ADVANCE RE ADING COPY
SEP TEMBER 2022
Jade Is a
Twisted Green a novel
Tanya Turton
Dear Reader, I want to start by saying thank you. I truly believe in the power of narratives broadening our scope of possibility and providing space for transformation. Stories have shown me who I am, they reflected my world but also allowed me into the world of others. Over the course of my practice, I learned there is magic in the witnessing. Stories must be witnessed to truly come alive. I have seen time and time again the renewal myself and other humans experience when we feel seen, our stories acknowledged. What I hope to offer you is a coming-of-age story that does not focus on the destination but highlights the journey of becoming. We are often unfolding, contracting, expanding, and changing in our lives. There is no moment of becoming, we are twisted into the folds of joy, grief, renewal and deciding. This hero’s journey is one of how we may learn to save ourselves in tiny moments. With intention, Jade’s story explores intersections of self, not as two roads crossing, but an intertwining map of self-reclamation. My only request of you is as you bear witness, use this story as a reminder that life can be challenging and it’s worth it to be a little kinder to each other and ourselves every chance we get. Thank you for being present in our exchange. With love,
Tanya Turton Tanya Turton
JADE IS A TWISTED GREEN Tanya Turton A coming-of-age story about Jamaican Canadian identity, love, passion, chosen family, and rediscovering life’s pleasures after loss. Publication: CANADA September 13, 2022 | U.S. October 11, 2022
FORMAT 5.5 in (W) 8.5 in (H) 248 pages
Paperback 978-1-4597-4860-6 Can $22.99 US $18.99 £15.99
EPUB 978-1-4597-4862-0 Can $9.99 US $9.99 £6.99
PDF 978-1-4597-4861-3 Can $22.99 US $18.99 £15.99
KEY SELLING POINTS A stunning debut novel exploring Jamaican Canadian identity, sisterhood, found family,
queer identity, and rebuilding life after a devastating loss
Explores the lives of young Black women coming of age, with similar themes as Frying
Plantain by Zalika Reid-Benta or Queenie by Candice Carty-Williams
An exciting emerging author with a background in wellness and mental health advocacy,
Tanya built on her experience facilitating workshops in U.S. and Canada to create Adornment Stories, a grassroots non-profit for Black women and femmes navigating mental health challenges to use beauty and digital storytelling
BISAC FIC049020 – FICTION / African American & Black / Women FIC068000 – FICTION / LGBTQ+ / General FIC043000 – FICTION / Coming of Age
ABOUT THE AUTHOR Tanya Turton is a storyteller, educator, and mental health advocate. She fell in love with storytelling when she began to feel displaced in her own world and found creative writing. Jade Is a Twisted Green is her debut novel. Hailing from Jamaica, Tanya was raised and lives in Toronto.
JadeIsATwistedGreen
tanyaturton.com
@Trapmystic1
@trapmystic
MARKETING AND PUBLICITY Publicity campaign to targeted media and influencers Influencer mailing Representation at international trade shows and conferences Social media campaign and
online advertising Email campaigns to consumers, booksellers, and librarians Digital galley available: NetGalley, Edelweiss, Catalist
RIGHTS World, All Languages ABOUT THE BOOK After the mysterious death of her twin sister, Jade Brown, a twenty-four-year-old firstgeneration Jamaican woman living in Toronto, must find a way to pick up the pieces and discover who she is without her other half. Grappling with her grief, Jade seeks solace in lovers and friends during an array of hilarious and heartbreaking adventures. As she investigates some of life’s most frustrating paradoxes, she holds tight to old friends and her ex-girlfriend, lifelines between past and present. On the journey to turning twenty-five, she finally sees that she belongs to herself, and goes about the business of reclaiming that self. Through a series of whirlwind love affairs, parties, and trips abroad, Jade stumbles toward relinquishing the weight of her trauma as she fully comes into her own as a young Black woman and writer.
For more information, contact publicity@dundurn.com Orders in Canada: UTP Distribution 1-800-565-9523 Orders in the US: Ingram Publisher Services 1-866-400-5351
AN IMPRINT OF DUNDURN PRESS
dundurn.com @dundurnpress
Jade’s Prologue
H
ave you seen Toronto in the summer? The streets become warm and souls start to smile. The heat slows our pace and suddenly we see each
other. Torontonians slither out of the corners of the city and meet in the downtown core, at Harbourfront and on the Lakeshore. Residents in neon flip-flops, crop tops, jean cut-offs, and large sunglasses beam at you. Suddenly, folks who used to avoid eye contact look you in the eye, nodding and affirming for you that you are seen. We walk slowly, the heat connects us. Conversations once shortened by the cold are warmed and erupt behind laughter, tongues heavy with Middle Eastern, Asian, European, and Caribbean accents. Colourful tongues match the vibrant tones of the box braids, saris, jersey dresses, sandals, lipsticks, and A-line bobs.
