Saint's Sacrament - Sins of the Father (41 page)

Henry rolled his eyes and looked away.

“You ain’t layin’ claim on a goddamn hair on nary a one of these folks’ heads at this table, ’cept your own, and speaking of which, you need to let that shit go, over there lookin’ like a nappy ass donut…shit just ate up in the middle! The hair is gone, let it die! Put a mothafuckin’ tombstone on it since you into tellin’ folks to let shit go tonight, giving out advice like you one of the wise men of Bethlehem. That’s what needs to be moved past, is your mothafuckin’ dead ass hairline you short dick son of a bitch!” She sat back down in a huff, shaking the whole table as she pounced in her seat and slammed her meaty, pale arms against it. “Now somebody pass me the rolls, please.”

Mothafuckin’ T.K.O
.

Saint shook his head and
palmed his mouth, just in case Xenia busted him smirking. He couldn’t help it. The shit was funny, although unsuitable; hell, he was dead wrong to laugh, but when Pam got angry, it was pure comedy. He took a deep breath and tried to get himself together. Xenia would scold him about it later if he didn’t check himself.

“Mama,” Xenia
said, her voice trembling. “Are you finished now? Can we proceed with our meal without any more outbursts?” Steel crept in her tone now. She hooked her gaze on her mother like a fishing line, trying to reel the older woman in. A look of disapproval, utter mortification and a call to action should one more utterance be spoken.

“Yes, baby, I’m finished.” Pam grinned
patronizingly around a mouthful of bread.

“Good
.” Xenia sighed and rose from the table. “To everyone here, I apologize for my parents’ argument that you had to witness. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go get Traci and the boys.”

Saint immediately foll
owed after her, hot on her tail. Xenia’s feminine yet muscular toasty cinnamon legs were moving so fast, he had to put pep into his step. He curled a hand around her arm as neared the kitchen patio doors. When she turned toward him, her dark eyes were rich with something forbidden and burning with indignation, but sadness also lurked there.

“Baby, look…you know how your mother is
,” he said soothingly as he took her into his arms. Her body was stiff, the muscles twisted then straightened to mere planks, but soon, she began to relax in his grip.

“I don’t understand how I feel!” she blurted. Saint pulled her to the side of the house for more privacy. As if on cue, Jagger rose from his seat and turned the music higher, inviting chatter and laughter at the table in the near distance.

Thank you, man…

‘You’re welcome,’
Jagger said telepathically as he took his seat.

“Talk to me, baby.” Saint gripped her arms
and looked down at her, his protective nature in overdrive.

“I’m pissed that he’s here! I’d be pissed if he wasn’t after the invitation.” She shook her head. “I’m so confused. I’m mad at
Mama for causing a scene like that, mad that I didn’t have the guts to the do the same when I first saw him at the show. I’m embarrassed that our friends and family had to see what happened, to see that my parents are crazy, and my father abandoned me and my sister and brother.” Saint cupped her chin delicately, lifting her face to him as he studied her closely, falling in love with her even deeper at that moment when her vulnerability felt painful and red to the touch.

“You’re embarrassed that everyone knows he walked out?
Or is it, you’re embarrassed because you still care?” They shared a thoughtful pause.

Xenia shook her head then averted eye contact. She seemed to hate admitting it, more than the core truth of the matter.

“Xenia, there isn’t anything for you to be ashamed of.
He
did that. That was his choice to be a deadbeat and it doesn’t matter that you’re grown now, and still hurting from it. You never had any closure. Just because we mature in age doesn’t mean we don’t want our parents or need them. You are still that little girl, wanting your father to come back home and tell you that he is sorry, and that he loves you. I get it, baby. I understand.”

“
Oh, God.” She sighed. “And just the whole way it went down. I never expected my mother to be anyone that she wasn’t, and I hate what she did just now, but shit, it was the truth. And maybe…maybe I now hate her too, for saying it so that now…now I can’t run away anymore and I have to talk to my father. I’ve been avoiding him all night.”

“Well
…” Saint shrugged. “You can’t have an argument like this and not address it at some point in time but even without that, Xenia, you are going to have to talk to him. You have to tell him how you feel.”

“But I
have! In the past, I—”

Xenia quieted as Traci casually
strolled past with the boys. Both children looked back at her, their eyes full of concern for Mommy as they were led away, back to the table for supper.

“In the past, years ago, I told him how he affected me, and he never wanted to hear it. That’s why I stopped speaking to him. Now
, all of a sudden, he wants me in his life!” She shot a look of disbelief mixed with a dash of disgust.

“And that’s what you have to tell him…that when
you
needed to talk, he wasn’t there. Now that
he
wants to talk, he expects you to be ready. That isn’t fair, but, he is here so maybe you can address it sooner rather than later, in an effort to move forward.” He gave her a big hug and a kiss on the top of her head. “If you choose to have nothing else to do with him, I respect your choice. If you choose to have him in your life, and our children’s, I respect that as well. It’s your call.”

The woman wrapped her arms around him so tight,
he felt the air squeeze out of his lungs. After a while, she leaned back and let go of him.

“Saint, I need to calm down but in the next few days, I will talk to him
about just that. Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me
…that’s what I’m here for. I’m your husband, your friend; that’s my purpose. Now, there is a fruit salad over there,” he pointed at the table, “and some barbecue chicken that has my name written all over it. Would you care to join me?”

Xenia grinned. “Yes! Oh, that reminds me.” She look
ed toward the kitchen. “I made a pitcher of that honey lemonade you like. Let me grab it.”

