by Cairo
“I wanted to put in a new kitchen floor and buy some new appliances, but your father said there’s nothing wrong with what we have. I swear, that man can be so tight when it comes to spending money. He is so cheap. All he wants to do is save. I ask him what he’s saving for; it’s not like we can take it with us if something happens to us. I want to spend my money. What’s the point of leaving my hard-earned money behind for someone else to spend up? I told your father there’s no sense of leaving any of it with you girls. Y’all have gotten enough out of us over the years. I told him we sent y’all to private schools, paid for your college educations and made sure none of you had to be stuck with student loan bills. So we’ve done all we need to be doing. I want to enjoy my money while I’m alive. Not leave it for someone else to mess over.”
I stare at her, then blink. She’s oblivious to what’s come out of her mouth. I am so glad Persia isn’t here right now. This situation would definitely turn ugly real fast. I take a deep breath. Say a silent prayer that I can get through this lunch without incident. “So, what else is new?”
“Zena’s husband done left her. The shit—excuse my French, done hit the fan over there.”
“Oh really?” I ask, trying to seem disinterested in wanting to know the details. But inside I’m dying to hear every juicy morsel. And knowing my mother, she is going to deliver the gossip whether I ask for it or not.
“Mmm-hmm...he waited for her to leave for work, then packed his things and moved out. He left his wedding band on the kitchen counter with a note.” She shakes her head. “I told...” She pauses when the waitress returns to the table with our food. “...Oh, can you bring me a cup of coffee, please?”
“Sure, no problem,” the waitress says. She looks at me. “Can I bring you a cup as well?” I tell her no. Ask her to bring me a glass of cranberry juice instead. “I’ll be right back with it.”
“...And I’m not one bit surprised by it, either. I told Lucky he was going to end up leaving her. We all knew that last child of hers wasn’t his. He just didn’t know it. Well, maybe he knew it but didn’t want to accept it. The truth hurts. And the truth was staring him right smack in the face for ten years every time he looked at that little boy. Bless his heart. And he’s the innocent one in all of this mess. I don’t know what’s wrong with these nasty-ass women these days...”
I’m surprised when she takes a break from her incessant chatter and starts eating her food before it gets cold. She scoops a forkful of home fries into her mouth, carefully chewing, then swallowing. I pick over my salad. The waitress returns with her coffee and my juice, then leaves us alone.
“Well, what happened?” I finally ask, picking out an olive and eating it. “How’d Aaron find out?”
She wipes her mouth with her napkin. “Well, from what I’ve gathered from talking to Fanny, who sometimes gets things all twisted around, is that he came home from work a few weeks ago and, out of the blue, asked her if Aaron, Junior was his.”
“Wow. I’m sure that must have caught her by surprise. What did she tell him?”
“What do you think she told him? She lied right through her raggedy-ass mouth; excuse my French. Then the messy heifer had the nerve to call her mother crying, saying he accused her of cheating on him while he was overseas when all she’s ever done is be a good wife and mother to his children. And that after all these years he wanted a paternity test because he didn’t trust her. I told your Aunt Lucky I knew y’all were hot in the ass. But that Zena...mmmph, she has nothing on you girls. That girl can light hell on fire with the flames coming from out of her tail. Even as a girl, she was always somewhere prancing her behind up in some man’s face. Anyway...so, of course, Fanny, with her meddling-ass, excuse my French, gets on the phone and calls him up acting a certified fool. She told me she cursed him out something terrible, for the old and new. Told him her daughter was the best thing that ever happened to him and that she would never do some nasty shit like that. Mmmph, I told her ‘never say never’ ’cause I wouldn’t have never thought in a million years that my own daughters were out there doing the shit that they’re doing, but they are. So don’t ever say what your child won’t do ’cause mine are doing every nasty thing under the sun with God knows how many men.”
I blink. I am literally speechless, listening to her right now.
“Unbelievable,” I finally say, referring more so to her comments about my sisters and me than anything else.
