𝐀𝐢𝐠𝐚
Warnings // Profanity // Infidelity // Age gap // Mentions of disease & terminal illness
Word Count // 3k
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Wednesday, August 14, 2024
Aiga. It’s a Samoan word that translates to family—at least that’s what he taught me.
“Aa—aay—ga?”
“Watch my lips,” he instructed. Pointing a finger to what I’ve come to know as the softest place on earth. “Ah—ee—ngah.” He sounded out slower than before.
“Ah—ee—ngah?” He nodded. “Aiga,” I repeat. He smiled a satisfied one. Rubbing the leg furthest from him as I sat on his lap in the lounge chair by the pool.
The moon fiend for attention that night as she shone bright on us. The light from the pool bounced off our faces in a sensual dance. Instead of the usual heat Miami discharged, it was pretty cool that night. Droplets of water still lingering on our skin after ascending from the pool. Filthy sex that ended in a late night swim.
It was a calm night. We didn’t do much that day. Mostly bed-rotted in the coolness of his grey sheets—listening to him talk about what’s next and all the things he wants to do in his career when he’s done with the ring—before he had to go take care of some business. Much to my surprise he came back within two hours.
“Tell me about yours,” he urged. I let go of a laugh so subtle that if I wasn’t already in his face, he would’ve missed completely. “Not your dad. You already told me about him.” He waves a hand. “We don’t have to talk about him.” The queasy stomach ache or trauma and memories I’d rather not have, evaporates.
“My mom is a make-up artist. She mostly works on small sets. Commercials or stuff like that. She does weddings mostly. That’s her thing. My brother is an artist too—well he sells it. He doesn’t necessarily make it. At least now he does. In high school, you couldn’t tell him he wasn’t making it to the league.” I took a pause, laughing to myself at how different he was—at how different everything was back then. “And he was good. Really good—but things just don’t always work out how we want them to. So he got a degree in computer science that he barely uses. Now, he’s in LA with his girlfriend, art dealing. She’s a nurse.”
“Like you.”
“Like me.” I mirror the grin on his face, unable to stand strong under the heat of his gaze. I hate when he does that. Puts all his attention on me, like I’m the most important thing in the room. Or maybe I just hate that I love it. I shouldn’t love it.
“Here I was thinking you were an only child.”
My face screwed up. “It gives only child?”
“What’s wrong being an only child?”
“What’s not wrong with being an only child?” We laugh together and I rest my head on his toned shoulder, breathing in the clean smell of him even mixed with the chlorine.
“Do you miss them?”
“All the time,” I confessed. “Mainly how we used to be. Like before my dad was diagnosed. Everything changed after that. Not much of a family anymore.”
Since the news of my dad’s decline in health, I didn’t think my family would ever feel normal again. Even when he went into remission, their divorce came, and then I knew for sure. It just wasn’t in the cards for us. Our new normal had become separation. Me in New York. My dad in his own world. My mother traveling and working her ass off. Junior in LA with this girlfriend, Chloe. Only coming together when it’s absolutely necessary. Some holidays and maybe birthdays. Even as we all sit in the same room, it all felt so forced. The shadow of how full of love and exultation we used to be under one roof, always behind us.
So, today is a day I’m equally anticipating and dreading. My mom’s forty-eighth birthday. Despite the drama queen she is, her birthdays are spent rather chill. Dinner with just her immediate family and maybe a trip with her sisters, if she’s up to it. When they were married, my father made it his business to plan a getaway for them every single year. Her birthday always meant a week with them away, earning my brother and I free rein over the house to get into all the trouble we could think of. But, that was back then.
This year she kept it more simple than ever. No trip. Her only request was that her two babies come back home and have dinner with her. Imagine my surprise when I arrive to see my father’s car in the driveway. A sight that’s only been a mere memory for so long.
“Party’s here,” I announce walking into the kitchen. The smell of my mother’s signature lobster mac and cheese hitting me square in the face.
In the kitchen, with chocolate accents under the bright lights above, stands everyone. My dad near the sink with my mom…rather close and cordial. Junior sits on the counter near them occupied with his phone.
“There’s my Lana bear.” My mom squeals, rushing in my direction with messy hands. I wrap my arms around her slim, but tall frame, making sure to squeeze extra tight. Breathing in hefty wefts of her Chanel scent. I hold up the bottle of dark red and expensive aged Antinori Tignanello I promised her on the phone the other day. Setting it down carefully for her.
“Daddy,” I greet him apprehensively. Confused as to what he’s even doing here. Comfortable as ever, shoes off, and moving about in the kitchen like he still pays bills in here.
“Don’t daddy me.” He cracks a smile. The deep dimple on his left that he’s passed down to Junior and I, growing deep. He embraces me in a side hug with the hand that’s not occupied with a knife. “What’s going on, babygirl?”