“No, no…go on back to the table and take a seat. I’ll get it.” He gave her quick peck on the lips before she turned and walked away. In the near distance he could hear Donna’s voice.

“Xenia, do you mind if I use the restroom? I believe I recall where it was from last time.”

“Of course not, Donna! You don’t have to ask, honey. Just in case, it’s right through the kitchen and immediately off to the right.”

“Thank you.”

Saint swallowed as he entered the kitchen and made his way to the refrigerator. Quick, almost frantic footsteps, dainty and small
—feminine with a bite—approached. He heard the woman pause, hitch a breath and waltz past him to her destination.

Should I lollygag and talk to her, or just mind my damn business?

He held the glass pitcher in his hands, then set it on the counter.

A few minutes later, the bathroom door clicked as it unlocked and
Donna entered the kitchen. She paused as she made eye contact with Saint, but didn’t utter a word.

“Excuse me
,” he called out, gifting a warm grin.

I can’t believe this woman has been at my house all this time and hasn’t said
‘hello’, and now she is just going to act like she didn’t see my ass standing here!

“Yes?” Donna turned slowly
toward him, her lips balled up like a black-power fist.

“Do we have a problem, Donna?” Saint pointed to himself and then back to her.

“Not that I’m aware of,” she answered coldly as she crossed her arms. Just then, a loud burst of laughter came from the table and simmered back down.

“Well, there must be some sort of problem because you barely speak to me and now you aren’t saying anything at all. Now, I don’t know about you,”
—Saint leaned back against counter and crossed his ankles—“but my mama taught me that when someone comes to the house, they are supposed to say hello after they are greeted. When you arrived, I said hello to you and Lawrence, but you didn’t respond.”

Donna sighed and put her hand on her hip. “Are yo
u not getting enough attention today, Saint? I find that hard to believe.”

Saint
bit his tongue, reminding himself that that was his friend’s wife.

“Nah, nothing like that, Donna
, it’s just that you seem to have a problem with me and I’d like to get it resolved because your husband is my friend. I want to be on good terms with my friend’s wife. So…” He shrugged. “If there is something I can do to change this dynamic, please let me know and I will try to accommodate you.”

“You can’t.”
She rocked on her heels.

“I can’t change the dynamic or I can’t accommodate you?”

“Neither.”

“Why is that?”

“Because that would require you to change your entire personality. I just don’t like you. It’s as simple as that.”

Saint swallowed and mulled the strong words over. “I see. Well, that’s a shame because Lawrence and I are going to be friends for a long while.
I’m trying to work this out with you, but all you’re doing is throwing me attitude, Donna.”

“Is that what you call it, Saint? When a
strong woman doesn’t appreciate your personality, you call it attitude? I have a right to not like you.”

“Is
this
being strong, Donna? Being a bully to your husband? Being rude to his friends and calling my wife and whining about tattoos?”

She smirked and bit her lip. “My husband, unlike
Jagger and
especially
you, doesn’t have to be an ass in order to be seen as a man. You are arrogant. You are perverted. You are crazy. As an Angel Child with your sort of power, it appears as if it has gone to your head and sorry, but I’m not one of your groupies,” she said flippantly.

Saint cracked up laughing. “You obviously know nothing abou
t me, Donna. I’ve been arrogant, perverted and crazy waaaaaaay before I even knew I was an Angel Child!”

He caught the woman
’s slight smile, but she quickly tucked it away, causing him to second-guess if he’d actually seen the damn thing at all.

“Look
, Saint.” She exhaled. “I like Xenia. She is a nice woman, accomplished, friendly…and I enjoy her company. I understand that she loves you and contrary to the person you’ve painted me out to be, I do not bully my husband. I understand he has taken a liking to you. Honestly, he almost worships you, which I find quite distressing; nevertheless, you did assist him vocationally and he appears to love his job. For that,”—she nodded and shrugged—“I’m thankful. However, I’m entitled to feel the way I do. There is no amount of sweet talk, none of your presumed
swag
,” she said, putting her fingers in quotation marks, “or anything you could say right now that’s going to change the fact that I find your persona highly unattractive. You are what you are.”

“And what would that be, Donna?”
He smirked, sucked his tongue in annoyance and glared at her. “What exactly
am
I?”

The woman rolled her eyes.

“Instead of giving me the third degree, you should be out there comforting your wife after the scene your mother-in-law pulled. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going back out to join my husband.” Donna disappeared before he could utter another word.

Lawrence,
God forbid, if I ever have to identify your body at a morgue, I am certain I will confirm that your balls really have been removed and tucked under that woman’s pillow…

~***~

“I won!” Hassani screamed as he gripped his basketball. A few of the neighbors had rolled through, bringing their children for dessert and a late night swim and games. The evening, minus the Pam and Henry argument, was a success. Saint sat under the umbrella table and the cool night air moved the delicious smells of food, pool chlorine and ladies’ perfumes around. He ran his hand down his slightly protruding stomach after practicing some epic gluttony.

“I did a number on that strawberry shortcake
,” he muttered, feeling as though he was falling into a food coma.

“I know, I saw you.
Sugar overdose. That’s not like you, but it was fun to watch.” Xenia giggled as she plopped on his lap, making him groan in pain. He wrapped his arms around her waist.

Lawrence, Jagger, Donna and Traci stood huddled together, laughing and chatting
, while Pam and Porsche looked through someone’s phone at what appeared to be photos. Saint’s eyes cut back over to Donna. He watched as she bent over—slowly—and removed a wine cooler from the container of semi-melted ice. The bottle glistened. A picture of a juicy red strawberry was featured on the front, while beads of condensation and running water ran down the cool glass and over her fingertips.