She grunts. “Mmmph. No, what’s unbelievable is her naming that little bright-faced boy after him like that. Aaron, Junior. Mmmph. You tell me how that can be? That man is as dark as soot—ooh, but he has some beautiful skin and gorgeous hair. Anyway, and she’s about as brown as a tree and her trifling-ass—excuse my French, trying to pass some half-white looking child off as his. She had no business doing no nasty shit like that. Of course, Fanny is pissed that I said what I said about it. I mean, shit—excuse my French, it’s not like Lucky and I wasn’t saying it behind her back. Now it’s all out in the open...”
I feel a headache slowly making its way to the front of my forehead. I take a gulp of juice, slowly breathing through my nose. I press on. “I’m sure she didn’t like that.”
“I’m sure she didn’t. But she’ll get over it. Like I said, these trifling-ass women out here sleeping around with all these men, then getting pregnant like it’s nobody’s business makes no damn sense. Not even knowing who the damn fathers are.” She sighs, eyeing me. “I hope you and your sisters are not stupid enough to be screwing all those men without using protection, exchanging all those bodily fluids like that is just nasty.”
I huff, dropping my fork in my plate. I sit back in my chair and eye her back. “Mom, what does Zena’s situation have to do with who we sleep with? I mean, really. We’re not the ones married. And we’re not the ones who slept with someone else and got pregnant on our husband. So what is the point you’re trying to get at here? Because obviously I’ve missed it.”
She picks up her coffee cup, eyeing me over its rim before she takes a sip. She takes a slow, deliberate sip, then sits her cup on its saucer. “The point is I’m glad it’s not the three of you being the topic of discussion for once. Fanny loves throwing dirt up on everyone else, but now she has her own pile to shovel through.” I’ve had enough. I abruptly get up from my seat, digging through my bag. “Where are you going?”
I toss a twenty up on the table. “I’m outta here. I am so freakin’ done with you right now.”
She looks around the diner. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about this...you,” I say, jabbing my finger through the air. “I’ve had enough of your holier-than-thou bullshit for one day.”
She gives me an appalled look. “Paris, what in the world has gotten into you? You’re acting just like your sister, Persia—rude, using that tone of voice with me. And then you’re cursing at me. That is so not like you. We’re sitting here having a peaceful conversation.”
“No, there has been nothing peaceful about this whole conversation. For the last thirty-five minutes I’ve been sitting here listening to you not only insult me and my sisters, but confirm how you sit around with your busybody, gossiping-ass sisters and talk about us, and any-and-every body else in the damn family.”
“Will you sit down,” she says through clutched teeth. “You’re making a scene.”
“No, I will not sit down. And I don’t give a damn about making a scene. Every chance you get, you have to get a damn dig in. You can’t ever simply have a conversation without finding some kind of way to make some sort of snide comment about our lifestyle. Well, get over it,” I snap, raising my voice. I am so pissed right now that I’m trembling. I’ve never spoken to her like this, but today I have had enough. “Yes, Mother, we sleep with the same men. How many times must we keep going over this? Yes, you think it’s nasty. So what? Who gives a shit?! It’s our life! We’re fine with it and if you can’t be, then leave us the hell alone.”
She slam
s her hand down on the table, visibly shocked by my outburst. “How dare—”
I put my hand up to stop her. “Don’t. I’m sick of it. How dare you sit here and offend my sisters and me and act as if it’s okay? I am so disgusted with you right now.”
“You’re disgusted with me?” she asks indignantly, raising her voice. She catches herself, glancing around the diner to make sure she hasn’t drawn any more unwanted attention. She lowers her voice; speaks through clenched teeth. “How do you think I feel? My daughters out here doing all kinds of nasty shit—excuse my French, with all kinds of men, together. How do you think that makes me feel?”
“Newsflash, Mother: Who we suck and who we fuck is none of your damn business.”
She gasps. “You mean to tell me you’ll stand here and disrespect and curse me like this. Persia, yes; Porsha, maybe. But, you...” She shakes her head. “Never would I think you’d stoop to this and let your sisters turn you against me.”
