Naughtier than Nice (31 page)

Surprised, I said, “You can't cook? You're afraid of cooking?”

“Never learned. I either overcook or undercook, and I get afraid I'm going to cut or burn myself, or leave a pot on and accidentally almost burn down the house again, or the oven will explode. When I try—if I try—what I make never looks like it does on the box. For me, figuring out a recipe is like being in a science class.”

“How do you eat?”

“I eat out. Unless people invite me over to eat, I just eat out, or eat leftovers.”

“Every meal?”

“Well, yeah. I make sandwiches, but I don't cook. That's why I don't keep Mo so long.”

“You don't do potlucks?”

“I'm the one who brings the paper plates and plastic forks and sodas and napkins.”

Then I saw what I hadn't seen before. She hadn't had a good mother herself.

Monica said, “I know you love to eat out, Mommy. Not you, Mommy Tommie, but you, Mommy-Mommy. That's why you always give me fast food. But we have real food in this house. Let me show you.”

Angela held Monica's hand, and Mo held her hand, and mother and child headed inside.

I called out, “Angela.”

“What's up, Tommie?”

“Merry Christmas.”

She smiled at me for the first time ever. “Merry Christmas to you too, Tommie.”

“You ever give Mo back rides?”

“Well, no.”

“She likes back rides. She's growing fast. Let her ride your back before she gets too big to carry.”

It was awkward, like Angela had no idea how to do it, but Monica got on her mother's back. That excited Monica. Angela had never given Mo a back ride. That was sad. It was time to change that for the better. I guessed that Angela hadn't had a father in her life either. I understood her aloofness, her lack of social graces that made her seem like a bitch. She hadn't had stability and had no idea how to offer stability. She partied like she was still a teenager. I bet her mother had done the same. Throw a kid a cold bologna sandwich, then go party all night. Angela needed better friends. She needed sisters in her life. She needed somebody to be nice to her for a change.

I stayed outside, in my driveway. I was alone with my thoughts. I waved at Vince and Dana Brown, did the same for their happy children, told all to have a merry Christmas. My head was high. Maybe I was better than Angela. That was how I felt. It was petty. But I was allowed to have my petty moments.

I was better than her and I had the ring that signified I was the ruler of my mini kingdom.

All she had was tits and an ample ass, a wannabe Beyoncé booty. A blow job could only get a woman so far. The way to a man's heart was still through his stomach. A man needed to eat three times a day, and I guess coochie wasn't filling. At least hers wasn't. I laughed at myself, that joke so damn crude and funny to me.

Love rose from within my body.

I loved Mo.

I wanted Monica to love her birth mother too.

We would have to work on that.

I wanted my child to love me as much as Mo loved me.

I sighed. Everything had changed back in March.

I looked off into the distance, in the direction of Beale Streets's mansion, an estate that was miles away.

Feeling a little sad, I leaned against Blue's car, my hand on my belly, afraid yet smiling. I had made the right choice.

I wiped away tears.

I stayed outside, enjoyed the eighty-degree weather. Livvy and Tony arrived first.

Tony hugged me, kissed my cheek, then went inside to get a beer and watch the game.

Livvy leaned against the car, a look on her face that said something was on her mind.

I told Livvy, “Mo's mother is inside.”

“Why is she inside your home?”

“I invited her to stay for dinner.”

“Are you going to poison her like they did the king on
Game of Thrones
?”

“Not today.”

“Friends close. Enemies closer.”

“I need you and Frankie to be nice to her. Not a phony nice, a real nice.”

“You're married. Blue's your husband. You want to rub it in her face.”

“I got the ring. Bow down before the queen.”

“You're too much.”

“She didn't know me and Blue were back together. She dressed up super sexy for Blue, has on sky-high heels and a skirt so short I can read her lips when she jiggles her ass. Well, Angela just had her bubble of hope burst when she saw we were back together and now we're husband and wife.”

“And you let her in your house?”

“Mo's got my back. She'll tell me everything that happens.”

“Why are you outside all by yourself?”

“Livvy, something she said, I ignored it when she said it because I didn't want to know.”

“What?”

“Monica isn't her first child.”

“She said that?”

“Not directly. She slipped and said she had a baby before Monica.”

“With Blue?”

“Before Blue. But I think Blue knows. I think he's protected her secret. I think that's why he put up with her, because he knows what she's been through. I swear she said she had had another child.”

“With whom?”

“She didn't slip and say and I didn't ask. Sounds like her mother forced her to put her first child up for adoption. She let that slip. I was flabbergasted. We changed the subject, but that blew me away.”

“When did she have the first kid?”

“Sounds like she was in high school, maybe before. Said her mother had issues with it. I know she grew up in San Bernardino, and that is the Mississippi of California. At least, people seem to think it is.”

“Over two decades ago? Her kid would be an adult.”

“She had a boy. She slipped and said it was a boy.”

“Her son would be a grown man.”

