Love Is a Revolution Page 9

  “Well, we’re just coming up with ideas right now,” Uncle Randy says.

  Imani opens the fridge, takes out the pineapple juice, and pours a glass. “Wow, you’re just planning it all without me?”

  “You were sleeping, Imani. Nala is just helping me think up ideas.”

  I set my phone down, sit at the table in the corner nook of the kitchen. “I was going to fill you in.”

  “Filling me in means you were going to already have a plan and just share that plan with me but not ask me to help come up with the plan.”

  “Well, it’s not my fault you were out all night and couldn’t wake up this morning,” I say.

  “Nala, I always help my dad organize something for my mom’s birthday.” Then she turns to Uncle Randy and asks, “Why would this year be any different?”

  I eat the rest of my apple and put my plate in the dishwasher. I don’t have time for Imani’s attitude. “We literally just started talking about it.” I pull up Imani’s number on my phone and text her the list of notes. “There, you have the ideas now. You can take it from here.” And then I add, “You are so sensitive. Always thinking someone is trying to leave you out. This isn’t sixth grade.” I try to say it with a smile, but I think it comes out as harsh as I actually feel it.

  “Sixth grade?” Imani asks.

  “You don’t remember the epic Christmas-tree-decorating incident?”

  Uncle Randy chuckles and walks away. “This is my cue to exit stage left.” He walks out of the kitchen.

  “Don’t leave now, Dad,” Imani says. The memory must’ve come back. “I know you all think I was overreacting that night, but it really didn’t seem fair that you all did the Christmas decorations without me.”

  Uncle Randy calls out from the living room. “You were sick. You had the flu and had finally fallen asleep. Your mom and I were not going to wake you.” He’s said this so many times.

  “Well, I was only eleven and it felt like you all were being a family without me. It was our tradition.”

  And when she says our I realize for the first time that each time we retell this story it is not funny to Imani, it is not just about the time she had the flu and a fever and missed decorating the tree, missed baking peanut butter blossom cookies, missed making hot cocoa. For Imani, it is about the night her mom and dad took me in as their own daughter, the night when we bonded without her, the night I moved in. Stayed.

  I always look back on that rainy day as the day everything changed in my life for the better. Me, dripping wet from the rain, showing up on the doorstep like a lost puppy. I never considered that maybe for Imani it was the beginning of her life changing in ways she didn’t want. On my first night in her home, there I was joining in on a family tradition that wasn’t my own. She cried when she woke up and saw the tree. I remember the look in her eyes when she asked, “But who did the angel?” and Uncle Randy told her I did. She couldn’t even have any of the cookies because her stomach wouldn’t hold water, so she just went to bed having to fall asleep to the laughter of her mom and dad and her cousin-sister-friend celebrating and welcoming in the holiday season without her.

  Tye and I meet up at Sugar Hill Creamery. He is there before me and already has a booth for us, in the back. When I get to him he pulls me to him, holds me while he’s talking to me. “You good?”

  “I’m okay.”

  “Just okay?”

  “Let’s get ice cream,” I say.

  We walk to the counter and order. Tye, salted caramel. Me, strawberry chocolate chip. Tye pays, grabs napkins for both of us, and we walk back to the booth. One side has a bench connected to the wall, the other side chairs. He pulls a chair out for me, knowing that I’d be more comfortable sitting in the chair than crammed up in the booth. He is like that, knowing what I need when I don’t even ask. Never making a big deal out of my size. As soon as we sit down, he says, “Okay, lay it on me. What’s up?”

  I can’t believe this, but all the emotion I held in yesterday is still there. That’s the thing about tears. If you don’t cry them, they come out in other ways or just wait for another time. And here they are.

  Tye reaches out for my hand. “What happened?”

  “Nothing. I—nothing happened. And I think that’s why I’m so emotional.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing. Just . . . ​our ice cream is going to melt.” I pick up my spoon, but Tye won’t let it go.