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The streets radiate with scents of jerk pans, fresh pizza, baked bread, and coffee. Patios overflow as we sit on the sidewalks to people-watch. The scalding heat sends us to the islands for a dip in the water and the malls for a stroll through the A/C. Each weekend is filled with new festivals: Salsa on St. Clair, Pride, Caribana, Jamaica Day. Each a holiday unto itself, allowing people to celebrate culture, connection, ancestry, history, and revolution. Toronto summer pulses, like a drumbeat. Connecting one heart to another, we feel each other. Have you been to Blockorama? It’s where we go to celebrate, to bring Black love, island vibes, and the rainbow together. We plan our outfits for months, wait in line … well, let’s be honest, we find a friend to pull us to the front every year, because if you get there after five you may not get in, but that’s when it gets good. Real good! Imagine standing at Blockorama, dancing in a parking lot with beautiful Black bodies singing SWV to a soul across the way, in the wrong key yet still in harmony. Our hands stretch out to a stranger across the crowd, and we sing in tandem. He’s wearing a cropped black-lace colour-blocked jacket and windbreaker shorts to match. He’s six feet tall with deep brown skin and a high-top cut … He’s looking into my eyes and singing to me as if I am the love of his life. We’ve never met, yet somehow we are kin. That was my first Blocko. I have been to many since. That’s how it feels every time. Colourful wardrobes, draped in sequins, denim jackets, and shorts from Orfus Road. Culture, community, and love: our own kind of family reunion. This, for us, is the first weekend of summer. This, for us, is catharsis, this is healing. This is acceptance. This is love. Black, queer, island, continental. The summer stretches across the time between Blocko and Bana. We go to barbecues and lounge on the beaches, walking on the warm sand as our feet sink into the earth, Lake Ontario 2
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glistening brightly as if it were the Atlantic. Weekend rides along open fields, the fresh air tickling our faces; slamming dominos on the patio and late night gratitude while gazing at the stars. If we get lucky, house parties, sitting in parks, limin’ on patios, going to artist friends’ events to support and hoping to find your own art a stage. Once Bana rolls around, the summer is pretty much over. If you haven’t made the best of the short season of heat we get in Ontario, then this is the last weekend to do it. •
Nothing compares to Caribana, the bass of the music covering the hot concrete and moving up your body. Colourful costumes bumpin’, stompin’, glidin’, rollin’, peacocking down the street in unison. As if we practised all year for this, we move our bodies in coordination, thousands of us keeping pace. Feathers, diamonds, pretty mass in full swing. Buss a wine, catch a bubble, the connection between us is one that starts and stops on di road. Steel pans connect us to our ancestors, each sway of the hips honouring the oceans they broke open. Sweating and sipping on various bottles of rum punch. We know summer is ending, but we squeeze out the last drops of sun while simultaneously marching in a rhythm. •
The trees signal fall, slowly curling into an ombre of yellow, orange, and red. Autumn is a time of school and work and other obligations that carry a deep seriousness. The tension tightens in our bones as the year comes to an end. All that will be already is. The air is thick with expectations that envelop the lungs like vapour rub and rum. Suddenly, the fact of winter is near again. 3
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The concrete is cold. What once was a warm, radiant city is now a monochrome palette of grey buildings, grey concrete, and grey jackets. We suddenly are reminded why we are called the “Screwface Capital,” the smiles and head nods trading places with blank stares. Eyes heavy with contempt and longing for back home penetrate the horizon as the TTC lights shine in the distance, praying maybe today the bus will be on time. •
Toronto streets move quickly, buzzing and zipping, with little to no time for truly looking at others. Central Tech was a large school, composed of three buildings and six floors. In the secret corridor on the sixth floor, Tayja and I stood face to face, eye to eye, waiting to see who would speak first. It was midway through the semester and we both knew things were different. Things hadn’t been the same since Roze died, and Tayja wasn’t sure how to help. Last night I’d lain on the floor in tears, anguish that erupted with the volatile force of Niagara Falls. It had been only a few weeks since my sister passed and I dreamed of her nightly. I could sense something slipping away from me, this terrible inkling I was losing myself. The summer had seemed so beautiful; we’d drifted into a vortex of love. Now it was November and neither of us knew what to say. I could feel her breath on my face as I heard a single door squeak and a soft cough at the bottom of the staircase. The sixth floor was often our hiding place. It held all our secrets. Maybe Tay couldn’t find me in all of this because I couldn’t find me. We were seventeen, in our final year. Prom, graduation: the joy we’d worked toward was on its way. Yet I felt nothing. I could give Tay nothing. She deserved everything. Only a season ago, I’d promised her everything and been unaware of either the largeness 4
