In Fanny’s restaurant, Blake sat across from me, stirring and mumbling about the weather. Sweat beaded around his forehead.
On the right, our five-year-old daughter Melody drew blue and yellow circles. The waitress had set crayons and paper on the table. Dressed in purple, I’d done her hair up in two long braids. The ends teased her shoulders.
Melody had the best of Blake and me. My dark brown skin. His thick wavy hair. When I’d met him in college, he’d worn big ole cornrows, trying to be hard. In the end, he was a nerd. Melody got that from him too, along with those beautiful brown eyes.
Blake disrupted my thoughts. “What a great night to spend with my special girls!”
His words tasted nasty on my tongue.
You’re lucky Melody is here, Blake. Or I would have this butter knife up your ass. Ten years of marriage and you don’t think I can tell that you’re lying?
First, he claimed he had to work for his insurance company on Saturday. Apparently, it was some freak emergency.
Freak is right.
Then, Blake showed up late in the evening, at ten. He usually left work at five. He came home late, took a shower, and went straight to bed. He’d rushed back out early this morning, missed church, and returned this evening with flowers, a new dress for me, and a yellow and black polka dot stuffed animal for Melody. He’d claimed that he loved us so much and wanted to take us out for dinner.
Where were you this morning? Those gifts are nothing but guilt.
Blake gestured to the TVs in every corner of the space. “The hostess said they’re going to show the Colors of Love here. It premieres tonight.”
I glared at him.
Blake avoided my gaze and touched the stuffed animal next to Melody. “What did you name your new baby, sweetie?”
Melody picked the animal up and held it next to her while she drew. “Cheater. That’s his name.”
Blake coughed. “W-what’s that, baby?”
“I named him Cheater because he has spots, Daddy.” Melody beamed. “Just like a cheater does.”
Blake cleared his throat. “You meant cheetah, sweetheart.”
“Yes, Daddy. That’s what I said.”
“Hmm.” I shook my head. “I’m not a fan of cheaters either, but that’s a good name, Melody.”
“You’re right, Liz.” Blake nodded at me. “I don’t like cheetahs either.”
I snorted. “No, I said cheaters.”
Blake wiped his forehead. “It was super sunny today. Now, it’s a hot evening. But, I love when it’s sunny, Liz. Don’t you?”
How are you going to come home with no drawers? Who leaves their underwear at work?
I tapped the table. My nails clicked and clacked on the polished surface.
I can’t think about this now. Melody is here. I’ll deal with this when we get home.
Blake glanced at one of the TVs. “When do you think the show is going to begin? It would be nice to watch Colors of Love while we eat. This place is sort of the inspiration for the show.”
Fanny’s restaurant had been around before I was born. Passed down from grandmother to grandmother. Tom Fullbrooke started this town two hundred years ago and had the biggest plantation and slave population in all the south. He called his cook Fanny—an old slave from the west coast of Africa. He bragged that she was the best cook in the world.
They said that he loved Fanny’s cooking so much that he raped and impregnated her, just to have more Fannies running around his kitchen. And that was what happened. For years the Fullbrooke family had a slave woman named Fanny fixing them meals with the same recipes.
When Emancipation Proclamation ended slavery in 1863, the Fullbrooke family bought Fanny the restaurant. By then, it wasn’t the original Fanny, but some great-great-granddaughter of Tom and her. The white folks around town thought it was a nice thing that the Fullbrookes had done. But the blacks knew that the Fullbrookes were just taking care of their offspring that had been produced from rape and slavery.
As a history major, I’d wrote my graduate thesis on Fanny’s family.
After slaves were freed, Fanny’s kids continued to name a little girl of a new generation, Fanny. I wasn’t sure if it was a sense of pride or if they never wanted to forget the atrocities done to their blood.
Regardless, none of that history stopped blacks and whites from crowding Fanny’s restaurant and ordering her famous macaroni and cheese, buttery biscuits, ham hock collards, and sweet-sweet potato pie.