I thought about how Blue had been obsessed with Beale Streets, how he had learned all about him, how he had taken me to meet him downtown at the library. Blue was more than interested in Beale. Blue had been researching Beale. I had mistaken that
research
for adulation. I swallowed, tried to connect dots. Monica and Beale had similar features. Like father and daughter. Like brother and sister.

Blue was Angela's type. The men she had taken her photos with online, the ones I assumed she had hooked up with, from what I remembered seeing on her pages, they were all physically fit, all in the same ethnic and complexion genre as Blue. I shook my head as if I were trying to erase those thoughts.

Livvy asked, “What are you thinking about?”

“Beale Streets. Not gonna lie, he flashes in my mind from time to time.”

“Is Blue past that letter you handed Beale? Is he past the disappointment and anger?”

“He says he is. It broke him down. We were all devastated. It came at a horrible time.”

“But is he okay? A man is never past betrayal, Tommie. How is it affecting him?”

“I see it in his face from time to time, the pain, in his jaw, but he says he forgives me.”

“That was some letter, Tommie. I cried for you and for Blue. Your relationship had been our role model, Tommie. You had surpassed both Frankie and me. We prayed for the two of you to reconcile.”

“That letter to Beale was my heart. Beale knows I had written a good-bye letter to each of them, then I shredded the one I had written to Blue. And since Blue saw the letter, he knows I had written a good-bye letter to him as well.”

“He knows more than you wanted him to ever know.”

“He knows everything. I was that close to leaving Blue. But my love for him is greater. I couldn't lie to myself or to Beale. Blue read it, and I had to own what I had done and felt.”

“I can't get over the fact that you'd written a good-bye letter to Blue.”

“Yes. And it was twice as long as the one I gave Beale, maybe three times as long. But I felt that I had to write a letter to Monica too. I owed her that much. And . . . and I couldn't do it. It was
impossible. That morning before the race, I had sat in Frankie's kitchen and tried to write that note.”

“You were going to break up with Monica, too.”

“While I ran the race I tried to think of what I could tell Monica, and while I ran I knew where I needed to be.”

“I worried about you.”

“Blue saw all I had written to Beale. Knew I was about to leave him. I had to move out, but not because of the tension.”

“But you never told Blue why. You just let him assume.”

“No, I never told him why I moved out for a while. Never will. I had to be gone. He had snuck away to do something, and I guess I did the same, only what we did were polar opposites. I didn't see Blue, but I picked up Monica from school, fed her, and she spent most nights with me, except for that week.”

“The week you were sick.”

“Told her I had the flu. Blue was working and I called Angela. I called her and told her I was sick, and Blue was working and we needed her to woman-up, to pick up her daughter from school for the week, needed her to up her game and be mommy for at least five days. She surprised me when she just said okay, then went and picked up Monica. She kept her that week. Had to be the worst week of Monica's life.”

As I stared off into the distance, Livvy put her hand on mine. She knew me. She knew about the letter. They all knew. But only Livvy knew it all. Only Livvy knew that I had been pregnant back in March. I had been pregnant with Beale Streets's child. That had been a hard choice.

I would never be proud of myself for that. It would haunt me all of my days. The same way something haunted Angela. We both had ghosts. We had pains we'd never intended to mention aloud.

Blue had reissued weapons to his sailors. I had left him awhile, went and stayed in Jackie Summers's empty apartment on Stocker and Degnan, had left because I had to decide what I was going to
do. Going back to Beale wasn't an option. Blue came to see me. Said he needed me. Said Monica needed me. We'd had an emotional night, in Jackie Summers's apartment, while Mo was with Angela. Now I was pregnant with Blue's child. I had gotten what I had asked for. I had my heart's desire.

The road had been winding and with many potholes.

The cost had been great.

Livvy said, “The only way your marriage will work is if you let Beale go.”

“He's moved and moved on.”

“You have to do the same.”

“I have moved on. I'm married. I'm happy.”

“The shoes he bought you.”

“Those boots and T-shirts and trinkets are boxed up in the back of my closet.”

“You have to let go all the way. Mementos are designed to awaken memories. You wake memories, you awaken desires.”

“I have let go. I wouldn't have done what I did if I didn't want to let go all the way.”

“You have to let go of everything symbolic. Lose the shoes.”

“They're just shoes.”

“Shoes are never just shoes. Didn't you learn that watching
The Wizard of Oz
?”

“I know. I want to forget about him. I do great most days. Then there are these moments.”

“It hits you all of a sudden. It might start with a dream. A delicious dream. And you wake up tingling. Wet from what you couldn't control. You miss him more than you ever thought possible, then wear those boots, wear them while you're with Blue, and you start to want that old love back.”

“Stop it, Livvy.”

“Learn from my mistakes. Don't do to Blue what I did to Tony. We have gone through hell.”

“That's your version of taking Tony through hell? Your hell has air-conditioning and lemonade.”