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of everything or in fact the smallness of everything I could give. So much had been lost, and through that loss I’d been completely emptied. How was I to explain everything changing? We were no longer in a relationship with each other — I was in a relationship with my grief. A relationship so complicated and large there was no room for her. No room for long talks on the phone. No room for movie dates and holding hands. No room for nose kisses and scalp massages. I was having an affair with my grief. I wanted to tell Tayja I loved her, that she was my first and made me feel everything nineties love was supposed to be. We had what people cried in the rain for, but I couldn’t be with her and my grief. Tayja had long, brown, curly locs that she wore in a bun, but when she was feeling sexy she let them flow to her waist. She wore waist beads and smelled like lavender and sage. I looked into her round eyes as she stood on the bottom steps in her dark-wash Stitches jeans and purple spaghetti-strap tank layered over her black turtleneck. I wanted to love her, kiss her, hold her. My heart was broken. My sister’s memory invaded all of my thoughts until I became her memory, disappearing inward … every shape, every sound, every desire carried with it the weight of my love for her. So, in that corridor, we used little words. We said goodbye. We kissed for the last time, and in that final kiss I knew that who we were would change, had changed, and so we were not merely kissing each other goodbye but, simultaneously, we kissed a version of ourselves goodbye. We released each other into the radiant colours, of the fall, of the city, of the world. •
It would be the longest and coldest winter of my life. I spent the rest of my final year of high school avoiding Tayja. If I started a new class and she was in it, I changed it. If I saw her down the 5
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hall, I ducked into a stairwell. I stayed away as best as possible. I told myself it was for her, to not upset her. However, looking back, it was always for me. •
My high school years did not end with deep laughter and love like the flashy teen novels I read and movies like Sixteen Candles had led me to believe they would. Slogans like “it gets better” never mentioned “it gets worse first.”
6
Jade
J
ade sat on the right side, in a corner seat all the way at the back, leaning against the window of the streetcar. Next to her, a little girl in a rose-pink hijab was sitting on her mother’s lap, facing Jade. The girl peered at her intently. It was as if she was searching for something, in a curious and inquisitive way, just staring peacefully. The feeling of being known was one Jade avoided, sometimes taking extreme measures to avoid the eyes of others. Slowly enough to not draw attention to herself, a melancholy Jade turned her attention out the window, as she often did to manage her anxieties on transit. To anyone reading Jade from the outside, she seemed calm, at ease, assertive, maybe even pensive. Inside, she felt like the slow-moving tracks of the streetcar: scratching, whistling, sparking — yet seemingly going nowhere. Today, the streetcar was particularly slow, and Jade knew there was nothing she could do to change it.
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She hopped off the 504. It was a rainy day in Toronto, and the weather always slowed transit. People seemed to forget how to drive or move through the city. Jade finally made it through the door of the health centre with a second to spare. She passed the receptionist giving out free condoms and lube, entered the loud elevator, and exited on the mental health floor. She passed multiple offices and opened the grey door at the end of the hall. Dr. Maria Washington was sitting with her legs crossed, tapping her blue pen as she always did. She remarked sarcastically, “How kind of you to join us, Jade.” Jade nervously scanned for a seat in the circle, hoping to blend in. As she moved past the seats, the metal legs of a swirl-printed chair scraped against the speckled floor, her bag hit the curvy lady holding her bike helmet, and Jade noticed a new member wearing royal-blue Toms. She rushed to her seat but it felt like eternity as everyone stared. Dr. Washington spoke. “Jade, we are doing introductions, and it’s your turn.” “I’m Jade. I’m twenty-four.” She waved shyly at the people around the circle. “Thank you, Jade, but can you tell us why you are here today?” Dr. Washington glared over the top of her tortoiseshell glasses. Taking off her scarf, Jade answered Dr. Washington in earnest. “I’m not sure yet.” She spent the rest of the session trying her best to hold back tears. Jade decided to take a Beck cab home. It would put her account in the negative, but her overdraft protection would cover the cost. After a day like today, transit was not an option. On the way to the elevator, she passed a sign on Black mental health that she hadn’t noticed before, then walked through the mountain-peak- white-painted lobby and out of the health centre. She turned right 8
