Sharon walked as briskly as she could down the chilly October street, heading towards the Mac’s corner store. Silently she cursed herself, as she knew they were closing in the next few minutes and the shopkeeper, Ahmed, would be angry at her for interrupting his closing time. Of course, he would smile as if nothing was wrong, but then he would rattle off something in Somali to his wife Fatima in the back.
Pulling her jacket closer, she finally arrived and sighed almost audibly with relief. It was her first anniversary night with her new boyfriend and so far, it seemed like life was destined to mess it up. Firstly, her annoying boss Jennifer refused to let her leave on time, complaining there were clothes to be sorted on the third floor of the Forever 21 store she worked in each day. Then she complained that inventory needed to be taken in the backroom. By the time Sharon was finished, her 4 o’clock shift had turned into a 5:25 one and she of course, missed the bus home.
Now, she ran her hands through her thin, wavy sisterlocks and tried to calm down. Jermaine was working late, so she would still have time to get everything ready. She was going to make his favourite dinner: curried goat and rice and peas. She was going to bake him a scrumptious vanilla cake with buttercream frosting and she was going to make it as memorable as possible by sending her kids, Andrew and Serena, to stay with their uncle for the night.
But, things were not going well. While Sharon scanned the aisles, another woman came in. Sharon noticed she was moving rather slowly, as if she could collapse at any minute. She picked up a few items and went up to the cashier, just before Sharon came up behind her. Sharon winced as she heard Ahmed’s annoyed voice tell the woman her card was declined.
“Sister,” Ahmed said, trying to be polite, “your card, it is not working.”
“Are you kidding me?!” the woman screamed back.
Sharon sighed again and looked at her watch. 5:58.
Suddenly, the poor woman fell to the floor, crying heavily. As sad as the scene was, Sharon could only silently share Ahmed’s impatience, as the cashier sighed deeply and went to the back of the store to get the manager. Sharon thought to herself: This was a bad day for last- minute shopping.
“How much is it, Ahmed?” Sharon asked, stepping gingerly around the woman.
“13.50,” he answered, staring at the woman.
“I’ll pay for her,” Sharon offered.
The woman looked up at her in shock. She was thin, short, and seemed to be at least 30 years old with 20 years of stress in her face.
“No, please don’t. I can’t let you do that,” she begged, but Sharon shook her head.
“Don’t worry about it,” she insisted, and hurried to pay before the woman could stop her again.
The woman’s thank-yous followed her out the store and up to her apartment building. She now had roughly two hours to prepare everything.
“What the back-side happened here!”
As she opened the doors to her quaint, two-bedroom apartment, she was met with a scene of chaos. Serena, her three-year-old daughter’s chubby little leg was sticking out from under shredded newspapers, one of which she was chewing on. The entire living room was in disarray.
“Mommy!” Serena squealed and ran over to her.
“Andrew!” Sharon yelled.
Silence.
“ANDREW RUPERT MICHAELS!”
“Yes!”
Sharon put her hands on her hips. “Bwoy! Who you answering ‘yes’?”
“Yes mom!” he shouted back then came slumping out of his room, frowning.
It took all of Sharon’s strength to keep from slapping him. Hard.
“Andrew, what is this? Why is the baby out here by herself? Look at the house!”
“Mom, Patricia--”
“You and that girl again!? Seriously?”
Andrew took a deep breath. “Mom, I’m sorry. I’ll clean it up. Patricia was just cheesing me man!”
“You better clean it up. Your uncle coming in 10 minutes time!”
Sharon picked up Serena and started to clean her up. Serena placed both hands on the side of her mother’s worried face.
“What’s wrong, mama?” she asked with so much concern in her little brown eyes that Sharon melted.
“Nothing baby,” she replied softly.
Suddenly, Sharon’s cell-phone rang.
“That must be your uncle,” she said to the children. “Andrew hurry up!”
“Hey Stef,” she answered. “What?....Lord have mercy...Stef you CANNOT be serious...Stef?...Alright, alright.”
Andrew looked up at his mother.
“So, we’re staying home right?”
“Yes.”
Sharon decided there was no way she was going to give up. The least she could do was cook. Cooking was an art form to her. She placed the seasoned goat meat into the pressure cooker, covered it in water and other spices and let it simmer while she quickly whisked the ingredients for the cake. Ever so often, she had to shuffle around the room to avoid bumping into things with her ample hips, but fortunately, by 8:35, everything was either in the oven or simmering on the stove.
With a sigh, she fed Serena, gave her a quick bath once more(she spilled food all over her when Sharon went to check on the meat), then prepped her for bed. Sharon realized she hadn’t even gotten dressed and raced to her room. Choosing an outfit was always a challenge for her. Back in the day, back in Jamaica, clothes were simple. The weather was either sunny or rainy. Here in Toronto, everything depended on the weather. Now, her apartment was too hot from the central heating, but might get too cold too if the landlord decided to switch it off.
As she searched and murmured to herself, she smelled something burning.
“Jesus!” she yelled and raced to the kitchen to see smoke escaping the oven.
She hurriedly turned the oven off, just in time too, as the top of the cake had begun to singe. She placed the cake on the counter defeated, then she plopped down on the bed and felt tears welling up in her eyes.
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