“Nothing, just tryna make sense of what’s going on in here.” I smile stiffly and bulge my eyes out like a fish to Junior, once they both turn their backs. All he has for me is a shrug and a subtle shake of his head. “Where’s Chloe?”
“She came down with something. Didn’t want to get anybody sick.”
I squint in his direction, smelling the lie my parents can’t. “So, we’re all having dinner?” I ask, twirling my finger around the room.
“That’s right.” Junior smiles smugly.
The night carries on just as eerily and confusing as it starts. We have dinner. A feast of fried fish, lobster mac and cheese, cabbage and my father’s spin on dirty rice.
There’s cake. Red velvet with cheesecake filling, as always. We sing and wish the powerful woman, that is Tina Maxwell, a happy and blessed forty-eighth birthday. The night takes a familiar turn when my dad does the honor of pulling out the Monopoly board. A staple in this family. A game with the highest stakes, that we don’t play about in these walls.
The night is full of laughter, shared memories, and the healthiest trash talking you can imagine as the drinks start to settle in from dinner—complete opposite of what I imagined it to be on the ride over here.
Stepping out into the crisp night air in the backyard, I plop down in the hanging daybed, laying on my mom as she slips the glass of expense wine I gifted her slow. The breeze eliciting small goosebumps on me under the hanging lights she has up. Her hand instinctively finding its way through my curls to massage my scalp. I shut my eyes and just sink into it. Sink into the moment. Going back to a time where this was my normal.
“I see you got a little tan on you.”
“Yeah. I uh—I went on a little vacation a couple weeks ago.”
“With Demi?”
My eyes shoot open. I’ve found this new pattern of lying since meeting him. It’s getting quite old.
“No…another friend.”
The vacation in Belize was like a moment frozen in time. A world within our world. An empty promise. A magic ball showing me what could’ve been if we weren’t who we were. If there wasn’t a stretch of obstacles between us. If what this was, wasn’t so socially unacceptable.
If every day, I could spend with him—laughing and covering myself in the luxuries of life—going to sleep and waking back up to him—that’s my classification of a good ass day. And if those days somehow roll forward together, back to back, blurring into one another as they had in Belize, so much so that I can’t pin-point the day each moment happened, I can only sum them all up from the feelings those moments conjured—then, that’s my classification of a good ass life.
But everyday and a life is just something I can't share with him. Everyday is just not for us. But half a day maybe, and a long ass night? I’ll take it. Even if I know in my heart he won’t be there when I roll over in the morning. So, I’ll spend those long nights intentionally and passionately, like every one was the last one. Because it actually might be.
I rise up from the comfort of her. Biting my bottom lip in the weakest attempt to swallow my smile. “What?” I ask noticing the smirk on her face.
“Now that I have you here—for the first time in I don’t know how long—are you ready to tell me what’s going on with you?”
“Why does there have to be something going on?”
“Do not bullshit me Alana Floyd. All this designer?” Her eyes roam over me with raised brows as I sit comfortably in Chanel sneakers and a Van Cleef stack on my arm. “Your tuition? The condo you and Demi moved into, that I still have no idea how you’re paying for? The G Wagon in my driveway? I never see you anymore. A girl has to turn forty-eight to get her kids to come see her?” She laughs incredulously with a low scoff. It’s too hard to meet her gaze full on. My mom has always been one of those moms that can look you in the face and know exactly what’s going on in your head. It’s why I’ve avoided and dragged out the inevitable return home for so long. I can give half truths and silly jokes over the phone, but right here in her face, there’s no way she’s letting this go. “I just want his name.” She shrugs. “That’s all. You can tell a lot about a person by their name.”
The one thing she wants, I’m afraid I can’t give it to her.
“There is a guy…”
“There we go.” She slaps her thigh, setting the wine glass down on the side table. “There’s a guy. Does he have a name?”
“Mom, please.”
“Alright, fine.” She throws her hands up. “I won’t push. We’ll just call him Guy. I’m just relieved to hear it’s not a pimp.”
“Ma!”
“What? You refused to say anything. You don’t talk to me anymore. I guess you’re at that age now where talking about boys with your mom is corny.” I release a heavy sigh, allowing my head to hit the back of the cushion. If only she knew how many times I wanted to pick up the phone and tell her everything. Cry to her. Show off the gifts. Yell in frustration abut how much him and his big ass ears irritate me. Everything. “I guess I don’t need to ask how he’s treating you, or how he makes you feel. I can see it all over you.” It’s then, I’m forced to look into her eyes. Is it really all over me? And what exactly is all over me? The depth of her smile answers everything. “You’ve got that new love glow to you. Haven’t stopped smiling since you got here.” My cheeks go tender as I try to straighten up. “Don’t try to stop now.” We laugh.
There’s another stretch of silence. The crickets sing and the lightning bugs that I don’t get to see anywhere else, move around us. “It’s not love.”
