Free Black Cake: A Novel by Charmaine Wilkerson Page B

not upset because I walked out on them. They were already upset and we both know why.”
    “And you made it worse. You walked out on them in the middle of a holiday, and you never even called to apologize. You didn’t give them a chance. And I was pretty upset, too, Benny. No, wait, correct that. I was pissed off at you. I’m still pissed off at you. And what about the funeral, Benny? When I called you that time, you said you would come.”
    “I did come to the funeral, Byron. I came all the way to California, I went to the cemetery, it’s just that….”
    “What are you saying? You were here? You know, I thought I saw you, but then I said to myself, No, Byron, you’re imagining things. But I wasn’t. You mean to tell me, you came all the way out here and then you had the nerve to just leave us on our own?”
    “You weren’t exactly on your own, Byron. There were a lot of people there.”
    “And that’s your excuse? That with all those people around, you didn’t need to be there?”
    “No, that’s not what I’m saying, it’s just that I couldn’t…”
    “Couldn’t what, Benny? Couldn’t what ? Couldn’t get out of the damn car for your own father’s funeral? Couldn’t get out of the car for Ma and me? And then all I get is a text message saying I’m sorry ?”
    “It’s not that simple, Byron.”
    “No, it’s not that complicated. ”
    Byron turns and walks out of the room, but not before seeing what Benny is holding. It’s their mother’s old plastic measuring cup. He turns back and pulls the cup away from her.
    “No, Byron!” Benny cries as she follows him down the hallway. “Byron!” Now she’s pulling at his sweater with one hand, trying to grab the cup with the other.
    “Don’t do that,” Byron says, batting Benny away from his sweater. “That’s cashmere.”
    “That’s cashmere?” Benny says. “That’s cashmere ? Are you kidding me, Byron?”
    “This is ridiculous,” Byron says, shoving the cup back into Benny’s hand. “There. Does that make you feel better? Does it make you feel like a good little daughter, keeping that cup for the memories? Where the fuck were you all these years, Benny?”
    “You don’t really want to know, do you, Byron? You don’t really want to hear anything from me. You just want to remind me that you’re Byron Bennett, the perfect son, admired and accepted by everyone. Well, you know something? You’re not so perfect. And no one gets to have any feelings until you decide they have feelings.”
    Byron is stunned. Is that what she thinks? Is that what Benny really thinks of him?
    “Why didn’t you call me sooner, huh, Byron? If Ma was so sick?”
    “Why didn’t I call you sooner? Are you even listening to yourself? Do you know what Ma would say if she heard this?”
    Byron turns and walks off down the hallway, muttering, “This is not the Bennett way.” Then he winces. He sounds so much like Dad.
    Benny shouts at his back. “Wrong, Byron. This has always been the Bennett way. No missteps allowed, no room for comprehension, no room for dissension.”
    Byron stops, stands still, but doesn’t look back.
    “I used to think it was because we were black, you know?” Benny says. “That our parents wanted us to achieve, that we had to work twice as hard, be beyond reproach, that sort of thing. But now I get it. We had to be perfect to make up for the fact that our family was built on a colossal lie.”
    When Byron finally reaches the living room, Mr. Mitch isn’t there. Byron hears the water running in the guest bathroom. He doesn’t know that Mr. Mitch is simply leaning against the dusty pink wall in there, eyes closed, pretending not to have heard all the shouting.

Lost
     
    C harles Mitch has seen worse. Siblings who don’t care about each other. Relatives who are only looking for what they can inherit. He can see that Byron and Benny aren’t like that but this is turning out to be a struggle, anyway. They’ve lost their mother