Chevelle's Story

chapter 6

"Bonjou, Chevelle. Jwaye Nowe!"

Chevelle groaned, rolling over in bed to see her mother standing in the doorway shaking her small, but very loud, Christmas tambourine in her hands. The sound of it filled the entire house, and Chevelle wanted to be upset that she'd been so abruptly woken up from her dream, but when she saw the smile stretched across her mother's lips, she couldn't help but smile back.

Things with her family had been so weird recently that Chevelle had almost forgotten it wasn't always this way. That the walls of this house had held a lot of joy in the past, and that they would more yet in the years to come.

"Jwaye Nowe, Manman," Chevelle croaked out, sleep still clouding her eyes. "You look pretty."

"Thank you," her mother said. "Now get out of bed, mwen cheri. It's already eight o'clock."

"But Manman, it's Christmas day. Can't I sleep in?"

Although she would have liked to, after last night, Chevelle just didn't have it in her to match her mother's current energy level.

She had returned home sometime between four and five that morning, so right now, she was running on less than four hours of sleep. She wasn't ready to go downstairs and interact with everyone that would no doubt start bombarding her with questions about where she'd gone last night. In fact, Chevelle was surprised her mother hadn't said anything about it yet. Skipping Mass like that was the kind of thing that, back in Haiti, would've landed her a good ass-whooping. I guess after the year the Etiennes had though, Chevelle ditching the Christmas Mass was really the least of their worries.

Chevelle didn't want to risk angering her mother first thing on Christmas morning, because when Nadègine Etienne was in a good mood, everyone had a good day, but if she found even one thing to be upset about—no matter how small—her tongue became a bayonet. No matter where you were in the house, you couldn't escape the barrage. Chevelle had assumed she'd be able to sleep in this morning since, traditionally, the Etienne's didn't do much on Christmas day. They usually held all their festivities on Christmas Eve since that was just how people did things in Haiti.

Yesterday, after Chevelle and her father returned from the grocery store, they put some Tabou Combo on the speakers and they all came together to cook and decorate the house for their Réveillon that evening. It was just as tiring as it sounds, and especially so for Chevelle who had to masterfully outmaneuver Jared and Farah the entire day. The whole time, Chevelle couldn't stop thinking about how similar this all was to last year. Jared had spent last Christmas with the Etiennes as well, and they had gone through this same routine—the music, the cooking, the decorating—except last year, whenever Chevelle caught Jared's eye, they would smile at each other, maybe he would wink. When Chevelle passed by Jared, he would give her ass a light smack. When he found her alone in the kitchen, standing by the stove, gently stirring the joumou, he would snake his arms around her waist and kiss her neck softly.

This year, whenever Chevelle was unlucky enough to turn the corner and see Jared, he was always in Farah's arms, smiling at her the way he used to smile at Chevelle. Kissing her the way he used to kiss Chevelle. She was sick of it. The only reason Chevelle had stomached yesterday's torture was because of tradition. That, and because she didn't want to blow up and give everyone in her family yet another reason to think she was crazy. After suffering through all of that, at the very least, Chevelle knew she deserved a good night's rest.

"So you want me and your sister to do all the cooking?" Manman asked.

"Cooking?" Chevelle repeated, now sitting up in her bed. "Why are we cooking? We cooked so much food already, Manman, the fridge is full. It could barely close yesterday!"