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on King and began walking swiftly, with the deliberate intention of going nowhere. This was how she always cleared her mind, even before group therapy. “Jade! Jade!” a male voice called from behind her. Who could know me downtown, in the middle of the day? she wondered. She turned around and instantly recognized Denzel, grinning mischievously back at her as he usually did. He was a friend she’d met volunteering for the Black students’ group during undergrad. Nothing had ever happened between them — she was already in a relationship when they met — but it always felt like he was waiting for his chance. He was six feet of chocolatey goodness but not the chocolate Jade desired. “Hey, why you ain’t at work?” she asked, not really caring what his answer was. “Day off, handling some business,” he teased. She had already drifted away from the conversation, but was brought back promptly when he offered her a ride home. She took the ride because it was a rainy day and she was the kind of broke where she could afford cheap wine on a Friday night, but rarely had money for large expenses. She still had only two places to sit in her thinly decorated apartment. A ride home was always welcome, above spending her coins. •
“Wha you doin’ down these ways?” he asked as she fiddled with the straps on her bag. Jade took a moment longer to answer. She couldn’t decide if this was one of those occasions where she needed to be honest. “Same as you. Handling business.” That was as much truth as she could deal with. 9
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Therapy and support groups were still new to her, and she had told only Amethyst so far. She avoided topics related to her sister or her past, and if she shared that she was in therapy, people would think it was okay to ask follow-up questions. Polite interrogation wasn’t cute to her. “Okay, cool.” He said it with an air of indifference to let her know that he felt a way about her tone. She quietly refused to fill the silence. “Would you like to meet up this weekend?” he asked casually as he pulled his black Toyota in front of her building. Jade slowly opened the door while replying. “Naw, not this weekend, I’m busy, but I’ll text when I’m free.” She waved goodbye through the passenger window. Without looking back, she walked by the jerk shop and up the stairs into her building. When she got up to her apartment she threw herself onto her tiny yellow couch; it was her salvation. It held her after each long day, it caught her when she felt she was falling. Tears streamed down her face as if she had absorbed the grey skies and could no longer hold them in. The feeling of grief washed over her entire body, like raindrops tickling her skin. Remorse filled her veins and deficiency coated her skin. The reality of her loneliness sat next to her. Her thoughts spiralled. Questions of the past and future waltzed on her third eye, creating hollowed images of eternal solitude. After every support group session with Dr. Washington, she needed to cry. She rarely said very much in the room, but like a dam waiting to break, it always came out at home. She spent the rest of that evening on the couch crying, reading, and writing, only stopping briefly to eat some jerk chicken from Ackee Tree restaurant, the good place downstairs. 10
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The white lace curtains blew softly into the bedroom. She felt a tingle on her smooth skin as goosebumps rose. She had always had peculiarly soft skin. Her arms were covered in tattoos, because in undergrad she’d decided to create a second skin for herself. One with a little more grit than the one God gave her. Jade lived alone in a small bachelor apartment in what everyone around her knew as “Likkle Jamaica.” This was her first apartment, the first space that was just hers. Her own place to live after graduation had been a gift to herself. Living in a community filled with Jamaican culture, language, and scents tied her to something bigger than herself, something ancestral. Jade had majored in English at Ryerson, and many of her tattoos were quotes from the books she read. Her favourite quote, from Rumi, was tattooed down her spine: “The wound is the place where the light enters you.” The spine of a book keeps the pages together, tells you the title and what to expect. Like a book, if you could ever get close enough to Jade, her spine would tell you what you needed to know. She thought of herself in these terms. Words brought her comfort, solace, and grounding. She truly wished she had majored in journalism. Someone had once told her, “Major in a career, not a discipline, because people with disciplines graduate not knowing what’s next.” Sadly, they had told her after graduation day. Sitting on the yellow couch in her semi-empty apartment, she reflected on her realization. She had no clue what to do next in life. Graduation had been two years ago, and nothing had panned out as planned. Jade used to have long, curly hair, then she had long locs, but after graduating from university she’d decided to take a break from life — serious life, that is. Like most Black women, serious life included her hair. So Jade had shaved her head a year after graduation. She’d no longer wanted to be defined by her hair or beauty. The irony was that while between jobs, she’d been hired 11
