Ambitious Affairs

Chili

Since I didn’t want to go home just yet, I meandered toward my best friend’s apartment.

    A squat building, I could smell m*******a thick in the air of the stairwell as I headed up to the second floor, moving to a familiar door.  Knocking, I waited, frowning.  Maybe she’s not home?  Pulling out my phone, I called her and heard, “Hello?”

    “PJ?” I wondered, frowning at the sound of his voice.  PJ is Jasmyn’s twin brother.

    “Yo!” he said and it sounded like he was further away.

     “Hey girl, what’s up?”  Jasmyn called.

    I guess I’m on speaker.  “Are you guys home?  Where are you?  I’m here,” I whined.

      I heard some thumping, a bang and cussing on the other side of the phone.  When the door opened, PJ grinned down at me, pulling me into a hug.  He’s tall and thin but in pretty good shape since he likes basketball almost as much as he likes sketching.  “Come in, we’re trying to cook.”

      “Emphasis on trying,” Jasmyn groaned from the kitchen.

    “It’s been a nightmare,” PJ muttered, eyes widening theatrically.

    “You mean you’ve been a nightmare!  How the heck did you manage to burn the cornbread?” she snapped.  “It’s straight out of the box!”

    “Listen,” he snapped, neck going with attitude, “you were the one oversoaking the greens, okay?  All that thing looks like is straight mush!”

    “Wait,” I said, looking at everything strewn across the counters, something bubbling angrily in a large pan on the stove, “what’s the special occasion?”

    “It’s mom’s birthday,” they said in unison.

    “Oh-kay,” I muttered, stepping up beside them.  “I think I can save this.”

    Jasmyn turned to me, her hair in a high bun on her head, looking completely flustered.  “For real?  You can fix PJ’s mess?”

    “Oh, it’s our mess,” he said, giving her a challenging look.  “Don’t blame this all on me.”

    She rolled her eyes.  “Just pu-lease save us, Kiki!  Mama will whoop us for ruining good food.”

    Pulling the lid off the pot, I realized they’d been attempting to make mashed potatoes.  Yikes.  “Okay,” I said with a nervous giggle, “maybe you two should start by stepping out of the kitchen.”

    They glanced at each other, muttering, “Agreed,” in unison.

. . .

“It’s all tastes . . . Spanish, if that makes sense,” PJ muttered, taking a bite of the chili I’d made.  It was chili with cornbread sprinkled over top of it.  My favorite.  Probably the only dish I can whip up with ease in almost any kitchen.               

    “Oh Mama will know you were involved,” Jasmyn smiled.

    “You tried your best,” I laughed, taking a step toward the door.  “Won’t she be home soon?”

    “Stay,” PJ said, realizing what I was doing.

    “But I thought—”

    “No girl, sit your butt down," Jasmyn insisted.  "We’ll celebrate together.”

    I shifted, a small smile playing at my lips.  “Yeah?”

    “Duh,” PJ said, nudging me.  “I’m about to bake a cake.  You could help with that anyway.”

    “Oh I see.  You still need my help,” I said, giving him an unimpressed look.

    “Hey, we can’t cook worth a lick,” Jasmyn said, “but the boy can bake.”

    “Pastry Chef Patrick coming at you,” he said, winking at me, already pulling out some flour.

    “How about you bake and Jasmyn and I will start cleaning up behind you?” I suggested.  I remembered the last time he’d baked some cupcakes and the disaster he’d left in his wake.

    “You calling me messy?” PJ quirked a brow, amused.

    “I would never,” I insisted, smiling innocently up at him.

    “I would,” Jasmyn cackled.

    PJ just rolled his eyes, pulling the eggs, butter, and milk from the fridge now.  “Hardy har.”

    And that’s what we did, R&B bumping through the kitchen as we danced around and sang loudly, off-key.  PJ baked a really delicious smelling chocolate cake that looked dense and . . . kind of lopsided.  Jasmyn giggled when he pulled it out of the oven and PJ looked kind of embarrassed, pursing his lips.  Biting my lip, I muttered, “Hey, what it lacks in presentation I’m sure it makes up in taste,” offering him a reassuring smile.

    “I love you,” PJ sighed and I just grinned back.

    “I have an idea,” Jasmyn said, already pulling out the powdered sugar.

    She ran out of the kitchen and PJ and I exchanged a concerned look until my phone started buzzing.  It was mom.  “Hi Mami, I was just about to call—”

    “Of course you were, love.”  Her voice suggested she wasn’t buying it.

    “Sorry,” I mumbled, already realizing that I’d gone a long time without reaching out.

    “Where are you?”

    “Jasmyn’s house.  We’re making a cake for her mom’s birthday.”

    “Oh okay, that’s fine.  You should’ve messaged me, amor.  Your father was worried sick.”

    “I pay the phone bill for a reason!” I heard my father call from the background.