  He leaves his side of the booth and comes to sit next to me. “You can tell me anything.”

  And I believe him, so I tell him about the brunch and how Imani never came and my mom never came. How things are changing between me and Imani, how they are staying the same between me and my mom. How sometimes I feel like a burden to the people who are supposed to love me, the people who are supposed to be there, always, no matter what. “I don’t want to talk about Imani behind her back. We’re good. I know she loves me. It’s just—things are different.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” Tye says.

  “Do what?”

  “Downplay how frustrated you are. Of course she loves you, but that’s not the point. And that goes for your mom too.” Tye squeezes my hand. “I know all about family drama. Believe me. I get it.”

  But it’s not just the family drama. It’s me not being fully honest with him. It’s me not knowing Fredrick Douglass’s Fourth of July speech, it’s knowing that Imani would rather be anywhere but home with me, it’s knowing that every time I spend time with Tye and get to know him better, I like him more and more and I don’t know how to be the real me, or if he’d even like the real me. Yeah, these tears are about all of that.

  We finish our ice cream, and then we just sit and talk since it’s not too crowded and no one is waiting for a table. Tye stays next to me, and I love how he keeps my hand in his hand, how even when he is not saying words, he is telling me something.

  12

  I’ve seen Tye every day for two weeks. Besides having dessert at Sugar Hill Creamery, we’ve been to see two movies, took a walk along the High Line, and sometimes, we pick a neighborhood to explore. So far, we’ve roamed around Washington Heights, Union Square, and the West Village. Summer feels slow because the sun hangs on to the sky as long as it can, like it doesn’t ever want to let go. And this is how I feel holding Tye’s hand. I want him with me always. Tonight, we are sitting on a bench at the West Harlem Park Piers watching the Hudson River swallow the sun. It is cooling down now, and my legs have stopped throbbing from the walk we took to get here.

  Tye leans back on the bench, says, “Tell me something about you that I don’t know.” This has become a thing now. Whenever we have run out of things to talk about or if there is an awkward silence, we ask this question.

  It takes me a while, and then I say, “I don’t have a favorite color.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t have a favorite color? Everyone has a favorite color.”

  “Not me.”

  “Come on—”

  “There are colors I like, but I don’t have one color that I love or that I decorate my room with or wear a lot.”

  “I don’t know anyone who doesn’t have a favorite color,” Tye says.

  “Well, now you do. What’s yours?” I ask.

  “Tan.”

  “Tan? Be real, your favorite color is not tan.”

  “Are you judging me?”

  “Yes, actually. I mean tan being your favorite color is worse than me not having one. Tan is so bland, so boring.”

  “Tan is not too bold or bright,” Tye says. “And it matches everything. I like neutral colors,” he tells me. “And I don’t look at neutral colors as bland or boring. I think they’re just laid back. Chill.”

  “Like you,” I say.

  He smiles.

  “I’m serious. That’s a perfect description of you. Laid back and chill. Gets along with everyone. That’s what I like about you.”

  “I like that about you too,” Tye says. “You’re
just—I love the way you make having fun a priority. Like, you are always thinking of someplace to go, something to see in the city. It’s relaxing to hang out with you.” Tye takes my hand, and how is it that one touch from him sends shock waves through every part of my body? “And I love how you love,” he says.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “You just—it’s so clear how much you love your grandmother. How you started a whole volunteer program just to be closer to her, to make sure she had activities to do. That says a lot about you.”

  I let go of his hand. This would be the perfect time to come clean. To tell Tye that actually I love beef burgers and that this morning I had scrambled eggs with extra, extra bacon. This is the perfect time to tell him that my grandmother’s facility is just her home, not a place where I work. We have only hung out for two weeks, with no kissing, no nothing that says we are something serious, so now would probably be the best time, the right time to tell him who I really am. Because the way he looks at me, the way we make it our business to talk to each other every day, see each other as often as we can . . . ​something more is coming. He’s wanting to get closer and closer to me, and I want him to know exactly who he is getting close to. That’s what I should do—tell him now. I take a deep breath, turn to him and start to talk, and instead of words coming out of my mouth, Tye’s lips press into mine. And there is no talking, only kissing, and kissing and kissing.

