Naughtier than Nice (30 page)

“Blue?”

“Yeah, Tommie?”

“They're mad because we eloped.”

“What did you expect?”

“We can invite them to our next forty-nine weddings.”

“You're serious about getting married in every state?”

“Dead serious.”

“Then we better start saving.”

*   *   *

Christmas morning in Los Angeles. It was the only morning when there was no horrific traffic, and that lasted about three hours. When the three hours was up, everyone was in their car and traffic on every freeway was worse than rush hour on a three-day-weekend Friday when there was a torrential downpour. We made it back to our area. When we turned on Edgehill, I saw that Angela was parked out in front of our home, in her car waiting on us. She hadn't called.

I said, “Mo, your mother is here. You haven't seen her on Christmas in years.”

Mo didn't sound too thrilled as she said, “Angela is here at our house?”

“Mo, never call your mother by her first name.”

Blue said, “Your mother probably has your Christmas presents, Mo.”

I asked, “Did you know Angela was coming by our home today, Blue?”

He shook his head, then told Monica, “Santa probably left some of yours with her.”

“Santa Claus is not real. I'm a big girl now. I know you buy all the presents, Daddy.”

I said, “Really, Mo?”

“You buy them too, Mommy.”

“Thank you very much, little girl.”

“When are you going to start calling me a big girl?”

“Well, excuse me, big girl.”

“I'm not a little girl anymore. Give me some respect.”

We laughed.

Blue said, “Well, let's pretend that you still like Santa, just for this year.”

“Dad, if Angela has presents, you know Angela bought them from the store like you do.”

“I order online.”

I said, “Monica, when we get out, call her
Mother
. Or
Mommy
.”

“But you're Mommy.”

“Don't argue with me, Mo. Don't make Angela feel bad.”

When Monica had been kidnapped, while the news waited for her to be reunited with her family, Angela had dropped her trip and been brought to the hospital while we waited on Monica and Frankie. Monica told everyone I was her everyday mother, that her real mother was never around, never rode her bike with her, never called, was always gone to have fun with Beyoncé.

She told them I was her mother.

She had said that live on air, and that went out to the world.

As we cried and were in shock from what had happened, those were Mo's words.

Angela was hurt by that. The vicious things people said online devastated her.

She had to shut down her Facebook and Twitter behind all of the mean comments.

Mo asked, “Okay, but can I call her Angela when I am with you and Daddy, Mommy?”

“Ask Daddy, then ask me again to see if I agree with his answer.”

“Daddy, can I—”

“That's between you and my wife.”

I said, “Your wife.”

“That's what I said.”

“I love the way it sounds when you say that.”

“I love saying it.”

We parked and Angela hurried out of her car before we could open our doors. She was in a short skirt and high heels, a long leather coat over it all, extensions in her hair, and she looked like a backup dancer for her idol. Her hair blew like she had her own personal wind machine. Monica ran to her, hugged her, did that more out of rote than true affection. Angela spoke to Blue, nodded at me, then took three boxes from the backseat of her car. She had also brought Monica a bicycle and a flat-screen television.

Monica said to Angela, “Guess what, Mommy?”

“What's that, Monica?”

“I'm going to have a little brother or sister, but I hope it's a sister because then I would be the older sister like Frankie is and the next one will be like Livvy; then she can have another, like Mommy.”

I said, “Mommy Tommie. Call me Mommy Tommie so it won't be confusing.”

She said, “I hope she will be like Mommy Tommie and I can be the boss, like Frankie.”

Angela looked at me, made direct eye contact for the first time, sought confirmation.

I nodded.

She said, “Wow. You're pregnant.”

She looked at my left hand, then saw Blue was wearing a golden wedding band.

She asked him, “You're married?”

He nodded.

She asked, “When did that happen?”

Blue said, “We eloped. Mo went with us. We just decided to do the damn thing.”

I asked, “Did you want an invitation, Angela?”

And just like that, Angela's mouth began to quiver and she started to cry.

I didn't expect that. I really didn't expect that. She didn't congratulate us. Just looked sad.

Blue carried Monica's presents inside, and I asked Monica to help him.

When they were gone, I faced Angela.

This moment was long overdue.

I asked, “What's the issue?”

“There is no issue.”

“There has always been an issue. What is it about me that you dislike so much?”

“Why are you always so disrespectful to me?”

“I've never been disrespectful to you, Angela.”

“From the start. I used to come to Blue's apartment and you never spoke to me. You used to walk right by me and you never said hello. You just looked me up and down. You've always been so mean.”

I took a second. “Were you hoping he would come back to you?”

“No. Of course not. I did for a while, but I'm not like you. You're really good at this. You're good with Blue; you're good with Mo. What Blue and I had, it's not like this. It wasn't on this level. It wasn't an everyday thing either. But I got pregnant and he told me to keep it and told me he would raise her, because he knew I didn't have what it takes. I try to be her mother the best I can, but we
never really connect. I'm not patient, not all day and all night. I don't like kids' movies, but I try. I get angry over little things and I snap at her the way my mother used to snap at me, because that's all I know. I tell her I love her and she responds that she loves me, but she never tells me first, so that sort of hurts. I know she doesn't like me, Tommie. I know that. And it hurts knowing that no matter how hard I try, she doesn't like me.”

“She loves you.”

“She tolerates me. When I'm with her, it's like she's forced to be with me.”

“You're her mother. All you have to do is show up, Angela, and don't do it begrudgingly.”