    I bit back a smile.  “Sorry Papi!”

    “Tell Tasha happy birthday from us!”

    “I will,” I said, watching distractedly as Jasmyn re-entered the room with a piece of paper and scissors.  Quirking a brow at PJ, he just shrugged, looking just as confused.  “I’ll be home in a little bit, okay?” I went on, biting my lip.

    “Yeah, sure honey.  Just call and I can come pick you up.”  Mom was really trusting with me, mostly because I’d never given her a reason not to be.

    “Thank you!  Love you!”

    “Love you too.”

    Hanging up, I realized Jasmyn had cut out a paper heart.

    “You have to let it cool a bit before putting powdered sugar on it,” PJ said, apparently having realized what Jasmyn’s plan was.

    “I know, I know,” she mumbled, already pulling out some fruit to set aside on a plate.

    Frowning, I went to ask what the plan was when we heard keys in the front door.

    Tasha was home.

    PJ tossed the cake on top of the fridge and Jasmyn and I quickly served up a dish of food for her just as the door opened.  Standing in the middle, Jasmyn held the dish out to her as we yelled, “Happy birthday!”

    Tasha raked her hand through her hair, beaming as she kicked off her shoes, leaving them by the door.  “Aww, look at my babies,” she giggled, quickly rushing to take the dish, setting it aside before dragging all three of us into a bear hug.  Giving each of us a kiss on the forehead, she said, “You cooked for me?”  But when she pulled back, her eyes shifted from her kids to me.  She quirked a brow and I ducked my head, not wanting to take all the credit.  “And baked from the smell of things,” she said, eyes shifting to PJ who was grinning.  “Chocolate cake?”

     “With a citrus zest,” PJ said proudly, puffing his chest out.

    Tasha looked impressed.  “Sounds fancy.”  Running her hand over her uniform, she muttered, “Let me just get changed quick, hm?  Then we can celebrate properly, okay?”

    We all nodded and she headed toward the bedroom.  She had a wobble in her step, shoulders had slumped a bit as she leaned against the door, shutting it—Tasha looked exhausted.  PJ and Jasmyn exchanged a worried look and I pursed my lips, aware of the situation.

    When the twin’s father passed, it was hard on everybody.

    But Tasha—downsizing to an apartment, taking over the entire financial situation, doubling her hours as a room service manager at a local hotel to keep up with everything, she’d powered through like a gladiator, dragging her kids along after her.  On top of that, she’d been maintaining this positive attitude, driving the entire family forward straight through the storm without missing a beat.

    It had been inspirational, in my opinion.

    She was a beacon of strength.

    Two years later, that show of strength was waning a bit.

    There was no way to hide the dark circles under her eyes, the loss of weight.

    And from what Jasmyn had said, she’d started having “episodes”.

    Dizzy spells, falling asleep at the kitchen table, and just last week she’d passed out at work.

    Over exertion and dehydration, the doctor had said.

    She was literally working herself to the ground.

    “Do you have the present?” PJ whispered.

    “Oh yeah,” Jasmyn gasped, rushing toward her bedroom.

    When Tasha re-emerged, dressed in pajama shorts and a comfy t-shirt, she took a seat at the table next to us and, eyes shifting to one of the empty chairs.  She always looked to the head of the table, the place where Andre once sat.  Giving a wan smile, her eyes flickered to Jasmyn now hustling over from her bedroom with a wrapped present in her hands.  “Oh no.  I told you not to buy anything.”

    “Of course we were going to buy something,” PJ cut in.

    “Just open it up,” Jasmyn grinned, handing it to her mother.

    Tasha made a face, trying to look upset even as her lips tilted upward at the edges.  “Okay, but after—”

    “Now!” the twins shouted in unison.

    “C’mon ma, hurry up!” PJ pushed.

    Tasha frowned at her pushy children, ripping at the paper.  An expression of mute surprise, then a giggle bubbled out of her lips.  “Really?”

      “You said your feet were hurting,” Jasmyn said, already grabbing the box from her hands.

    “A foot massager?” Tasha laughed.  “How much did that cost?”

    “Oh hush, it’s from Walmart,” PJ muttered dismissively, taking the box from his sister who was struggling to get it open, ripping the top off with ease.

    Amused, I watched them pull out the fluffy foot massager pillow, putting batteries into it.  Jasmyn had taken her seat as PJ turned on the vibrating pillow, setting it at Tasha’s feet.  “My queen,” he said with a dramatic flair, grinning cheesily up at her.  PJ was always a momma’s boy.

    Tasha rolled her eyes but she was smiling.  “Goofy.”  I could hear it in her voice and PJ must’ve too because he rushed over to hug his mother, earning a slap on his arm before she was wiping at the tears falling from her cheeks.  “Okay, enough, enough,” she huffed, shoving at him.  “C’mon now.  Sit.  Let’s eat before the food gets cold.”