Page 38 of Call Me Mrs. Taylor

Jonetta barely looks up from her clipboard before saying, “Aniya’s parents want a meeting. With you. And me.”

I stop mid-step, gripping the strap of my messenger bag. “For what?”

Jonetta finally meets me eyes, her expression unreadable. “About something you said. They didn’t give me the details. But whatever it was, Aniya said she was sick the next day, which also happens to be the same dayyoucalled out sick.”

Her tone is accusatory, but her face is still neutral.

My fingers clench, nails digging into the fabric of my purse strap.

“Weird coincidence,” I say.

I don’t have time for this shit, but I really should have seen it coming.

The urge to turn and walk out the door is strong, but I need this job, at least until Ace retires me and puts me up in a big pretty house like I deserve. So I say, “Of course. I’d be happy to straighten this out.”

After I get my kids served their disgusting breakfast, I walk into the office, closing the door behind me. The moment I step inside, I feel the tension thicken the air like humidity before a storm.

Jonetta sits behind her desk, her hands clasped together on the wooden surface, mouth drawn in a firm, neutral line. She’s watching everything carefully, like a referee before the first punch is thrown.

Across from her, Aniya’s parents sit side by side with her in the middle. I take the seat on the wall next to Jonetta’s desk.

“Raya, these are Aniya’s parents, Sisco and Nevaeh.”

Sisco and Nevaeh.

I repeat it in my mind, barely managing to hold back my smirk. I only knew them as Mr. And Mrs. Hansby.

Sisco.

Sisco?

As in, “Thong Song” Sisco? But…why? Whose idea was that? And, Nevaeh? Girl. I wanna know what life is like for a black woman who was forced to share a name with every biracial born after Y2K.

I blink, shaking off the thought. My gaze shifts to Aniya, who’s sitting stiffly, arms crossed tightly, lips pressed together in a thin, straight line.

Sharp. Focused.

Not bad for a four-year-old.

Let the games begin.

I smooth my hands down my thighs, arranging my face into something resembling sincerity and concern.

“What’s this about?” I ask, tilting my head like I’m utterly confused about why we’re here.

Sisco jumps in without hesitation. “Aniya told us what you said to her.”

I hate that all I can hear is violins.

I blink, willing the song out of my head, then ask, “What did I say?”

Jonetta shifts in her chair, waiting for the answer.

Nevaeh leans forward, her manicured nails tapping against her knee. “She said you told her she should’ve been swallowed.”

That sucks all the air out of the room.

Jonetta’s a pro, so she doesn’t react outwardly, but I know she’s clutching her imaginary pearls.

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