Malpractice Makes Perfect

Chapter 7

            The renovated duplex my grandparents had bought fifty years ago was still the same blue it had always been, though now the deep cobalt had faded to a blue as clear as the sky. The green of the trees had begun to absorb into the shadows of nightfall and a pleasant evening breeze danced through the air. I pulled my car behind Aunt Jackie's and cut the engine. The sounds of revelry breached the car easily—someone laughing (probably already drunk), voices yelling (probably also drunk), and off-key singing (definitely drunk).

          I sighed deeply, the burden of a long day weighing on my shoulders as much as my mind, but family was family and I would be there for them even when I didn't feel like socializing. I would give my hugs, tell my little jokes, and be a generally agreeable conversationalist for the rest of the evening.

           But for no more than two hours and then, you better believe I was a ghost until the Fourth of July.

          As I pushed through grandma's chain-link gate with one hand, and balanced Jackson's gift in the other, I managed to ease the tension in my shoulders. Halfway up the green painted concrete path Jackson opened the screen door. "Evie, you made it!" He jogged over to me and pulled the large box from my arms. "I got it."

          "Of course I made it. How could I miss a chance to see my favorite cousin?"

          He laughed as we continued toward the door. "That's a damn lie. You know Bree is your favorite."

           "Well, no one can say I didn't at least try to be polite."

           I held the screen door open for him so he could finagle the box through then swept in behind. A cheer of excited 'Evie!'s rose over the music. I squeezed through a cluttering of relatives seated in the walkway on folding chairs and headed toward the head of the round dining table where grandma was sipping from a red cup full of vodka and seltzer water and bobbing her head to Marvin Gaye. "Hey!" She said as I reached her and leaned down for a hug. "There's grandma's sugar!" She hugged me tight and gave me a big sloppy kiss on the cheek. "You hungry?"

          "Not yet." I shouted over the music.

          "When you get hungry let me know. I got some chicken, collards, mac n cheese, and green beans."

          "Yes, ma'am."

           After I finished greeting grandma, the next stop was mom. She was sitting on the opposite end, next to Uncle Bobby, her curly hair pulled tight into the same low bun it was always in.

           "Hey," she said, and half stood to return my hug. "You made it."

          "I wouldn't miss it."

          As I worked my way back through the labyrinth of bodies packed into grandma's tiny dining room, half the crew got up one by one to hug me and ask how life was treating me since I'd last seen them all at Easter. On the aging stereo Evelyn Champagne King crooned about her love coming down and I remembered that for a while as a child I swore I was named after her. Eventually mom broke the news that I was named for my grandmother. The other one.

          After I'd hugged half the family and a quarter of the neighborhood, I settled into the living room chair with a can of off-brand red soda that was either strawberry or fruit punch flavor—I didn't care. The next hour was a revolving door of faces I'd known all my life. Cousins coming 'round to pat Jackson on the back and drink all the beer. Uncle's dispensing sage advices that seemed a little fool-hearty if you asked me, but no one asked me. Aunts jumping up to dance to the same music they'd been dancing to for twenty years. And grandma's old lady friends from around the hood still hot and ready to party well into their seventies. They'd started up a game of poker at the card table that I had been previously banned from because I played with cents and not dollars. It wouldn't be long before the accusations of cheating began.