Basketball Jones (18 page)

“My baby’s home!” Mama sang as she got out of the car and hugged and kissed me.

“Hey, Mama. So good to see you and be back home.”

“And we’re so glad you’re back home.”

“Where is Bella?”

“Having pizza with one of her friends from dance class.”

“A female friend I hope.”

“You know my rules, Aldridge,” Mama said, cocking her head. “Bella doesn’t date or take phone calls from the opposite sex until she’s sixteen, and then only if her grades are right.” She slipped her arms over my shoulders. “Come on and put
your luggage in the trunk. We need to move fast because I’m parked illegally and I don’t want to argue with the rent-a-cops.”

Mama popped the trunk and I laid my garment and overnight bags over her tennis rackets and Bella’s worn ballet slippers. I couldn’t help but notice a bag of golf clubs and thought how wonderful it was that my mother had taken up the game in her fifties. It pleased me that Mama finally had her own life apart from Bella and me.

“You want me to drive?” I asked.

“You might not remember how to get around this town. Raleigh is really growing,” she said, turning over the ignition. “Before long it might be too big for Bella and me.”

“I bet I can still find my way around this town.”

“You can certainly borrow my car if you decide to go visit some of your friends.”

I thought for a moment and realized that no one I wanted to see lived there anymore. Like me, most of my classmates had left Raleigh, for Atlanta, Washington, D.C., or Charlotte. Besides, the people I’d been close to during my senior year at East Side High weren’t my classmates or from Raleigh. I suddenly remembered Devin Gossett, the track and field star from Shaw University. I’d met him coming from my summer job at Bank of America before my senior year in high school. Devin was my first serious romance and I couldn’t help smiling at the memory of sneaking out of the house and into his dorm room after I was certain Mama had fallen asleep. At the time she was working two jobs, so I could usually count on her being out cold by 8:30. Sometimes I would ride my bike to the campus or Devin would borrow one of his teammate’s cars and meet me blocks away from Mama’s house.

The last time I’d heard from Devin was several years ago, when he had gone back home to the Bahamas to compete in the Olympics for the national track team. He told me then that he was marrying a girl from the islands, not because he was in love, but because it was what his parents and country expected of him. Little did I know this would become the story of my life. That was cool with me because I liked Devin a lot but never felt in love with him like I did with Dray.

Meanwhile Mama was talking about her golf game, the new outlet malls, and how she wanted to come down to New Orleans and help Katrina victims. Every now and then I would look over and catch a glimpse of her brown eyes, which were soft and full of a mother’s love. She was wearing a rose-red sweater, with an ivory skirt and lipstick that matched her top. Mama was a petite woman, short, just a little over five feet, with no visible waist. As a kid, I thought she was the most beautiful woman ever. She’s still striking all these years later.

About twenty-five minutes later, we pulled off Highway 85 South and drove down a few dark roads until we came to the gate of a charming neighborhood. On both sides of the street stood two-story homes with spacious yards dotted with leafless trees. I remember the look of wonderment on my mother’s face the first time she saw her new house fully decorated by yours truly. It was a look that I would never forget, and it had brought me great joy to be able to purchase a new house for my mother and sister. Thanks to Dray’s generosity, I’d been able to pay cash for the house and decorate it with stylish furniture that had always been out of Mama’s reach. He knew how much family meant and told me to pull out all the stops if it was going to make Mama happy. I loved Dray even more for allowing me to make that happen.

Mama’s place was a white two-story house with a long brick walk leading to the door. We pulled into the driveway and into the garage; I got my bags from the trunk and followed Mama through the garage door and into the kitchen. The sudden aroma of the kitchen was almost as welcoming as my mother’s hug and kisses, but not quite.

“What’s that I smell?” I asked, laying my bags on one of the chairs in the breakfast nook.

“You know I had to cook some of your favorites.” Mama went over to the stove and took a big wooden spoon from the counter and stirred a simmering pot.

“You left food cooking? Now you know better than that. You could have burned this house down,” I scolded.

Hands on her hip, she gave me a “Who do you think you’re talking to?” expression. “I knew that your flight was on time, so I left it on very low. I wanted it to be hot when we got home.”

I joined her at the stove, “I thought we’d have pizza like Bella, but is that what I think it is?”

“What do you think it is? Or better yet, what does it smell like?” Mama asked as she lifted a silver lid from the big steel pot.

“Is it your world-famous stew?”

“You got it, baby. I know what my number-one son likes.”

Mama was known for her white bean stew with duck sausage. My favorite dish was seasoned with chopped onions, minced garlic, fresh thyme, and miniature tomatoes. She usually served the stew with a warm spinach and bacon salad along with garlic cheese bread on the side. I could tell from the fragrant aroma that this had to be the exact menu. Mama knew me so well. I had even been thinking about the stew as the plane took off.

“Bella’s gonna hate that she missed this.” I laughed.

“That girl doesn’t know what good food is. I told her she wasn’t assured my good genes and she needed to start eating healthy if she wanted any kind of serious dance career.”

“She’ll be all right. I think we both know she got good genes.”

“Sit down, son. Let me fix you a bowl,” Mama said.

“You want me to help? I can get the salad plates.” I looked around the kitchen, trying to remember which cabinet Mama kept them in.