I scoff. “Ugh, this has nothing to do with Persia or Paris. This is about you, and your attitude toward us. And the ugly shit you allow to come out of your mouth. I sat here and tried to overlook the mess you were saying about not leaving us money, about what you’ve done for us, about who we sleep with, about how we embarrass you. Get a grip, Mother! You and your damn sisters are pathetic. Now go back and gossip about that.”
By the time I’m done saying all this, I am on the verge of tears. But I will not give her the satisfaction of seeing me break down. Not today. I strut off, leaving her sitting at the table with her jaw dropped open.
By the time I finally get home, I am emotionally exhausted. The only thing I want to do is crawl up in my bed. “Damn, that was a long lunch,” Persia says the minute she sees me walking through the house. “How was it with the ole Wicked One?”
I grunt. “Ugh, I don’t have the energy to get into it right now.” I drop my bag on the floor and remove my shades, tossing them up on the table. “Right now the only thing I want to do is listen to some music, soak in the tub, and take me a nice long nap.”
She shakes her head, taking me in. She walks over and wraps her arms around me, giving me a hug, then lets me go. I walk toward the stairs.
As I climb the stairs, I hear her saying, “Poor thing. I keep telling y’all that woman is hateful.”
Persia
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It’s almost seven o’clock in the evening when I finally decide to go upstairs and check in on Paris. She’s been up holed up in her room long enough. I’ve given her enough time and space to sulk; now it’s time to snap her out of it. When she came home this afternoon with her eyes all swollen and red, I knew that she must have finally gone off on our mother for, once again, saying something slick. Crying is Paris’s M.O. after she’s gone off on someone.
Even growing up, she was always the most sensitive out of the three of us; always wanting to please everyone; always wanting everyone to get along; always wanting to be sure everything was in its proper place. Whereas Porsha and I were always very vocal about our feelings, she kept hers bottled inside. Then when it got too much for her, she’d go off. And afterwards, feel bad about it. Although she’s more outspoken now than she’s ever been, she still has a ways to go. I’m telling you. It took everything in me not to call our mother to see exactly what in the hell had come out of her mouth this time. I wanted to scream on her. But I didn’t.
With four crystal tumblers filled to the rim on a tray, I tap on Paris’s door, trying not to spill any of our drink—Remy Martin XO with a light splash of Coke. Two stiff drinks apiece should do the trick, I think as I approach her door. Normally, we simply barge into each other’s rooms, not caring what we might walk in on. There have been plenty of times when we’ve walked in and caught one of us with either our fingers or a toy of some sort shoved deep in our pussies. But since my hands are full I decide to tap on the door with my foot.
It takes her a minute to finally swing open the door. She has a towel wrapped around her body, and one wrapped around her hair. “Since when you start knocking on doors?” she asks as she pops her hips back into her bathroom.
“Well, if you slowed your behind down, hooch, you’d see that I come with a tray of drinks. And I didn’t knock, I kicked.”
She sticks her head out of the door. “Whatever. I needed that drink earlier today after the fiasco down at the diner with Mom. But, now is good, too.”
“Yes, it is,” I say, walking into her bathroom, handing her a glass. She takes a sip.
“Ohhhh, yes...this is good. It’s exactly what the doctor ordered.”
“Shuga,” I say, smacking my lips together, flipping the lid to the toilet down and taking a seat. “Let’s cut to the chase. I’m dying to know what popped off between the two of you ’cause when you walked up in here, you looked wrecked.”
“Girl...” she pauses, gulping back half of her drink. “Whew, that hit the spot.” She removes her towel from around her head and starts blotting her hair. She takes another sip of her drink.
I huff, impatiently. “Hooker, will you tell me what the hell happened between you and Mom today? You’ve kept me in the dark long enough. Now spill it, damn you!”
She laughs. “Okay, okay...calm down. No need to get all indignant. I get to the restaurant and before I can even get in my seat good, she started up. I was literally no more than five minutes late and she was ready to pounce.” She replays the whole ordeal back to me. And when she’s done I’m practically laughing, wishing I could have been a fly on the wall to see her going off. “Ohmygod, why are you laughing? I don’t see anything funny about this shit.”