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as a receptionist at a salon. She’d finally had access to affordable products and stylists at a discounted rate, but no hair to take advantage of the luxury. The next morning, she packed her things in an old bag she had bought many years ago at a vintage shop, and hurried out the door to catch the number 7 Bathurst bus. She wasn’t truly in a rush but it was a routine she was used to. The air felt fresh and filled with new energy that spring afternoon. The flowers were blooming and the city seemed to be coming alive. Jade was catching the bus to meet Amethyst, her best friend and anchor between worlds, at a nearby Starbucks for a little catch- up and chit-chat. While sitting on the velvet bus seat, she spotted Jordan. She wasn’t sure if Jordan could see her, but she hoped to avoid the needless dialogue that comes from running in to old friends. Jordan had once been Roze’s friend, and it felt awkward every time they spoke. “Hey, Jade!” Jordan said with a look of delight across her face. She ran up to hug Jade tightly, immediately playing catch-up. “Do you remember Justin? We’re getting married! Nothing fancy but I’m glad I saw you. I would love for you and your mom to come. Oh, and your dad, too! I’m so happy to see you. Give me your number so I can send you the invite!” Jordan tucked her long black hair behind her ear. She spoke so fast Jade couldn’t keep up, interject, or tell her that her parents had separated. She held her phone in her hand, staring at it as if it was a portal to her old life, a life she had left behind and did not want to return to. She thought about how cute the “Jordan & Justin” invites would be, she thought about all the old friends who would ask what she was up to. All the old friends who would suddenly want to hang out or reconnect via social media. She thought about the pity in their eyes. When they looked at her they’d all see Roze, the kinder, sweeter sister they all wished was still here. She 12
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thought about the questions they’d ask about her parents or maybe the queries as to why she didn’t have a boyfriend. She thought about the elders remarking how pretty she was, or asking why she had cut her “beautiful curly hair.” Suddenly, she also thought about her ex-girlfriend, Tayja. She wondered if Tay would be there. Her thoughts stalled to reflect about their last interaction: how quickly they’d begun and ended. “Jade?” The echoing sound of Jordan saying her name pulled her from the vortex of her anxious thoughts. “My stop is next, what’s your number?” Suddenly Jade had to decide: would she step back into the past, maybe relive the heartbreak, or continue on, head up, looking forward? She gave Jordan the wrong number. She typed 647–585–2843, changing the last digit from a four to a three, so that if Jordan ever asked she could simply claim that, in the rush of it all, she’d hit the wrong key. Jordan grabbed her phone and sprinted off the bus, promising to text Jade the details. A sinking feeling rushed over Jade’s body, like on the first fall on the Drop Zone at Canada’s Wonderland. The next stop was hers. I mean, we all must make decisions to survive, she told herself as she stepped off the bus, excited to feel at home with Amethyst. At the Starbucks at Bloor St. and Albany Ave., Amethyst was awaiting her arrival. She was wearing a thin knitted chocolate- brown dress that hugged her curvy frame, gold hoops, and a large smile. As true kindred spirits, they spoke simultaneously and enthusiastically, mirroring one another’s tone. “Guess who’s getting married —” “Guess who I just saw —” They were speaking of the same person, clearly. 13
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A deep regret crawled from Jade’s stomach and sat in her mouth. With horror, she imagined looking her dead sister’s friends, friends they’d shared, in the face and explaining why she always lied about her phone number. An embarrassing image of herself yelling “Sorry you got stuck with the wrong sister” invaded her mind and cautioned her against reconnection. Amethyst, who had been her friend since the days of jump rope and hopscotch, remained the only friend who didn’t look at her with eyes that longed for Roze. Amethyst wasn’t their twin, she wasn’t even blood, but the night Jade had lost a sister, Amethyst had, too. Jade kept her contemplation to herself and simply gestured, “you go first.” Later that weekend, she lay in bed, wrapped in her melancholy, the melodic rain her companion. Moments like this, she felt the most at peace. She awoke to an alarming decision that her body made before her mind: she wanted to feel better. Feelings often left no space for the person she desired to be. •
She’d taken an intentional year between school and “respectable” employment, as her mother would call it, aimed at finding herself. An intentional year became two without her permission. Now she lived in the reality of life after graduation. What did that look like? Eating cheap food from downstairs, Saturdays at Amethyst’s spot, and writing between work? She was no longer answering the what next questions with lies about searching for a “good job.” She pulled her comforter down one side at a time and peeled herself, limb by limb, out of the bed, padding to the bathroom to take a hot shower. Sundays were the hardest for her. They used to 14