“She loves you, Tommie. I see it in your blogs. You have a thousand pictures of her with you and her smile is genuine, and on the few photos she has taken with me, her smile is always forced. It's like watching you blog about how I am losing my daughter. I know it's too late. I know that it is, and it hurts. I have lost my daughter and it feels like you're my mother and you're taking her away from me to give to someone else. It hurts. I can't go through this again, not with a daughter, not with my daughter, but I'm not any better at it this time than when I was younger. She doesn't call me. I stopped calling for a while, waited to see if she was going to call me, if she was going to miss me, and that call never came. I feel like she wants me to vanish, like it would be a relief to her if I died because then she wouldn't have to deal with me. So I just go away and do my thing because I know she couldn't care less one way or another.”

“Wow.”

“Shit. Now I'm crying in front of you. I promised I wasn't going to cry in front of you.”

“Well, I'm crying too.”

A moment passed, and as she wiped tears from her eyes, I wiped tears from mine.

I cleared my throat and said, “Angela.”

“What, Tommie?”

“We're family.”

“I know you are.”

“No,
we're
family. You and I are family. We're not friends, because people get to choose their friends, but they don't get to choose their neighbors or their family. I didn't choose you, but you are part of my family. You're Monica's mother. Her true mother. I am her earth mother. We are all connected.”

“I have no idea what
earth mother
means.”

“The point is this: We are family. We will both be at Monica's wedding. We will both be at her graduation. We will both chase boys away when she starts liking them—well, at least I know I will. We have to do better than this. We have to work together at some point. I can't fight you every time I see you.”

A moment passed. A very uncomfortable moment. This was our first civilized conversation.

I said, “Look, Angela, maybe it is me. I need to feel loved, same as you need to feel loved.”

“Everyone wants to feel like someone likes them. That's the reason you blog. You do it for the attention. You do it because you want everyone to agree with you and think you're all high and mighty.”

“I'm sorry for all of that. I apologize.”

“Sure. Yeah, right.”

“I'm serious. I just apologized to you and I think you're blowing it off.”

“Wow. Okay. You were serious?”

“I'm serious. Maybe I went too far. I apologize.”

“I accept your apology.”

“You're not good with social graces, are you?”

“I guess not. I mean, I'm not a debutante. I don't know which silverware to use.”

“Let's back this up a little. People say they're married, you're supposed to congratulate them.”

“Congratulations. I'm glad Blue found someone who is good to him and my daughter.”

“Does that trouble you?”

“It caught me off guard. Thought it wasn't going to happen. I was speechless.”

“Okay. Now I am waiting on your apology for being rude to me on multiple occasions.”

“Are you taking the blogs down?”

“Nope. But I will be kinder to you, if we can make that possible.”

“Okay.”

“Or you can stop reading my pages. Why are you on my blog? Are you following me?”

“You're a good writer. I can't write like you can. I feel everything you say, and it hurts. The words you use, they are pretty, and sometimes I have to use a dictionary, but I can feel everything you feel.”

“Apology. I'm waiting.”

“Sure. I apologize. If you mean yours, then I mean it.”

“Come here for a moment.”

“For what?”

“Come here.”

I called Monica and she came running back out. I had Monica get between us while Angela and I got down on our haunches. Monica was as surprised as her mother. I took out my phone and we all smiled and took a round of selfies. Each time we changed positions. I actually touched Angela, put my arm around her like she was my sister. It was hard to do. It wasn't much, but it was a start for both of us.

Angela hugged Monica and said she was getting ready to leave.

I asked, “Where are you going?”

“Back home.”

“You have plans?”

“I don't have any plans. Just came to drop off the presents.”

“You're dressed like you had plans.”

“I thought everybody over here would be dressed up and I didn't want to show up looking like a bum, that's all. I'll go back home and pull on some sweats and make me a sandwich or something.”

I said, “Why don't you stay over here and kick it with Monica for a while.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Open her presents with her. Just don't get drunk and paint the walls.”

“Okay. This is weird and just got weirder. You don't want me in your house.”

“I know. Even Scrooge took a break for Christmas. We can be mean to each other again after New Year's if that makes you feel better. But let's have a cease-fire for at least forty-eight hours.”

“Thanks for inviting me into your home.”

“As opposed to you showing up uninvited.”

“I guess I will come in for a few minutes.”

“We have plenty of food. You should kick off your high heels and stay for dinner.”

“You're pushing it. Are you being phony?”

“I'm serious.”

“Why?”

“You've already puked, showered, and used the toilet, so you might as well sit at the dinner table.”

“Wow. You're not serious.”

“I am serious. Stay and break bread with your daughter. She needs to see you and Blue interact when people aren't angry and screaming and acting like fools. She needs this. We'll do it for Monica.”

“I don't want to intrude.”

“You've already basically spent the night here.”

“I woke up here that time, and, yeah, that was embarrassing.”

“You called Blue to come get you in the middle of the night. That disturbed me back then.”

“Tommie, to be honest, I don't remember calling him. That's how drunk I was. I thought I had called someone else, this other guy. Blue pulled up and the rest was a blur until I woke up here. That was so damn embarrassing that I couldn't wait to get on a plane and leave here. I want to leave now.”

“Are you invited to Hova and Beyoncé's swank penthouse or an Illuminati meeting or something?”

“No, I'm not. I could go to the movies, or go walk on Venice Beach, or drive PCH awhile.”

“Well, it's Christmas. Don't run away just to be alone in a crowd. I'm serious. It's okay to stay here and spend the day with Monica. We're going to eat, drink, open gifts, play dominoes, watch movies, and be lazy for a while.”

“It's exciting over here. This is why I never take Mo with me. She gets bored with me.”

Monica looked at her and smiled. “Stay, Mommy. Mommy Tommie is a real good cook.”

“I can't cook. I know that. The kitchen gives me the heebie-jeebies. I have a phobia, I think.”