“Girl, the idea of you turning out the diner and Mom sitting there slack-jawed is absolutely priceless! I bet she wanted to get up and slap you sideways for talking to her like that. And you cursed her. Oh, yeah. She wanted to give you a beat down right there on the spot.”
“I’m sure she did. But she stayed in her seat. But I could tell she was fuming. Still, I didn’t care one bit. She took it too far this time.”
“Oh, well,” I say, watching her comb out her hair. “She got what she deserved. She’ll get over it; and if she doesn’t, so the fuck what? I don’t know why you’re surprised. I mean, when has she not come out of her face sideways?”
“I know, but still. I shouldn’t have spoken to her like that. And definitely not out in public like that.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, please. She’s always somewhere running her damn mouth. She’s the one who cranked it up. She wasn’t concerned about what she was saying to you, so why should you care?”
“It still doesn’t make it right,” she says, combing conditioner through her hair. “I’m gonna call her to apologize for allowing her to take me there.”
I buck my eyes at her. “And why in the hell would you do that? After she carried on the way she did?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do. I’ve never spoken to her like that. No matter what she’s ever said, I’ve always bitten my tongue.”
“Well, I’m sorry. She needed that tongue-lashing. Trust me. It’s been long overdue.”
She shakes her head. “It wasn’t right. I owe her an apology.”
“Mmmph, you’re good, boo. But do you.”
She takes another sip from her drink. “Umm, I don’t mean to bust your bubble,” she says, walking out of the bathroom. I follow behind her. “But everyone isn’t as mean and nasty as you.”
“Excuse you?” I ask, feigning insult. “I beg your pardon. I am far from either of those things.”
She rolls her eyes up in her head, dramatically, putting her hand up. “Girl, talk to the hand. Save that mess for someone who doesn’t know you. I’ve seen you in action, sweetie. Okay?”
“Then you know I only bring it when it is called for,” I state, inching my way up on her bed. I’m on one end of the bed, and she’s on the other side. Both of us have our backs up against the headboard with pillows propped up behind us. “And you know like I do that ov
er the years that woman has said and done some of the craziest shit.”
“Well, that woman happens to be our mother and she still deserves some respect.”
I lift my glass up to her. Then take a sip, before saying, “Well, you keep on respecting her then. In my book, you get what you give. And she’s done nothing to get much respect from me.”
She shakes her head, cutting her eyes at me. I can tell she’s thinking something, but doesn’t say what it is. Instead, she raises her glass at me. The two of us sip our drinks in silence. Then somehow we end up talking about our childhood, reminiscing over some of the things we witnessed our mother saying and doing whenever she suspected our father was cheating on her. Why I even initiated the conversation about our father’s philandering ways is beyond me, but I do.
“Do you remember the time Mom baked those goodies and drove them over to Miss Janie’s, all pretty and sweet as she pleased, pretending that she didn’t know that she and Daddy were fucking?”
Miss Janie and our mother used to sponsor bus trips down to Atlantic City twice a year as a fundraiser for their church. The two of them had become good friends over the years, and travel buddies up until our mother caught her coming out of the same motel room as our father. But instead of jumping out of her car to confront them, yelling and screaming and fighting, she continued like she had no clue. I remember overhearing—because I was always somewhere ear-hustling—her phone conversation with Aunt Lucky, saying, “Oh, trust me. I had that bitch up in my house, eating my food, smiling up in my face and all the while she’s fucking my husband. Oh, no...I’ma fix that bitch real good. You right I should beat her ass. I don’t know why these hoes got to try me. I try to live a good, clean life. Try to do right. And here come these heathen-ass can’t-get-a-man-of-their-own bitches trying to disrupt my home. But, no, I’m not going to stoop that low and bang her in her head. I know she crossed the line...oh, don’t worry. I’m gonna deal with him, too. But, first, I need to tend to that, bitch...”
