Gianna's Grit | ✓

I: Bad News

GIANNA

I smiled as the woman agreed with me through the phone, "I look forward to working with you."

"I look forward to working with you too, Miss Kingsley," Martha replied before ending the call.

I set down my receiver before smiling brightly, "This project is definitely going to get me that promotion."

A shrill ringtone caught my attention and the contact sucked the happiness right out of my body; Aunt Georgia.

I sighed and eyed the magazine she'd sent me a week ago, my cousin Brielle Kingsley, soon to be Williams by the contents of the gossip article, and her professional football player boyfriend smiling back at me. My older cousin was always the golden child in Aunt Georgia's mind, no matter how much of a lovable "Sweet Gi" I was growing up.

The last thing I needed was to hear her comparing my career-oriented life to my family-oriented cousin's, especially while I was supposed to be celebrating.

I answered anyway, knowing I'd catch fresh hell if I didn't, "Gianna Kingsley speaking."

I smiled, She hates it when I answer the phone that way.

"You need to come home," Georgia said sternly, "we need you home— Philicia needs you."

I furrowed my brows, "what's wrong with Aunt Philly? Where is Uncle Saul?"

She sighed, "Saul died two days ago after being shot by one of these devils running through the streets. We didn't find him until yesterday morning when Philicia realized she hadn't seen him recently"

I put my hand over my mouth and took the phone away from my ear, not wanting her to hear my broken sobs.

Get it together, Gianna, I scolded myself and wiped away my tears, you don't have time to cry.

I cleared my throat and took a few deep breaths before concentrating on the conversation, "I'll be there as soon as possible."

Click!

Of course, she hung up the phone on me. Aunt Georgia was always quick in the draw, and never had time for emotional conversations.

I rushed into the suite bathroom and fixed up my makeup, "She's probably where I get it from."

I wrote a quick note to my secretary when I was done, gathered my belongings, and slapped the post-it on her desk while leaving.

I said goodbye to a few of my nosy colleagues before rushing to the parking garage. I got in my vehicle as memories of the older man blocked my vision.

He was the only father figure I ever had. He never let me realize how different I was from the others. Saul never judged me for being my own person; "bossy" was never an adjective he'd used to describe me; "you're not bossy, Sweet Gi, you're determined. Don't let those people tell you any different, you understand?" is what he always told me, to which I always repeated three times before he smiled and offered to let me help him make another pie. If there was anything we bonded over, it was homemade sugar creme and chess pie.

Aunt Philly hated to walk in and see us messing up her kitchen; "what'd they do this time, Miss Gi?".

He let me help him at the bar when he first opened it, even though I wasn't supposed to be there. As long as I stayed in the office, coloring at the small desk he'd built me, I'd be allowed to eat as many maraschino cherries as I possibly could—if I didn't get caught by aunt Philly first. Once, Saul had caught me out at the bar, sitting beside a biker —I'd grown curious since I'd never seen one in real life before— but didn't stop our conversation. The man let me try the lime that was on the rim of his glass, and uncle Saul scolded me only after I'd sobbed at the bitter taste; "Stay in the office, alright?". I nodded, and he laughed before handing me another small jar of those syrupy sweet cherries I adored.

He always stopped aunt Georgia from hitting me; "discipline" she called it. "She's my Sweet Gi, she doesn't need any discipline, especially not from you!". Whenever he came to the school after I got in a fight, he didn't even ask for the principal's story first, he asked for mine,; "what'd they do to you, Sweet Gi?". When I once told him my story and showed him the pendent of my deceased mother's my classmates tried to steal, he turned to the other adult, "you didn't ask her that part, though, did you?". Aunt Philly loathed it when he said that, especially that time, "she knocked that poor boy's teeth out, Saul!". My uncle only scolded me a bit in front of the principal and bargained a lower disciplinary act before giving me high five out in the car, "did you swing like I taught you?". He laughed when I giddily replied, "yes!".

I was sobbing my eyes out.

I wiped them away when I realized what I was doing, forcing my memories to fade out of my line of sight, "Don't be so pathetic, Gianna, you're fine."

I allowed myself a few more minutes of pity before flipping down my mirror to stare myself in the eyes as I cleaned up my makeup, "You are Gianna Kingsley. Gianna Kingsley doesn't settle, submit, and she sure as hell doesn't cry; no time to cry."