“Hello, sugar. Are you Li’l Dottie’s daughter?” an oldish woman asks me.
“No, ma’am. I’m here with Clay.”
“What did ya say?”
“I’m with Clay,” I say louder.
“Oh, that’s nice. You are gettin’ so tall and pretty! Is Li’l Dottie here?”
It’s pointless to argue.
“No, ma’am. She didn’t make it out this evening,” I tell her.
“Aw, I haven’t seen her in ages. You give her my love, ya hear?”
“I will, ma’am.”
She dodders off. A couple small kids seem to be playin’ chase, runnin’ through all these bodies, bumpin’ ’em, knockin’ over shit. They been warned. I heard it. Only a matter a time before somebody’s mama starts screamin’ and the whuppin’ begins.
From my perch by the window, I spot Clay across the room, surrounded by relatives. I had no idea this party was going to be this big. For all I know, maybe he never gets to see these people. I’m beginnin’ to wonder why he wanted me here so badly. It’s nice to be invited and all, but I woulda understood if he just wanted to spend time with family.
Now I’m seein’ people holdin’ plates, so I guess all the food’s been laid out, but I don’t feel like eatin’. Not in this crowd. I don’t care for pushin’ and shovin’ and gettin’ pushed and shoved just to get a plate a food. Rarely am I that hungry. I’d rather just sit here quietly like a ghost. It ain’t half-bad actually. Peace, in the midst of chaos.
Them shrimp and grits sure do smell good, though. That’s all right. I don’t mind. Maybe supper’ll calm the brats down at least.
I bet there’s two hundred people here. Could be more. Clay’s house is much bigger than ours. His father owns his own business, as his father before him did. I don’t think that means they’re rich, but I think they’re doing pretty well. They got a dining room separate from the kitchen and two bathrooms! I haven’t gotten a tour, so I don’t know what the upstairs looks like, but I think they also got an attic and a basement. All these rooms and all this space and Clay’s an only child. I’m a tad envious, but I wonder if he ever gets lonely.
The front door opens again (I can’t see it from where I’m sitting, but I immediately feel the energy shift out in the front hallway), and this time it gets kinda quiet out there. Because the sudden hush is so unexpected, I sit forward and strain to hear what’s goin’ on or if somethin’ happened. I can’t make out anything specific, but the hush seems to move like a bubble around one woman. The guest of honor. A woman who looks like she might be in her sixties pushes the wheelchaired guest to the center of the living room. The quiet that follows her is either out of respect or awe. Or fear, possibly.
The woman in the chair is Miss Corinthia Tuttle, Clay’s great-great-aunt, and today is her one-hundredth birthday.
Once she’s in the room, the conversation picks up again, and several people gather around Miss Corinthia to pay their respects. I’m curious myself but don’t feel like I have a right to bother her, since I’m not family. I’ve never met a one-hundred-year-old person before. I expected her to look like an unwrapped mummy, but she doesn’t. I can tell that her hearing isn’t too great, cuz people keep leanin’ in close to talk to her. She mostly sorta nods. Not talking much herself, if at all. Her hair is thin and silver and pinned out of her face. I realize now that it might be a wig. If I’d met her in church or somethin’, I’d probably think she was in her seventies or eighties.
Somebody awkwardly places a gift-wrapped box in her lap. She looks down at it without any interest, and that’s when I notice the gnarled stiffness of her hands. There’s no way she could open that box on her own.
“Here, Grandmama. I got it,” says the woman who wheeled her in, and she puts it on an end table.
I get up to use the bathroom. I don’t have to go, but I need to stretch my legs, and it’ll give me an excuse to get a closer look at Miss Corinthia.
“Lord, you look like you’re in better shape than I am,” some lady jokes. I have a feelin’ she’s heard that one before. Miss Corinthia just smiles up at her. It’s a strained smile, like a mask. Or it could be that she can’t control the muscles in her face the way she used to. I slip by the entourage and down the hall to the bathroom, which is occupied, of course. I don’t even know where the other one is. I lean against the wall. I’d rather wait than fight my way back through the crowd.
I feel a light weight on my side.
“Can you imagine how terrible it would be if one day we found out we were cousins?”
I turn my head enough to see Clayton with his chin resting on my shoulder. I giggle.
“Well? It wouldn’t be great,” I reply.
“I think we’d get over it eventually.”
“You are so goofy!” I tell him. The door opens, and it’s Clay’s father.
“Oh, Evvie! I haven’t seen you all evening!”
“Hi, Mr. Alexander. Thank you for inviting me. It’s a lovely party,” I say in my good-girl voice.
“Well, just know you’re welcome here anytime, sweetheart,” he says to me warmly right before shooting Clay the iciest glare I think I’ve ever seen. Clay’s eyes stay on his, but the hostility only comes from one direction. Mr. Alexander leaves us, and I turn to Clay.
“It’s okay, Evvie,” he says before I can say anything. He nods his head toward the bathroom, and I go in.
I really don’t have to use the toilet, so I’m in
