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Funny Valentine(2)

By:Sienna Mynx



nudging her since they sat down. And Sherry, our youngest, kept blushing and

giggling. When I arrived, I felt it in the air. Something was always up with my sisters,

and this Thanksgiving would be no different. Call it a Jackson girl intuition. All of

us got it.

So plates are passing. My sister Margie’s youngest boy, Chuck Jr., comes

out complaining about being seated at the kids’ table. He wants his rightful place

with the adults. His head is low and his thumbs are working that Nintendo

contraption that I had to spend over 100 bucks for Christmas last year. The little

hustler has me on the hook for a PSP this year. He grunts at his mom over the

injustice of it all, never taking his eyes from the little color LCD screen. Margie

dismisses him with a wave of her hand and the promise of a smack upside his head

if he doesn’t go away. And he walks off again, never taking his eyes from the screen.

All the while, Sherry is trying to get everyone’s attention.

“I have something to say!!!” she shouts over the rowdy bunch, and I’m

telling you right then and there I feel my stomach flip. Please, if there is an angel of

mercy riding with me, please don’t let it be what I think it is.

“What is it baby-girl?” Daddy says, smiling up at her. Silence falls over the

table as Margie, Alicia, Pam, and their respective husbands all turn eyes to Sherry.

My eyes? Well, they’re on my cranberry sauce that’s bleeding over into my stuffing

as I stiffen and await the news.

Funny Valentine by Sienna Mynx

“You got a job?” Margie asks. A hopeful ring in her voice and lifted brow

drive a collective gasp through the family.

Sherry with a job was like catching the Pope at a Jay-Z concert. Un-frickin-

believable. A career student that collects degrees like I do new Louis Vutton bags,

the likelihood of Sherry joining the workforce was slim to none.

“Nah, she found a new major again,” Alicia sneered. “What is it now baby-

girl, and how much will it cost us?”

Sherry rolled her eyes. Suddenly I didn’t feel as bad. It may be cruel, but

there two things that were certain to happen. Sherry would get picked apart about

not choosing a career and draining the family accounts with her never-ending

studies. And I would get picked apart over being husband-less, boyfriend-less, and

childless. Ridiculous, right? At least for me. In the era of girl-power you’d think my

sisters would want me to be strong, successful, and doing my thang. Yeah, well.

Long story there.

Margie smiled at Sherry and gave her blessing. “Go ’head, baby-girl. What

is it?”

Sherry stood ramrod straight with her fingers spread and palm pressed into

her lower belly, and the other hand casually to her hip. All the while I’m praying,

silently hoping, desperately longing for it not to be.

“Kelvin proposed! We getting married!!! AND I’M PREGNANT!” Sherry

squealed.

Bam. It was. I officially became the last, barren, spinster Jackson sister

standing. My sisters give a collective gasp, my father falls in his seat, and then the

rejoicing begins. Because of course her being knocked up and down the aisle is far

greater than being a successful marketing executive, single, and with no prospects.

My sisters are up hugging her, brothers in-law warning Kelvin what trouble he’d

find with a Jackson woman and Jackson, my father, he’s staring directly at me

silently saying: so when is it your turn?





Funny Valentine by Sienna Mynx

“What kind of man cheats now-a-days, that’s what I wanna know?” Margie’s

sharp tone shattered my thoughts. She’s cleaning the cutting board with a swipe of

the guts and putrid organs into a waiting trashcan.

“It just wasn’t meant to be. I suppose.”

“Tia, that’s bullshit. You are 35 and damn well meant to be happily married

like the rest of us. He’s a selfish rat-bastard, plain and simple!”

Did I mention that Margie curses worse than Jackson when upset?

“Here’s my thing,” she goes on, “We women face shit out there that can rot

your coochie or kill you dead if a man breathes on it wrong. In 2011, cheating

should be off the fuckin’ menu. Bastard!”

Margie’s voice boomed through the kitchen. I sighed, hoping she would run

out of steam. To be honest, I’m tired of the charade.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m really sorry, but shit like this pisses me off.” She

walked over with her arms outstretched. Now I feel guilty, ’cause here I am lying to

her ’cause I don’t have the guts to tell them that I’m fine as-is and not some spinster

to be pitied. I think that’s what makes me a loser, my cowardice. She gives me a

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