  Tye asks if I’m ready to leave.

  “No, let’s stay a little longer.” I take a plastic water bottle out of my purse and drink, trying not to get too much lipstick on the bottle.

  “Ms. Lori gave us a summer challenge not to drink out of plastic water bottles,” he tells me.

  He sounds like Imani right now, giving me a not-so-gentle hint that I am doing something wrong. I don’t say anything.

  “Uh, not that I’m telling you that you should take the challenge. I was just saying, I’m taking the challenge.”

  I don’t say anything. I drink the last of my water. Make sure every drop is gone. There’s a garbage can not too far away, so I get up and walk over to it. As soon as I get to the can, I catch myself. I don’t throw it away. Instead, I put it back in my purse, sit back down next to Tye. I’ll wait till I find a recycling bin. That’s the least I can do, I guess.

  I have a feeling if I had thrown it away, there’d be a lecture, a look of disapproval.

  We sit for a while longer looking out at the water. A few boats sway and rock on top of the waves. “Okay,” Tye says. “Tell me something else I don’t know about you.”

  “I can’t think of anything.”

  “There have to be more things that I don’t know about you.”

  “But I can’t think of something I want to share right now.” I could tell him that something he doesn’t know about me is that I hate feeling judged, I hate feeling like I am not good enough. But who likes being judged? I mean, that should be obvious.

  He looks at me. “Okay, I’ll go.” And then he leans back and says, “Remember when you asked me about my relationship with my father?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I wasn’t completely honest with you.”

  Tye wasn’t completely honest? Maybe we all have secrets.

  “I told you I love him, but sometimes, I—I kind of hate him too.”

  I take Tye’s hand. There’s nothing I can say right now. I just squeeze his hand, try to let him know that I understand.

  “He’s just . . . ​so I saw him yesterday. He was here for some business meeting or whatever, and it’s not like he even planned to see me. It was so last minute. So unorganized. He only had like an hour because he had to get back to Connecticut. Couldn’t miss his train.” Tye is quiet for a while. There are so many questions I have for him. I want to know what he and his dad talked about, what he wished they’d talk about.

  There are always the words we said and the words we wished we said when it comes to the people we love.

  “I don’t want to care, you know? But, like, he was sitting there bragging on his children, telling me how well they did this past school year, how good Nathan is in sports. And I’m sitting there like—what about me?” Tye stops talking when he says this, like he didn’t mean to admit that last part. But it’s too late to take the words back, so he keeps talking and I keep listening. “I don’t mean to sound conceited or anything, but I mean, I’m handling my business, I’m doing the right thing. I’m making sure my mom is proud of me, that I get a scholarship to college so she doesn’t have to stress about tuition. I’m out here doing all this Inspire Harlem stuff, and he sits there and talks about his five-year-old son playing Little League. Really?”

  I can tell Tye has been holding this in since yesterday, that this is the first time he’s let any of these words out. He takes a deep breath, says, “He’s the one missing out, though. I try to remember that. At least that’s what my mom says.”

  “My aunt says that too,” I say. “All the time. She says my mom is missing out on my best years and that it’s not my fault.”

  Tye squeezes my hand. I lay my head against his chest. He puts on an exaggerated game-show-host voice and says, “And that concludes our most depressing round of Tell Me Something I Don’t Know about You.” Then, in his real voice, “Sorry about that. I just needed to—”

  “You never have to apologize for telling me how you feel.”

  Tye lifts our hands, kisses mine. “Your turn. Something funny, something—”

  “Tye, it’s okay. It’s okay to sit here and be sad. I mean, you don’t have to wallow in it all day, but you don’t always have to look on the bright side of things. Sometimes, you have to acknowledge what’s hurting you. How else will you ever heal?”