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be family day. Her apartment was small and sparse, the hum of the radiator her companion. She connected her phone to her speakers and played her favourite nineties R&B to fill the silence. Skin warm and damp from her shower, she used shea butter to moisturize, taking extra time to rub it in. Her own touch brought comfort. Notebook in hand, Jade plopped onto the couch with a bowl of grapes. Using a fine black ink pen, she scribbled down ideas for dialogue. No particular story, just things she had wanted to say. Pulsation erupted under her left bum cheek; she lifted the pillow to find her phone. It was an unknown number. Immediately she thought, “Jordan found me.” Hesitant before answering, she almost let it ring out. “Hello, Jade speaking.” “Hi, Jade, do you remember me?” a strange voice said. She figured it wasn’t Jordan, and she hated the “I know you, do you know me” game. “It’s Tayja.” Jade could hear her smile through the phone. She quickly sat up and looked in the mirror to see how she looked, as if Tay could see her. Of course it was silly, but she felt she had to be on point for her. “Tay, oh, hi, how are — wait, how did you get my number?” Jade stumbled through the greeting out of shock. It had been seven years since they’d seen each other. “I ran into Amethyst at Yorkdale and asked her if y’all were still friends. She said yes and insisted I give you a call. I’m happy she did. I missed hearing your voice.” She sounded joyful, as if they were teenagers again. It took Jade back to the past in ways that excited and scared her all at once. “Amethyst is wild. It’s nice hearing from you, though.” Jade tugged on her clothes as if making herself look presentable. 15
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She wanted to sound like she considered this phone call casual. Pretend they’d never missed a beat. “Well, I can’t talk long but I would really like to see you again and catch up on the past few years. How’s dinner next Sunday night? My treat,” Tay said kindly. “Let me check my schedule and get back to you.” Jade tried to continue playing at nonchalance, but inside she was shitting bricks at the idea of seeing Tay again. “Okay, no problem. I’ll text you. I gotta go. Bye.” Tay hung up quickly before Jade could respond. Immediately after, Tay texted: save my number. Jade sank between the cushions of the yellow couch, hoping to disappear. Too distracted to write anything useful, she closed her notebook and texted Tay. She pulled her legs up one at a time and wrapped her body into a neat ball, knees to chest, holding the phone close to her eyes. Jade sent Tay a text: Sunday works. I miss your laugh. Her phone vibrated. Tay wrote: lol it’s a date. She threw her phone to the other side of the couch, as if to push away the angst building in her. The whole experience was so exhausting, she stretched into the couch and settled in to take a well-deserved nap. Just as she was about to fall asleep she heard a knock at the door. She ignored the first few knocks, assuming whoever it was just had the wrong door. Eventually she hesitantly looked through the peephole, and there was Tay in a red silk dress. She was wearing gold heels that made her look like a six-foot sculpture. She was stunning. Jade was wearing sweatpants. Jade opened the door halfway and shyly said, “What are you doing here?” “Can I come in?” Bold and confident, Tay smiled as if she was asking a question in a beauty pageant. 16
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“How do you know where I live, and why didn’t you tell me you were coming over?” Jade moved aside and gestured for her to come in, while expressing her frustration. Tay strutted straight in with her heels on and sat with her legs crossed on the couch. Against the yellow of the couch and in the red dress, she looked like a portrait painting. She was beautiful. “Well, Amethyst texted me your address and said you needed to have some fun, and I didn’t tell you because I wanted to surprise you.” Tay paused and scanned the environment. Jade watched as Tay smiled, looking down at the small yellow couch. “Well, actually I was scared you would say no.” “So instead you gave me no choice in the matter?” This actually frustrated Jade more. “I figured you wouldn’t open the door or let me in if you didn’t want me here.” Tay seemed startled by Jade’s anger. Jade sat down on the opposite end of the couch and said, “You figured wrong. My curiosity let you in. I still want to know why you’re dressed up in the middle of the day, anyway.” Tay gazed into Jade’s eyes and said, in a strangely intense way, “Can I take my shoes off?” “Please do.” Jade was uncomfortable but intrigued. After Tay had taken off her shoes, she whispered, “Can I take off everything else?” Jade was shocked, but she wanted to stay angry. She loved Tay too much to say no. All she could do was mutter the words, “Please do.” Before she knew it, Jade’s high-school sweetheart was standing in her apartment in her birthday suit. Her heart was racing but she was trying to play cool. She was confused as to why Tay was doing this. Tay sat down beside her and whispered, “Jay, can you please take off your clothes?” 17