“Yeah, sure. And your brother isn’t lying about why Chloe isn’t here.”
“You caught that too?”
She waves a hand. “For whatever reason, Junior thinks I’m slow. Since he was a damn toddler. Tells the craziest stories. I bet you a fifty-ball that girl is pregnant.”
“Good. Maybe that’ll force him to marry her. They’ve been together for almost a decade now.”
“I always told him—you’re not ready to get on one knee, but you’ll have sex with her unprotected? A child is more commitment than a marriage. Believe me. I’ve been out of mine and somehow your dad is still in my house.” I snort. “I hope you’re being careful?” My eyebrows wrinkle, trying to make sense of the sudden inquiry, until it hits me. And it hits me hard.
“Of course,” I lie. An unforgiving memory of laying on that operating table has liquid rushing to my eyes. I blink them away with that dreadful memory I haven’t shared with a soul.
She’s quiet for a second. Looking me over, probably figuring out how to swallow the lie I just told. “Okay,” she finally says. “Will I ever get to meet Guy?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“No?” Her head thrusts back at my quick response.
“It’s complicated.”
“Love isn’t supposed to be complicated. When it’s complicated it’s turning into something else.”
“I already told you—it’s not love.”
“Then, what the hell are y’all doing?”
“Just—I don’t know. Just having fun.”
She frowns. “The only reason I’ll accept that answer is because you’re only twenty-two. I just need you to know that fun shouldn’t come with baggage. Fun isn’t supposed to be heavy. You’re supposed to leave fun, the same way you came into it.”
“Who says it's heavy?”
“The smile on your face when you first started talking about him,” she retorts. Sharper than a kitchen knife set, she is. Nothing gets past her. If there is anyone I should be hiding this from, it’s her.
“And I don’t appreciate you sending Junior to fish for you a couple months back.” Her jaw drops. “Yeah. He already told me. Bribing him with rent money.”
“Boy can’t hold water to save his life.”
“I’ll tell you like I told him—I am leading with my head and not my heart.”
She smiles, shaking her head. “You are your father’s daughter.” She picks the glass back up and rises. “He thought he was doing that same thing when he met me. So, good luck with that, Lana bear.” She runs a hand over my curls before I hear the sliding door hit the frame, signaling her exit back into the house.
I breathe easy again. Letting my head rest in my hands. But it’s not long before my phone breaks my moment of silence and reflection, vibration violently next to me.
WiseMan.
His timing is out of this world. I press the green button, holding it to my ear, the same time I rise up.
“Paul?”
“Alana! How are you?”
“I’m good. You?”
“Never been better. I’m calling on behalf of our friend, of course. It’s been brought to my attention that you’ve left Miami for a bit?”
“Yeah, I came home.” I begin to pace, while admiring all the changes my mom made to the backyard. She is a true artist.
“Well, he wanted me to let you know that he’s in the area. He was in New York, but he got a room up North.” My heart picks up pace at the promise of his presence. Imagining his warm hug and his soft lips. “I could have a car come get you if you don’t want to be bothered with the drive up.”
“Um…You know what?”
Peaking in the living room from the glass door, the sight before me has a lump in my throat forming. My eyes sting, but not with sadness—with joy. Appreciation. For the first time since I was a teenager my family…looks like a family. A happy one. Normal. My mom spreading out old photos on the floor straight from the photo albums. Wine glass glued to her hand, never spilling it no matter which way she moves. My dad crouching down next to her. Junior sprawling out on the couch, with the game on the loudest volume possible beside them, pretending to pay attention to the pictures.
They’re talking. They interacting. They’re smiling. No one’s bickering. No solemn faces as my dad is hooked to some machine to assist his breathing—while a cloud of doom lingers over us making it hard to feel any type of joy, as the fate of his life is so uncertain.
Tonight was nothing like that. Quite the opposite actually.
“I think—I think I’m gonna stay…you’ll tell him I’ll see him next time?”
“Uh…yeah. Y-yeah, of course.” The shakiness and shock in his voice is loud. I don’t turn down an opportunity to see him, ever. Especially after we’ve went weeks without seeing one another. I usually jump at the opportunity. He’d just have to understand this time. I’m sure he will, after I’ve opened up to him that night about the current state of my family. “Take care of yourself, Lana.”
“Yeah, you too.”
I make my way back inside when the line goes dead. Ready and too eager to join in on the Hallmark card that they emulate.
My family—my aiga, is just as complicated as everything else in my life is now. But for this one night, I don’t mind pretending that they’re the most normal thing about me. And if all I get is the half of the day, and one long ass night—I’ll treat it as if it’s the last. Because it actually might be.
A/N // this short takes place before A Better View. this was actually his and Lana's last sort of communication before then🌚 next short will be up in a few minutes.
as always, if you read it or even a portion of it, i am forever grateful💗 feedback is welcomed.
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