  We sit and sit, letting the sadness sink in, holding each other and watching the boats sway and sway until the sun has vanished and the sky is a kaleidoscope of pink, purple, and orange. I take a few photos of the river and the sunset. Then, I pull Tye up, yanking his arms toward me. We turn around so that the sunset is our backdrop and take a picture. Just as I am taking the second one, Tye kisses me on my cheek. I take the photo. Tye says, “Send that to me.”

  “Okay.” I crop the photo, center us a bit, and then send it in a text. I save the photo to my background so I can see it every time I pick up my phone.

  We stand and start walking back through Harlem’s streets. We pass Dinosaur Bar-B-Que, the Cotton Club, and continue home. The whir of the number one train above us flies through the sky like a rocket. The more we walk on 125th the more crowded it gets. We walk closer together as the sidewalks narrow.

  “Tell me about the community block party,” I say.

  “So, you know how our tenets for Inspire Harlem are Remember Harlem, Honor Harlem, Critique Harlem, and Love Harlem?”

  I nod.

  “Well, this event is focusing on Love Harlem,” Tye says. “The only thing Ms. Lori said is, we have to make the community aware of one social issue we care about.” We stop at the corner until it’s safe to cross and then keep walking. “We’re focusing on loving the Earth.”

  I am just listening, waiting for Tye to get to the part where he talks about the block party, the fun stuff.

  Tye continues. “There will be tents along the street with volunteers handing out flyers and brochures about ways to take care of the environment and how to become more engaged in the local community. We’ve invited a few experts to give talks and demonstrations throughout the day.”

  Finally, I have to ask. “But what about this is a party?”

  Tye sighs. “I know. To be honest, I haven’t figured it all out. And I need to because it’s happening soon. My team is great, don’t get me wrong—Imani, Toya, and Asher have taken care of all the technical, practical things we need for the day. The flyers are printed, the brochures are ordered. The vendors are booked. But yeah, we have some more thinking to do when it comes to the party aspect of things.”

  “What about getting a DJ? And maybe
you can have a face painting station in case there are children. And a few stations where there are games or something—”

  “Like trivia questions for a prize,” Tye says.

  “Yeah, you need some actual fun things for people to do or else they’re just going to come get some food, maybe grab a flyer, and leave.”

  Tye squeezes my hand. “I should have had you on my team from day one.”

  We walk the last few blocks to my house, and soon we are standing at my stoop. We hug, and Tye doesn’t let me out of his embrace. He whispers, “Can I kiss you again? Here?”

  I answer with my lips, leaning myself into him, and we kiss, blocking out the city noise, not caring who is walking by. When I go inside, Imani is at the window not even trying to hide that she was watching us.

  “You two been together all day?” Imani asks.

  “Yes.”

  “You a couple now?”

  “Yes.”

  Imani walks away from the window, goes into the kitchen, and looks through the fridge for something, maybe anything. “Wow. Tye is dating my cousin.”

  “Is that a problem?” I ask.

  “Not at all,” Imani says.

  But I don’t believe her.

  13

  The community block party is off to a great start. 135th Street is blocked off from Lenox to St. Nicholas. There’s a big banner at both ends that says, Love Harlem. Volunteers are posted at both ends at the Inspire Harlem tents. Jackson and Asher are at Lenox Avenue to greet community members and hand out reusable water bottles and a tip sheet on recycling. Vendors line both sides of the street, and so far, my favorite is the woman selling jewelry that is made from recycled soda cans. Down the street at St. Nicholas, there’s a resource tent. Lynn is there giving out a calendar of community events and a handout with local resources, like websites and numbers to hotlines, food banks, and shelters. An adult volunteer is there with voter registration forms and keeps telling people who walk by, “Show your love by voting—in every election. Every election is the big election.” She sounds like an automated recording the way her voice stays the same every time she says it.