She waved a dishcloth at me dismissively. “Sit down. You know my rules. You’re a guest on the first night, but first thing tomorrow I’ll go back to treating you like family.”

“Do you have any red wine?” I asked.

“I do, but don’t let me have to tell you to sit down again. I will get it when I finish serving the food.”

I sat down at the table and unfolded the white linen napkin and placed it in my lap. I watched my mother ladle the stew into a white bowl, and somehow the joy she felt in having me home came through even in the small gesture of fixing my plate. All of my problems back in New Orleans felt a lifetime away.

There really was
no place like home.

A couple of hours later, I was in my bedroom on the computer, trying to see if the Hornets had won and whether Dray had had a good game. The Hornets Web site said that they had lost the game and Dray had scored twelve points—not bad, but certainly not the scoring tear he’d been on recently. I wondered if he was going to be upset with me. I picked up my phone and sent him a text message. “Keep your head up boi. Y’all will get them the next time. Sleep well. AJ.”

I then sent Jade a text reminding her to check my mail and water my plants. She texted me back immediately telling me it was already done.

I then got a text from Dray: “See I told you so. Next time you should listen to me boi.”

I texted him back a simple “K” and then got up and walked over to my suitcase, which was lying open on the bed, when suddenly the door opened. A delightful, fine squeal of a teenage girl exploded in my room.

“My big brother’s home! My big brother’s home!” Bella repeated as she raced toward me, nearly tackling me onto the bed.

“Bella, you look so pretty,” I said, kissing the top of her head. She had on a light pink leotard, a blue hoodie, and pink sweatpants that I’d sent her months ago. Her hair was in a ponytail and her skin so smooth and silky that if I hadn’t known better, I would have sworn she was wearing makeup.

“AJ, how long are you going to be here? Maybe you can come to my dance studio or we can go shopping at Belk’s. Did Mommy tell you that I’m taking voice lessons and that we’re going to get an interview coach or maybe a life coach?”

“A life coach? An interview coach? What’s that? Sweetheart, when did you get a life?” I joked.

Bella eyed me sternly. “I will be a junior in high school next year. And the interview coach helps me with my pageants, taking me through mock interviews.”

“Are you ready for that?”

“Ready? My book bag is packed. I can’t wait to go to a new school and leave some of those petty middle-school girls behind.”

“So how is that going?”

Bella picked up one of my magazines and let out a sigh.

“They just hatin’. I guess it’s to be expected. If Paris and Nicole can endure it, then I guess I can as well.” Bella sounded quite the grown-up. I regretted that so much of my time was spent away from her and Mama. Here she was becoming a young woman and I was missing out on all of it.

“Paris and Nicole? Are they in your class?”

“No, silly. Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie from
The Simple Life.
I love those girls.”

“I don’t know if those are good role models, Bella,” I said skeptically.

“I know they do stupid stuff like drink and drive, but they’re going to stop doing that. I wrote Paris on her Web site and she actually sent me a letter back.” Bella was clearly impressed by the connection she’d made. I didn’t want to tell Bella that most likely Paris’s assistant or some secretary had penned the response.

So I said simply, “That’s nice.”

“How long are you going to be home? I wish you would move back here so you could see me dance all the time.”

“Maybe someday we’ll live in the same city. The three of us.”

“Mommy said we were going to watch a movie tonight. Which one?”

“I brought
Dreamgirls.
Have you seen it?”

“Have I seen it? Please,” she said, looking at me sideways. “Only ten times and I know all the songs and dance steps. I tell my dance teacher all the time that I’m going to be the next Beyoncé.” Bella dropped back onto the bed and waved her skinny arms.

“Why don’t you just be the first Bella?” I suggested.

“Yeah, that’s what I’ll be. Everyone will just call me Miss
Bella.” She giggled, staring at the ceiling. “And I’ll make so much money that I’ll be able to take care of you and Mommy like you take care of us.”

I closed the suitcase and sat it on the floor. “Well, Miss Bella, why don’t we go in the kitchen and microwave some popcorn and get something to drink.”

She popped off the bed. “Okay, and I’ll even make some of my famous Bella’s pink lemonade.”

“What am I gonna do with you?” I teased, slapping her butt playfully.

Bella stretched her arms out playfully and sang, “And you, you … you. You’re gonna love me. Yes you are. Ooh … love me.”

“Hey, I thought you wanted to be Beyoncé not Jennifer Hudson,” I said, pulling my little sister out of the bedroom and toward the kitchen to prepare our snacks for movie night.

I had been home in New Orleans for a little over thirty minutes when the phone rang. I looked at the caller ID, recognized Jade’s cell number, and clicked on.

“Hey, Jade.”

“So you made it back safely,” she said. “Did you enjoy your trip? How are your mother and little sister?”

“They are doing fine and it was a really good trip. I’m glad I went home.”

“Glad to hear it. What’s your little sister doing? Did you tell her about how you’re planning a sweet-sixteen party for her?”

“She’s into school and her dance. I didn’t mention the party because I want it to be a surprise.” I settled on the couch. “What have you been up to?”

“I’ve been keeping myself busy. I picked up some night shifts and even work the VIP room at the casino. They’ve been calling me a little bit more at some of the spas to do facials, so I guess the rich people must be moving back to New Orleans. I have to go to some woman’s house in a little while. I guess the bitch too rich to leave her house.” Jade laughed.