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Stunned, Jade said nothing. Seemingly surprised by this, Tay then moved closer and said, “Jay, can I make love to you?” By this point Jade could barely speak, but she pushed out the words, “Please do.” When Tay finally touched Jade on her lower back, her spine tingled and goosebumps rose on her skin. Tay’s kisses tasted like warm apple pie. They were comforting, so comforting that suddenly Jade was no longer in shock. Instead, she was wide awake and completely turned on. Jade leaned forward and began to kiss Tay’s neck, then moved slowly across her whole body. Tay’s body relaxed and seemed to surrender to the moment, lying on the yellow couch, breathing deeply. Jade traced her fingers lightly around Tay’s areola, looked at her intently for consent and, as Tay nodded, placed her lips softly on Tay’s left nipple, sucking gently. Jade rested her head on Tay’s chest and simply listened to her breaths, amazed by the rhythmic motions of her heart pumping life into her. The phone began to ring. It flustered them both. “Just ignore it,” Jade said in hopes the ringing would stop, but it seemed to grow louder and louder with each ring. Jade jumped up for the phone, only to realize Tay was nowhere in sight. Her presence had been only a dream. A bizarre conglomeration of wishful thinking and memory. Her apartment was empty. Tay was somewhere far away, living a life that didn’t include Jade. Jade sat staring out her living-room window. She felt a little stunned at how real it had all felt, and she was angry at her mind for playing with her heart. She glanced at her phone, and the texts confirming next Sunday’s date remained, but no one had been in her apartment for weeks. As she held her phone, it began to vibrate. It was Tay, maybe calling back after having ended their earlier call 18
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so abruptly. Jade was embarrassed to answer after having had an erotic dream about Tay, so she simply let it ring. Feeling this way was so new to her that she had no idea how to control it. She lay in bed and allowed her head to disappear in a mountain of pillows, hoping to fall back asleep and dream of making love to Tay in her bed. She wondered if she was pathetic. •
Sunday evening arrived like a thief in the night. Out of nowhere the week had gone by, and it was time to look back, find closure, and reimagine what the future could look like, but she kept asking herself, “Do I need to apologize? Was I wrong for how I ended things?” She paced around her apartment, or she sat, legs crossed in the middle of her cold laminate floor, to search her soul for answers. She felt like calling Amethyst, but knew that she needed to come up with her own answers this time. Whenever she got stuck like this she figured it was time to consult the cards. She had a black and gold Afro-spiritual tarot deck that Amethyst had gifted her many years ago. She loved them. They gave sound advice. Amethyst had told her, “Cards don’t give you the answer; they reveal what you already know and feel.” Jade decided she would pull one single card to find her answer. She shuffled the deck and pulled a card, turning it slowly as if waiting for a drum roll to introduce her to her fate. It was the Wheel of Fortune card. Turning to her left and right, surveying her imaginary audience, she felt like the universe was playing her. She’d pulled the one card that meant “everything is changing.” She knew that. Time seemed to be moving at light speed. It was time to meet Tay. Even if once upon a time they’d known each other in the most intimate of ways, it felt like a blind date. 19
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When Jade was a kid, she used to go to New York on weekend trips with her mom and her sister. They would call it girls’ weekend, and just the three of them would pile into the car and drive twelve hours to New York. Her mom would book them a hotel room in Queens or Brooklyn. They’d shop and eat their way through the city. This used to happen at least once a year, but she and her mom never went anymore. However, about two years ago, Jade went to New York with Amethyst to celebrate her birthday. Jade bought her first “little black dress” on that trip, except it wasn’t really black, it was red velvet that felt black. It hugged in all the right places and made her feel like Nia Long. Preparing for Tay, Jade was still getting used to her bald look, so she wore her red dress, best makeup, gold hoops, leather jacket, and a pair of Doc Marten booties she’d worn in over the years. They were her dressed-up-but-casual shoe, and she felt comfortable in them. Her phone began to vibrate. It was a text from Morgan. Hey stranger! Hope you good. Jade smiled at the phone but decided his timing was eerie. She dropped her phone into her purse and locked the door behind her. The Harbourfront restaurant was cute. Jade pulled the door open and saw Tay sitting in a dark corner, drinking a glass of wine. Nervousness washed over her body. Tay still had locs, but wrapped over them were goddess locs in a beautiful honey-blond waist- length style. Her army jacket, knee-high boots, and leather shorts had the attitude of Monica, but her energy was always Lauryn Hill in her prime, even all these years later. Jade approached Tay slowly, moseying through people talking in groups, trying to compose the sporadic thoughts that sailed up and down, back and forth, like notes in a jazz song. As she neared the table, Tay’s familiar brown eyes meeting hers, she leaned in for 20
