shopping and donuts and dance class for the next few minutes while we put away the last of the groceries. I’m glad I brought her to Philly with me. Not only because we needed time alone out from under Bridget’s shadow, but because I think it’s done my mother good seeing her. And Simone has seemed happier, too.
How different would things have been if I hadn’t traveled so much, hadn’t spent so much time away from my daughter? There’s never been a time since she was born when I wasn’t playing ball nine months of every year.
“Done,” Simone announces triumphantly. “Now can I go change?”