Page 15 of Endgame

‘Ow!’

‘What do you know about MrRamon?’

‘I know he’s invited to the wedding and he isn’t coming. Why don’t you bring him, Gigi?’

‘He changes my light bulbs and is handy around the house. There’s nothing more to know about MrRamon.’

‘I know he’s been around changing the light bulbs quite regularly, since two years after Grandpa Spence died. I also know that those are LEDs and they don’t need to be changed for a very, very long time— Ow!’

I get another flick of the comb.

‘MrRamon is Puerto Rican, he’s mixed – and besides, he’s just a friend.’

‘Okay, Gigi,’ I chuckle.

‘You want hair left on your head after this?’

I say nothing else as I smile silently to myself. We all know MrRamon is her boyfriend. Gigi is beautiful and deserves someone who makes her feel that way. Over the years, we’ve observed the six foot plus, handsome, distinguished, kind, quiet gentleman support, spoil and be there for Gigi. We are all happy for her, Mommy included; but, for whatever reason, Gigi refuses to admit it. I bet he turns up tomorrow to fix something and say goodbye before we head to the airport.

I decide to focus on romances that do not involve her and MrRamon, and home in on the gossip from her circle of friends.

‘How was the church trip to Vegas?’

‘Great. The girls and I gambled the whole trip and only made it to the brunch at the House of Blues. Oooh! Miss Margot got herself into a situation-ship with Deacon Corrigan from the Baptist church across the way.’

‘No!’

Miss Margot was the sweetest little old lady with iconic church hats and a blond wig that made her look like an older Mary J.Blige. She was quiet and frail and always had candy in her purse at church – not someone you’d readily associate with a ‘situation-ship’.

‘Uh-huh. He apparently justhappenedto be there. We think they planned it. At least it’s an improvement – she met the last guy at a funeral and had to go on antibiotics.’

I settle down to enjoy the news from the surprisingly promiscuous elderly community my gigi belongs to as she finishes masking my hair. It’s always much more scandalous than I could imagine. When my hair is fully masked, she places a shower cap over my head to steam the products into my hair before we go through her closet together, picking outfits for the wedding. Isszy’s family insisted on having African print couture made for Gigi, so she was asked to send her measurements. We have a lot of fun as she tries the outfits on. Each fits perfectly. The fabrics are heavy and colourful and I feel myself radiating admiration as she exudes regal beauty in them.

Besides gossip, what I love most doing with Gigi is cooking, so, when packing is over, she suggests we head to the kitchen to cook before I wash the products out of my hair. Delighted, I happily skip after her. Frustratingly, she never measures anything, so it’s impossible to record her recipes, but it all ends up tasting consistently and reliably incredible. Like magic, it’s a bit of this and a bit of that, some of this and just a pour a load of that in, and it’s always perfect. I’d never dared to replicate any of her recipes until Dominic came over one evening a couple ofweeks ago. It was a ‘welcome to the neighbourhood’ and ‘thank you for my island birthday’ dinner when I moved into my new home in his community.

The memory of that night is now tainted by Maximilian’s words. My gigi catches my eyes filling before I get the opportunity to blink the tears away.

‘What’s wrong, baby?’ she asks, concerned.

‘Someone said something terrible to me when I was in Maine and I’m not sure how to process it.’

‘What did they say?’

‘They called me a gold-digging house Negro.’ I let my head drop.

‘Oh, baby.’

Gigi walks round her cooking counter to give me a hug in her warm and love-filled kitchen. I stay in her safe arms for as long as I can and allow myself to break down and cry, letting the hurt release itself freely.

‘The fact that you are here, now, hopping over the world, sharing spaces that were never intended for you, being free in this home right now, holding on to me without fear or restriction, is a victory, sweetheart. We have the privilege of being able to choose what our lives look like without interference from others. You are the manifestation of your ancestors’ brightest dreams. He just sounds like the manifestation of his ancestors’ darkest. There’s only one way to beat a guy like that, and that is to thrive; and that is exactly what you are doing. So, keep doing it.’

It was exactly what I needed to hear, and it makes me hold on tighter to her.

‘Okay. That’s enough now.’ Gigi rubs my back lovingly. ‘If you make that fiery lamb of yours, I’ll teach you my jambalaya. If we don’t eat too late, I’ll put cornrows in your hair and tell you allabout when your mother brought her first boyfriend home.’ She finishes with that naughty titter that fills me with excitement.

The rest of the evening goes by in a peaceful blur, and, by the time I wake up the next morning, the wound Maximillian left – while still present – now feels more bearable.

After breakfast, as we make preparations to leave for the airport, the doorbell rings. I open the door to a smiling MrRamon.

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