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before she really became agitated and started aiming cuss words as sharp as an ax in Terelle’s direction. It didn’t matter that Markeeta was present. Once Gran got started, it wouldn’t matter if Christ himself were present at the table.
    Looking guilty, Aunt Bennie busied herself with the task of slicing the turkey.
    “Don’t give me no dark meat, ’cause I don’t like no dark meat,” Gran grumbled.
    “I know, I know. Calm down, Mom,” Aunt Bennie said.
    “How can I calm down? My oldest child is a damn drug addict…”
    “Cassy’s in recovery, Mom…”
    “My granddaughter is working like a mule to take care a man in jail, and my youngest daughter is a goddamn bulldagger,” Gran barked. Aunt Bennie’s mouth opened in wide protest.
    “It’s Thanksgiving, Gran. Please stop!” Terelle pleaded. “Aunt Bennie’s not gay.”
    “I ain’t said nothing about gay. I said she’s a bulldagger. She ain’t foolin’ me with her mannish self—walking around in her bedroom wearing men’s boxer shorts. It’s probably my own damn fault for giving her that nickname.” Gran sighed heavily, then went on, “At the time, I thought it was a cute way to shorten up Benita. But if I knew then what I know now…”
    “How you gonna tell me what I am? Lots of women wear boxers nowadays.”
    There was pain in Aunt Bennie’s eyes that Terelle took no pleasure in witnessing. If her aunt was actually gay, she needed to come out of the closet; hiding her sexual orientation was obviously a heavy burden.
    “That’s bullshit,” Gran grumbled. “Do you wear men’s underwear, Terelle?”
    “No, but…”
    “But, nothing. Where’s her husband? Where’s her children? Where’s her damn boyfriend? She ain’t got none of that because she’s too busy bumpin’ coochies with other women.”
    Aunt Bennie’s wounded expression tugged at Terelle’s heart. “Gran! Don’t be saying that nasty stuff around Keeta.”
    “Don’t think I’m forgetting about you, neither. You’s a damn fool. Why you allowin’ that boy to take advantage of you like that? Keeta’s my only hope of something decent coming out of this family. But with the daddy she got…I doubt if that’s possible.”
    “Stop talking about Marquise, right in front of Keeta. That ain’t right, Gran.”
    “Sooner or later Keeta’s gonna learn the truth—might as well be sooner. And Terelle, you should be ’shamed of yourself for stickin’ by a man who done got your mother all messed up on drugs.”
    “Marquise…” Terelle struggled to get the words out. “He didn’t do that to my mother. Me and Marquise were kids when my mother started messin’ with that stuff.” She looked at Aunt Bennie for confirmation, but her aunt, still nursing the injuries sustained from Gran’s attack, gazed at Terelle with unfocused eyes.
    “Yeah, and when he grew up, he made sure your mother stayed on that junk, now didn’t he?”
    Her grandmother was working her nerves. Terelle became silent as she prepared Markeeta’s plate. She knew that if she didn’t keep her mouth shut, her grandmother’s temper was liable to rise up and whirl around the kitchen like a hurricane. The dinner had turned into a disaster. If she was lucky, Gran would gobble down her food, try to belch, complain of heartburn and insist upon leaving immediately.
    It was partly true—she had invited them over because she didn’t want to miss Marquise’s call; she also wanted to show off her new apartment. But, it didn’t matter. Gran hadn’t said one word of praise. Her comments about the apartment were all negative. Her ornery grandmother loved making everybody miserable. She’d been mean as a snake for as long as Terelle could remember.
    She picked at her food, her mind replaying what Gran had said about her being a fool and she was getting more pissed by the minute. Gran had her nerve—raising her own two children in a speakeasy. Terelle’s mother had told her that she’d learned how to