“Stop it.”

“What was going on with you and Tony? I had to scrub my eyeballs with bleach.”

“Stop. It.”

“Y'all couldn't find a black girl to play your games with or what? You know sisters get down like that nowadays. They do everything white people do. Why didn't you get a brother, have two guys? Wait, Frankie did that freaky mess in Cancún.”

“Whatever. Joke about it, but we have gone through hell and come out the other side.”

“Are you bi?”

“Don't deflect.”

“You didn't answer. That's cool. We need diversity in our family. I bought you a rainbow flag and a box of Skittles for Christmas.”

“Will you stop joking?”

“Joking about the Skittles, but I did buy you a flag.”

“Look, my point is that I wasn't nice and it was rough on Tony after he cheated. And if I open my present and see a flag, I will beat your butt from here to Barstow.”

“Tony deserved whatever you did back then. Keep it real. Say he didn't and I will pull your ear like Momma used to do.”

“Blue is a good man, Tommie. He's always been the kind of man you need in your life.”

“I know.”

“Let Beale out of your heart. Blue deserves better. He deserves the best.”

“I have let Beale go. We're no longer friends on Facebook and I don't follow him on Twitter. No text messages. Nothing.”

“Get him out of your heart. That's the way this works in the long run. Leaving him there, it will rattle you. It will be like an earthquake that comes and changes the direction the river flows.
Leftover love can be strong and can be as powerful as the New Madrid earthquake in 1812 that made the Mississippi flow backward. Things can change us, and it might not be possible to ever change back to who we were.”

“Beale's married to Tanya Obayomi. I'm married to Blue.”

Livvy whispered, “Things that can't go on forever don't.”

“Why are you over here getting all deep on me? God, you are sounding like Momma. Are you channeling Momma?”

“You keep thinking about his life, that moment you decided, and what could've been your life.”

“Are you going to give me front-yard therapy on Jesus's faux birthday?”

Livvy was serious. “You made the right choice. I need you to accept that you made the right choice. You did what was best for you at the moment. That's the best we can do, Tommie.”

“I made a choice, but I can never say it was the right choice. I will never know that.”

“I know.”

I said, “Two roads diverged in the woods, and I could not travel both.”

“I have a few words for you. Words written by Lewis B. Smedes. I memorized it to recite it to you.”

“Let's get it over with, Sister Reverend Livvy McBroom-Barrera. When you're done, I will pass the collection plate.”

“‘Forgiving does not erase the bitter past. A healed memory is not a deleted memory. Instead, forgiving what we cannot forget creates a new way to remember. We change the memory of our past into a hope for our future.'” She rubbed her nose. “It's not the best performance, but you get the point.”

I nodded. “A memory, even when healed, is never deleted. That's deep, Livvy.”

“That is the hell Tony and I have endured. There was no air-conditioning, no lemonade. It was a journey through bitterness,
through memories that were our open wounds. I've escaped from the past. We drank from a bitter cup of pleasure, but now things are sweet again. Not as sweet as they were at the start, but I can no longer taste the bitterness. We're husband and wife as husband and wife should be.”

We were silent for a while, waved at Latino neighbors, waved at my new white neighbors, taking in the neighborhood, this moment, this day of peace.

Christmas music kicked on in my small home.

Monica ran outside with her mother, Tony, and Blue. They all waved at us as they went to Angela's car. She opened the trunk and they took out paper plates, plastic utensils, sodas, and napkins. Blue, Angela, and Tony went back inside.

Mo ran to us and told us to come inside so we could open more presents.

She asked, “Do we have an extra present for my other mommy, Mommy?”

“We sure do. I have an extra box of perfume and a new scarf all wrapped up in pink boxes.”

“Can I give those to her? Please, please, please, please, please?”

“You sure can. We'll get a card from the dresser and you can sign it for her with the gifts.”

“Call Auntie Frankie and make sure she's okay. I'm really getting worried, Mommy.”

“Why, little girl? You just saw her. Something happen I need to know about?”

“I just hope Auntie Frankie didn't get in the car with another stranger. Sometimes she does things not so smart.”

Livvy and I laughed like we were going insane. Monica was serious. It really wasn't funny, but the way Monica said it, we laughed until we cried. Monica ran back to get her mother a card and presents. Livvy and I followed. As we headed across the lawn, Frankie pulled up in her Maserati. I hated the pretentiousness of that car,
and she knew that. I shook my fist at her, shouted at her for once again showing up on CP Time.

Livvy's voice cracked when she said, “We almost lost her, Tommie.”

“I know. Franklin. His wife. That was a horrible day for everyone we've ever touched. Don't start crying, Livvy. If you start crying, I'll start crying and it will become a cry party.”

“Just don't start doing any haikus. I hate haikus. Dumbest poetry I've ever heard in my life.”

“
Livvy is a freak. One day I will tell Frankie. Lets girls eat coochie
.”