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a hug and Tay wrapped her arms around Jade tightly, intently, with confidence. Jade slowly seated herself in the other chair at the round bistro table, buying herself time, and said, “You still smell like lavender.” “How have you been?” Tay smiled with a knowing smile. Jade usually hated the “how are you” pleasantries of life, because she felt, quite honestly, that people expected her to lie. And through lying they formed a sort of agreement of mutual non-interference. Her mind stalled. She reflected on the simplicity of the question and reflected deeply on a far-too-complicated response. No one wanted to hear “I’m sad, depressed, and broke.” The alternative wasn’t much better: “I’m on top of the world and life is good to me.” Most people wanted the short, vague summary: “good, fine, can’t complain.” Jade had been living with some form of anxiety or depression since Roze passed, maybe even before that. She’d had an emotional breakdown once in class because a second-year sociology professor asked how she was doing. Tears had burst from her eyes and she’d cried through the entire class and the whole way home on the subway, and she literally hadn’t been able to stop until she was so exhausted she fell asleep at home. The crying had lasted hours, like a leaky faucet. Jade looked at the rings cold beers had left on the wooden table, the dust on the light fixture, and then back into Tay’s eyes. She got the sense that when Tay asked, she meant it. So she was honest. Jade took a sip of water and planted her feet on the ground to get rooted. “It has honestly been hard. I felt like I wanted to die a few times — after Roze died, my parents split. In my first year of undergrad I met a dude at school named Morgan who has been kind to me, really sweet on days I needed someone; also Amethyst is still my rider. So I guess I’m saying while it’s been a hard few years, I am grateful for the good stuff, you know what I mean?” 21
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“Morgan, huh. That’s different,” Tay whispered into her wine. “Yeah. I mean, you know how it is,” Jade attempted to explain the obvious. Tay had been following intently but suddenly her vision seemed to look beyond Jade. Tay looked like Raven from That’s So Raven, mid-premonition. Continuing to look beyond Jade, Tay said, “I think I do know. It’s been hard for me, too. I wish you had stayed around. I missed you.” They were sitting in the thick of the moment, something Jade had been waiting for with intention. She thought about Dr. Washington and her lesson on “empathy and accountability.” She knew it was the occasion for both. Jade thought it was the stage for her big-girl panties. She envisioned pulling them up in her mind and decided to lean in to vulnerability, like she’d been taught. “I’m sorry. I wish I’d led with that. I think I was hoping to have this super great night out, but I was ignoring the elephant in the room, which is, I was not my best self with you. I care about you very much, I still do. But I didn’t know how to handle it all. I’m trying to be better at feeling, grieving, and loving. I’m not sure what made you reach out to me, but I hope forgiveness is the root.” She paused and they both took a deep breath. “When you’re ready, of course. I really am sorry. If you’re willing to let me make up for it, I would love to.” Some of Jade’s words were a mashup of things she’d seen on self-help blogs, and some were from her own feelings. All of them, however, were intentional and purposeful. It felt like after years apart, she had the chance finally to make true amends. “It’s strange, you know,” said Tay, following with her own dose of honesty, “to be hearing about the after. I want to believe not so much time has passed.” “Would you like a drink refresh?” A handsome waiter reached for Tay’s glass. 22
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“Yes please,” said Jade, answering for Tay, “and a Moscato for me. Do you still like chicken parm?” She smirked knowingly. Tay nodded and leaned in to the familiarity. “Coming right up!” The waiter disappeared into the kitchen to place the order. “Some things remain the same, even all these years later,” Jade said, attempting to comfort Tay. A few moments later a steamy plate of melted cheese over chicken sat between them both. They didn’t bother with side plates. They shared a plate like they’d always done since the first time they ate chicken parmesan, on their first real date. “Food tastes better with you.” Tay licked the dripping sauce from her lips. Jade sipped her Moscato, pursing her lips after each sip as she always did. At the end of the night, they stepped out into the warm Toronto air and felt a longing to stay. Neither of them said anything, but they found themselves by the boardwalk. Walking along the water as folks on their bikes zipped by, couples pushed strollers, and boats docked to pick up partygoers. “Okay, real question. Why didn’t you end up at Ryerson? I kept thinking I would run into you.” Jade was trying to connect the dots. “Honestly, I thought it would be better for us both if the plans changed and, well, my co-op offered me an internship, so I took it.” Tay’s heels echoed as she walked on the wood slats of the boardwalk next to the water. “Oh, dope! Congrats, I know how hard you worked to get a media co-op.” Jade reflected back on all the lengthy disorienting nights they’d worked on Tay’s application together. Jade wasn’t too clear on what Tay did for a living, but she was happy to hear that Tay hadn’t changed her plan solely because of Jade’s actions, which she had always been afraid was the case. 23
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“So, you still love throwing rocks?” Tay changed the topic, lightening the discussion. “I been trying to skip rocks for years and still, nothing. But yeah, I’m into it.” Jade picked up a small pebble and attempted, and failed, to skip it on Lake Ontario.
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