Grandmama’s dishes.
Later it would become difficult for Kenya to remember the first dinner they’d had with Teddy Jaffrey, because before long he was there more nights than not and each of these nights was the same. It was like watching badminton, sitting at the table as he and her mother batted the birdie of their chatter toward each other. Sheila talked about her desire to stop commuting into Philadelphia and transfer to one of the nearby, suburban libraries. Teddy, who was getting his real estate license, talked about housing prices in the different towns—Paoli, Haverford, Devon—and wondered aloud if these white folks would buy a home from a black man. The game fell apart every so often when someone tried to lob the birdie at Kenya. It was difficult, Kenya thought, for her mother to flirt with this man and talk to her daughter at the same time, because Sheila had to keep a smile in her voice when she said things like “Kenya, you might have to go out and get a little job to pay for the Winter Ski Trip. I’m not made of money like these girls’ parents.”
As awkward as it was for Sheila to be Kenya’s mother in front of Teddy Jaffrey, at least Sheila knew what to say. Kenya, on the other hand, found it challenging to talk to him. She wasn’t at all sure how to answer questions like “Do you know how proud it makes me to hear of a young lady like yourself going to Barrett?” or how to respond when he extended an imaginary microphone and said, “Tell us, Kenya, what is it like to have a five-star chef for a mother?” Even saying hello to him was fraught, because she never knew when he was going to try to give her a complicated soul handshake and then say, “I bet they don’t teach that at the Barrett School for Girls.” Kenya began to long for the lonely, calm dinners on chipped dishes she’d shared with only her mother, which had now become a rarity.
Teddy was a dork. But that wasn’t the thing that had bothered Kenya since she first saw him. The sense of an unsolved mystery about him nagged at her until her mother engineered a sleepover at China’s house one Friday evening, despite bitter complaints from Kenya. So it was a long night of eating cheese curls (which she hadn’t touched since her birthday a month and a half ago), putting white cream on their faces, which China insisted ladies did at night, and listening yet again to the plot highlights of Purple Rain .
The next morning, when Sheila and (surprise!) Teddy Jaffrey came for Kenya, China pinched her arm hard and whispered hot in her ear, “Oh my God, he is, like, so gorgeous!”
Then Kenya realized it was this that had been bothering her like a small stone in her shoe: Teddy Jaffrey’s gorgeousness. Because though her mother’s face, with its lush eyebrows, bright eyes, and gapped front teeth, had always made something soar in Kenya, she knew that Sheila was not what most people called beautiful. It made her wonder what Teddy wanted from them.
* * *
One spring afternoon, not long after the sleepover at China’s, Kenya sat in her room with the door open, struggling with algebra. She thought about the old days when she would ask her father for help. Back then her mother was often at work or in purposeful motion at home, but Johnbrown couldn’t stay focused on the task long without tumbling into a tirade about the American education system or the great mathematicians of ancient Kush. Finally her mother, who had adored math in school, would appear or pause what she was doing to save the day. Kenya thought of that now, musing that her mother wouldn’t be home for at least an hour and a half. Her mind jumping to the occasional mouse problem they had, she yelped in terror when she saw movement out of the corner of her eye.
“It’s just me,” her mother called.
“You scared me! Why aren’t you at work?” Kenya yelled back.
“I had an appointment.”
“Are you okay?”
“Kenya, can I have a minute?”
Kenya heard
Later it would become difficult for Kenya to remember the first dinner they’d had with Teddy Jaffrey, because before long he was there more nights than not and each of these nights was the same. It was like watching badminton, sitting at the table as he and her mother batted the birdie of their chatter toward each other. Sheila talked about her desire to stop commuting into Philadelphia and transfer to one of the nearby, suburban libraries. Teddy, who was getting his real estate license, talked about housing prices in the different towns—Paoli, Haverford, Devon—and wondered aloud if these white folks would buy a home from a black man. The game fell apart every so often when someone tried to lob the birdie at Kenya. It was difficult, Kenya thought, for her mother to flirt with this man and talk to her daughter at the same time, because Sheila had to keep a smile in her voice when she said things like “Kenya, you might have to go out and get a little job to pay for the Winter Ski Trip. I’m not made of money like these girls’ parents.”
As awkward as it was for Sheila to be Kenya’s mother in front of Teddy Jaffrey, at least Sheila knew what to say. Kenya, on the other hand, found it challenging to talk to him. She wasn’t at all sure how to answer questions like “Do you know how proud it makes me to hear of a young lady like yourself going to Barrett?” or how to respond when he extended an imaginary microphone and said, “Tell us, Kenya, what is it like to have a five-star chef for a mother?” Even saying hello to him was fraught, because she never knew when he was going to try to give her a complicated soul handshake and then say, “I bet they don’t teach that at the Barrett School for Girls.” Kenya began to long for the lonely, calm dinners on chipped dishes she’d shared with only her mother, which had now become a rarity.
Teddy was a dork. But that wasn’t the thing that had bothered Kenya since she first saw him. The sense of an unsolved mystery about him nagged at her until her mother engineered a sleepover at China’s house one Friday evening, despite bitter complaints from Kenya. So it was a long night of eating cheese curls (which she hadn’t touched since her birthday a month and a half ago), putting white cream on their faces, which China insisted ladies did at night, and listening yet again to the plot highlights of Purple Rain .
The next morning, when Sheila and (surprise!) Teddy Jaffrey came for Kenya, China pinched her arm hard and whispered hot in her ear, “Oh my God, he is, like, so gorgeous!”
Then Kenya realized it was this that had been bothering her like a small stone in her shoe: Teddy Jaffrey’s gorgeousness. Because though her mother’s face, with its lush eyebrows, bright eyes, and gapped front teeth, had always made something soar in Kenya, she knew that Sheila was not what most people called beautiful. It made her wonder what Teddy wanted from them.
* * *
One spring afternoon, not long after the sleepover at China’s, Kenya sat in her room with the door open, struggling with algebra. She thought about the old days when she would ask her father for help. Back then her mother was often at work or in purposeful motion at home, but Johnbrown couldn’t stay focused on the task long without tumbling into a tirade about the American education system or the great mathematicians of ancient Kush. Finally her mother, who had adored math in school, would appear or pause what she was doing to save the day. Kenya thought of that now, musing that her mother wouldn’t be home for at least an hour and a half. Her mind jumping to the occasional mouse problem they had, she yelped in terror when she saw movement out of the corner of her eye.
“It’s just me,” her mother called.
“You scared me! Why aren’t you at work?” Kenya yelled back.
“I had an appointment.”
“Are you okay?”
“Kenya, can I have a minute?”
Kenya heard
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