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“I know you didn’t. It’s a gift.”
“We don’t need no more charity,” Dad said, more hurt than angry. But he was definitely angry.
I turned to the moving guys and apologized, handed them each a twenty, and told them to leave the couch in the yard for now. They did, and when I’d signed the delivery slip, they left, looking thankful we were in their rearview.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Mama asked from the porch.
“I was hoping to surprise you, but looks like I missed the mark.”
“Yeah, you did,” Dad said.
“But that couch was old when I was a kid. Things like that aren’t meant to be kept that long.”
“Maybe not by you, but they are for us,” Mama informed me.
“He wants to make us over, Sherry, that’s what it is. Just like he did with the house—”
“I got you the house because the last one needed to be condemned.”
His face hardened. “You mean to tell me none of this serves you? Didn’t make you feel high and mighty? We appreciate what you’ve done for us, but this ain’t us, Duke. This house, that couch—it ain’t us. It’s you.”
“My whole life, you told me if I worked hard enough, I could have anything I wanted. Well, now I have what I want and I want to share it with you. What’s wrong with that?”
“Because that was a dream we had for you, not for us. We wanted you to succeed, but maybe we didn’t understand what that would look like. Because I don’t like the color on you, son. I don’t like it at all.”
He turned and stormed inside, the screen door slapping the frame behind him. And I stood at the foot of the porch stairs, staring at the empty space where he’d been.
Mama drew in a long breath and made her way down to me to hook her arm in mine. “Come here and sit with me.”
I obeyed without argument as she guided me to the brand new couch sitting in the grass. The miles between us were a tangible thing—me in designer slacks and a button down, her in a house dress she’d had since I lived at home.
A cicada hissed long and faded away.
“Why won’t y’all let me get you new things?” I asked.
“Well, first off, you didn’t even let us pick this one out ourselves when we’re the ones who’ve gotta sit on it.”
“I knew you wouldn’t let me do it, so I didn’t ask.”
“So you knew we didn’t want it, but you expected a parade when it came?” She shifted to sit sideways on the couch.
“No… no. I knew it would be a fight.”
“And you did it anyway. But not for us.”
“Who else?”
“Yourself, dummy,” she said on a laugh, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of her dress pocket and lighting one up as she spoke. “I know you have a whole other life out there. You have since you left. And we don’t question it. We don’t try to shape you in our image because we don’t want you to be us. You’ve changed, and that’s all right.” She paused for a beat. I kept quiet. “But you’re not happy with us stayin’ the same. Are you?”
I let out a sigh. “It’s not that.”
“Isn’t it though? You got us this fancy house, want to outfit it with furniture that doesn’t suit us. When you stand us up next to each other, we don’t match, do we?”
“No,” I admitted. “I just thought y’all staying the same was a matter of means.”
“Never stopped to think we’re happy as we are?”
“How could you be happy with nothing?”
She considered as she took a drag of her cigarette. “Doesn’t feel like nothing to us, I guess.”
I gave her a flat look. “The old house, you were happy with that?”
“It was ours, warts and all. We worked hard for that house, raised a family there.” She shook her head. “Don’t get me wrong. Everybody loves nice things, Duke. But I think we have different ideas of what nice is. And you imposin’ on us doesn’t feel like a favor.”
I scrubbed a hand across my mouth. “You remember when I was little and I’d bring home straight A’s? And you’d put my report card on the fridge and say—”
“One step closer to big things,” she finished.
“Big things,” I echoed. “Well, I did it. And I’ll do more before I’m through. That ambition is a part of me, Mama. I don’t know how to turn it off.”
“Then don’t. But I’ve been wondering something since you came home.” She took a drag.
“What?”
“If you know who you are anymore.”
“I know exactly who I am,” I answered without hesitation. “I’m a Harvard law graduate, a Capitol Hill legal consultant to one of the most prominent senators in congress. I’m a mayoral candidate, an expert cattle roper,” I tried to joke, but it didn’t land. “I’m—”
