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The woman made a grunt of acknowledgement, then looked her up and down, “That wig don’t suit you.”
“It’s not a wig; I wanted a change.”
“Looked better before,” she muttered. “Get blessed with that head o’ hair and you cut it and color it? That’s a waste.”
As a rumble climbed up my throat and I was about to set this hag straight, my woman’s eyes sliced to me with a plea in them, so I bit my tongue.
I knew she wanted to surprise her with the wig. She texted my ma on the way down here to ask about an ETA for the wig. Ma was gonna find out but said it should be ready soon.
She babbled on the way down about the aunt’s complaints about being unable to keep food down, how she felt the worst she’d felt in her life. G talked about how she’d need to go clean the place, change the sheets, be there for her for errands that needed to be done. Talking about the aunt having nobody to help.
She talked about the aunt trying to get some medication that was supposed to help with the endless nausea, and then she read me shit she found online about remedies. Some acupuncture wristbands she’d heard about, how ginger might help with the nausea.
She muttered she’d make sure to stop by the nursing home to pick up her last paycheck, some holiday pay.
Normally, I couldn’t listen to someone babble for three fuckin’ hours, but I was finding myself surprisingly unannoyed.
I stopped at a grocery store once we were inside the Sioux Falls city limits.
“Oh,” she said, “I gotta get my holiday pay first. I don’t have any money to – ”
“You think I’m not gonna help out?”
“I’ve got a couple hundred bucks coming but my old boss said it wasn’t ready. She’d text me when it was. But I haven’t heard from her.”
“Don’t sweat it, I’ve got you.”
“She couldn’t get me that pay before I went on the unpaid vacation.” She rolled her eyes.
A minute later, she said, “Aunt Francie’s not very good about paying money back when you get something that she didn’t ask for, and-”
“I don’t give a shit. Let’s go get whatever shit you think’ll help. I’m not bothered about the money.”
“If you’re with me a couple days you won’t get paid from the garage, though, and…”
“Babe, I’m not rollin’ in it, but I have low overhead. Live at the clubhouse for free, own this truck and my Harley, so no payments. The garage pays well, and the club pays profit-sharing. They’re not into shady shit these days, so while we pay dues, we’ve got investments and Deke pays profit-sharing on those. I’ve got money in the bank. I’m not worried about it. I’m happy to cover you.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“Most chicks are happy to let their man put his hand in his pocket for her.”
“Guess I’m not most chicks,” she said, smiling.
“Thank fuck for that.”
She was still all smiles as we went into the store. I told her to get whatever she figured her aunt needed while I bought some beer for later.
And now that we were at the aunt’s, she handed us shit almost non-stop from the minute we walked in. When she wasn’t puking or moaning.
I wasn’t heartless, had sympathy for how she was feeling, but she was unnecessarily bitchy beyond that, like us coming to look after her was her doin’ a favor for Gigi instead of it being the other way around.
I’d been directed to the second bedroom with our bags, hearing her bitching through the thin walls.
“I’m already feelin’ like shit, shittier than I’ve felt in my fuckin’ life, girl, and you hand me this?”
“Aunt Francie, Jesse’s amazing. He’s here for me and he already helped by buying all the stuff I got at the store.”
“Didn’t ask for nothin’.”
“I know. But I’m here for you. I promise, you don’t have to fret about Jesse being here.”
“Bullshit is what this is. I need to lie down.”
“Have you eaten today?”
“Can’t. Throwin’ up air for fuck’s sake.”
“I’ll make you some broth and get you some ginger ale.”
“Don’t want nothin’, Gianna. I’m tired of barfing and anything that goes down comes right back up.”
“Try. A few sips. We got you some anti-nausea wristbands and some ginger lozenges, along with some natural ginger anti-nausea pills. Did the doctor say when your prescription would come?”
“It’s on the way.”
I looked around the little guest room. Little was an understatement. Smaller even than my room in the clubhouse, space taken up with a futon with a bunkbed over top of it. Small television set on a dresser. Little closet filled with boxes. I opened the blinds on the puny window and cranked the sunroof open to get some air in here. It smelled like fake flowers and stale cigarettes. I tossed the bags and her purple box of girl shit on the top bunk. The bottom futon would open up to a double and it’d nearly touch the door when it was open.
