happened to us.
EIGHT
I DON’T KNOW if it was all in my head, but it seemed like the minute I found out I was pregnant, the nausea started. Wanting to make a good impression on my first day of my first-ever job, I woke up early, intending to make up my face and put a few curls in my hair, but I spent most of the hour leaning over the toilet.
Every time I retched, your father gagged in response. “Dagnabbit, Penny,” he yelled from the living room, “keep it up and you’re going to make me puke too.”
“I’m not doing it on purpose,” I called back as I cupped my hand and filled it with water from the faucet. It tasted so sweet compared to the bile I rinsed away. After a couple of swish-and-spits, I grabbed my toothbrush from the holder, wet it, and dipped it into the baking soda we were brushing our teeth with.
I don’t know if it was that paste or the bristles against my tongue that got my stomach trying to turn itself inside outagain, but somehow I managed to keep myself from starting the heave cycle all over.
I left your father sitting at the kitchen table looking miserable. He wouldn’t even acknowledge my good-bye, but I was too excited to care. I had a job, Manny! That might not seem like such a joyous thing to most, but to me, it meant release from a very long sentence of house arrest.
Twenty minutes and two wrong turns later, I’d finally found my way to the address Callie Mae had given me and pulled up in front of a large stone home on a Mercedes-lined cul-de-sac. When I rang the doorbell, the door flew open and Fatimah Wek, the Sudanese woman Callie Mae had put in charge of training me, waved me in.
“You are late,” she said, adding an annoyed tongue click for good measure. Although she wore her hair cut tight around her head like a boy’s, there was nothing else boyish about her. She had the most magnificent features, strong but feminine. With her long face, wide brown eyes, and the highest cheekbones I’d ever seen, she looked like an African princess.
“You stare at me.” She set her caddy of cleaning supplies by her feet. “I am dark. You never see a woman so dark. True?”
I opened my mouth to say that wasn’t true, but it was.
“My husband is not so dark. My family were not so dark. I am blackest in my family, even my village. Even the refuge camp.”
“Your skin’s beautiful,” I managed through my embarrassment.
She looked down at the ground. “Beauty is inside.” She glanced at me. “What of you? Are you beautiful?”
I blushed, but said nothing.
She pulled two sponges out of the caddy and handed me one. “You clean counters, sink. I sweep and mop floor.” She studied me to make sure I understood.
“Why do you get the good jobs?” I asked with a wink in my voice. It felt good to joke. I learned early on with Trent that ribbing, taken the wrong way, could have painful consequences, but something about Fatimah made me feel safe.
“I give you the good job!” She looked really put out by my teasing, until she registered my smile. Deep and full, her laugh was so contagious, I couldn’t help but laugh too.
“You play with me. Good. I like to play too.”
When I lifted an empty wine bottle from the counter, she grabbed my hand. “We do not take up mess. We clean, but we do not tidy. Truth.”
I was confused. “Picking up trash is part of cleaning.”
She let go of me and shook her head. “No, they take up. We clean. You take that up today, tomorrow we must only take up more.” Although I’m sure she didn’t intend it, her words held a double meaning I still remind myself of to this day.
She eyed the room, sizing it up. “We have only two hour to clean this giant house.”
I followed her gaze. Oak cabinets stopped about ten feet short of cathedral ceilings. White leather stools sat in front of an enormous, brushed-steel island. The floor was a largerversion of the turquoise counter tiles. My entire house could fit inside this kitchen. I wondered what
EIGHT
I DON’T KNOW if it was all in my head, but it seemed like the minute I found out I was pregnant, the nausea started. Wanting to make a good impression on my first day of my first-ever job, I woke up early, intending to make up my face and put a few curls in my hair, but I spent most of the hour leaning over the toilet.
Every time I retched, your father gagged in response. “Dagnabbit, Penny,” he yelled from the living room, “keep it up and you’re going to make me puke too.”
“I’m not doing it on purpose,” I called back as I cupped my hand and filled it with water from the faucet. It tasted so sweet compared to the bile I rinsed away. After a couple of swish-and-spits, I grabbed my toothbrush from the holder, wet it, and dipped it into the baking soda we were brushing our teeth with.
I don’t know if it was that paste or the bristles against my tongue that got my stomach trying to turn itself inside outagain, but somehow I managed to keep myself from starting the heave cycle all over.
I left your father sitting at the kitchen table looking miserable. He wouldn’t even acknowledge my good-bye, but I was too excited to care. I had a job, Manny! That might not seem like such a joyous thing to most, but to me, it meant release from a very long sentence of house arrest.
Twenty minutes and two wrong turns later, I’d finally found my way to the address Callie Mae had given me and pulled up in front of a large stone home on a Mercedes-lined cul-de-sac. When I rang the doorbell, the door flew open and Fatimah Wek, the Sudanese woman Callie Mae had put in charge of training me, waved me in.
“You are late,” she said, adding an annoyed tongue click for good measure. Although she wore her hair cut tight around her head like a boy’s, there was nothing else boyish about her. She had the most magnificent features, strong but feminine. With her long face, wide brown eyes, and the highest cheekbones I’d ever seen, she looked like an African princess.
“You stare at me.” She set her caddy of cleaning supplies by her feet. “I am dark. You never see a woman so dark. True?”
I opened my mouth to say that wasn’t true, but it was.
“My husband is not so dark. My family were not so dark. I am blackest in my family, even my village. Even the refuge camp.”
“Your skin’s beautiful,” I managed through my embarrassment.
She looked down at the ground. “Beauty is inside.” She glanced at me. “What of you? Are you beautiful?”
I blushed, but said nothing.
She pulled two sponges out of the caddy and handed me one. “You clean counters, sink. I sweep and mop floor.” She studied me to make sure I understood.
“Why do you get the good jobs?” I asked with a wink in my voice. It felt good to joke. I learned early on with Trent that ribbing, taken the wrong way, could have painful consequences, but something about Fatimah made me feel safe.
“I give you the good job!” She looked really put out by my teasing, until she registered my smile. Deep and full, her laugh was so contagious, I couldn’t help but laugh too.
“You play with me. Good. I like to play too.”
When I lifted an empty wine bottle from the counter, she grabbed my hand. “We do not take up mess. We clean, but we do not tidy. Truth.”
I was confused. “Picking up trash is part of cleaning.”
She let go of me and shook her head. “No, they take up. We clean. You take that up today, tomorrow we must only take up more.” Although I’m sure she didn’t intend it, her words held a double meaning I still remind myself of to this day.
She eyed the room, sizing it up. “We have only two hour to clean this giant house.”
I followed her gaze. Oak cabinets stopped about ten feet short of cathedral ceilings. White leather stools sat in front of an enormous, brushed-steel island. The floor was a largerversion of the turquoise counter tiles. My entire house could fit inside this kitchen. I wondered what
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