Single Mom (38 page)

Camellia nodded and said, “Yeah, I guess I am.”

That was the longest Thanksgiving Day dinner of my life! Brock called me up as soon as he got home, after eleven. He helped clean, wash the dishes, and straighten everything up before he left. My mother and my niece were staying the night.

“Well, you got to see us all up close and personal. Do you still want to be with me?” I asked him lightheartedly.

“Of course I do. Have you forgotten already? You had to
force
me to leave.”

I smiled. He was really hanging tough, I had to admit it. “So what makes you want to deal with all of this? I’m just curious.”

He said, “Denise, let me ask you something.”

“Go right ahead.”

“Do you believe in perfect families?”

I started to laugh. “Once upon a time,” I answered him.

“Exactly. Because a perfect family would mean that there are perfect people involved. And from what I know, the only person who was ever perfect was Jesus Christ. Am I right or am I wrong?”

“You’re right.”

“So no matter what family you associate yourself with, there’s gonna be hurdles to get over and land mines to dodge,” he said with a chuckle.

“Land mines, hunh?”

“Yeah. Sometimes it gets that deep.”

“Is that how it was tonight?”

“Well, no. But if your sister would have grabbed a knife and tried to stab somebody, that would have been another story.”

I chuckled. “She better not. I’d really have to kill her then.”

I thought about Brock’s sister in Arizona. “How do you and your sister get along?”

“We were real competitive, and then I just stopped competing with her altogether,” he answered. “But we rarely hung out or anything. And we definitely never had any drama like you have with your sister,” he commented.

“But that’s something that’s interesting to me, because I’ve never had to struggle through much,” he said. “Even when I was married, it was like I was just going through the motions. But while I’m involved with you and your family, I can’t be that way. I either have to be all the way with it, or back away. And I like that, because it finally solidifies my intentions. I mean, I
want
to be there. And I
want
to be with you. I love you.”

I felt all warm inside like a little girl. After that Thanksgiving dinner, there was no way that Brock could be lying, unless he was as crazy as Nikita was.

I said, “You know what, I have to stop calling my sister crazy. I just realized that. But she
does
need some help. Don’t you agree?”

“Yeah, I agree,” he answered. “But I don’t want to talk about her right now. I want to talk about you. Were you embarrassed tonight?”

“Oh, not at all,” I told him. “I’ve been dealing with my family for too long to be embarrassed, but I could tell that
you
were.”

“What about when your girlfriend started talking about her weight problems?”

I calmed down and answered, “Oh, yeah. I
was
embarrassed by that. I’m gonna have to talk to her. I never knew she felt that way. She just seems like nothing gets to her.”

He said, “Some people could assume the same thing about you, that you don’t worry about your public imagery because you’re a successful businesswoman, but you do.”

“Of course I do. My imagery is very important to me.”

“Yeah, well, I’m just glad that you finally see that it’s only imagery, and that you don’t have to hold up to being this super black woman, because that can really mislead you.”

“Don’t I know it,” I told him. “Too many of us get caught up in that stuff. And a lot of us don’t know how to get out until it’s too late.”

“Well, it’s not too late for you. I’m here to tell you that.”

“Well, thank you. I’ll remember that.”

“Now tell me that you love me so I can go to sleep with a smile on my face.”

I grinned. “Just like that?”

“Yeah, just say it like I do.”

“Ah …” I didn’t know that I could actually struggle with that. I hadn’t said I loved him before, I just hinted at it. Nevertheless, Brock was patient with me. He didn’t say another word. And the words finally slipped out of my mouth. I said, “I love you, Dennis, for all the—”

“Wait a minute,” he said, cutting me off. ‘You don’t need to explain it, because I understand already. Okay?”

I laughed out loud, remembering when I said the same thing to him.

“Now let’s just hang up, call it a night, and go to sleep with smiles on our faces and talk again tomorrow. Tomorrow’s a new day.”

“Okay. I can agree to that.”

“All right then.
Ciao
, baby.”

“
Ciao
,” I told him with a grin. When he hung up, I actually didn’t expect him to. I wanted more, and he left me hanging. And while I was hanging, I realized that I was becoming attached to him like I hadn’t been with a man in a long, long time. I felt that I was a part of him, and he was a part of me. And I was no longer afraid of that feeling. So I rolled over in bed, with everything done, and fell asleep. How many times had I fallen asleep that easily over the last fifteen years? Rarely! But before I could enjoy it, the telephone rang and woke me back up anyway.

“Hello.”

“It’s me. Mom and Cheron are still over there?” Nikita asked me from a pay phone.

“Where are you?” I could hear the street noise in the background.

“I’m safe. I just wanted to know where they were,” she answered, still protective.

“You actually care?” I asked rhetorically.

She sighed. “Whatever. Just tell Mom I’ll see her tomorrow.”

“And what do I tell Cheron, your daughter?”

There was a long pause. “Tell her Mommy said she’s sorry. Tell her Mommy still loves her.”

I felt a touch of pity. Maybe because Brock had brought it out of me. I said, “She loves you too. And so do I.”

We lingered on the phone for a minute, and I could tell what Nikita was saying in her silence. She was apologizing, and telling me that she still loved me. I knew her. She was my little sister.

I said, “I’m still angry at you, Nikita. And we
do
need to talk about
this. But you go ahead and think to yourself tonight while you’re out on your own. And then we’ll talk again when we get a chance to.”

“Okay. We’ll talk. I gotta go now,” she told me.

I hung up with my sister and couldn’t go back to sleep. She had no idea how much pain she caused me because I loved her so much. I just didn’t know what to do about her. It just seemed to be no way to reach her. But as long as she was alive, I had to keep trying. And maybe God would help me find a way.

N
Thanksgiving Day, I was all worked up to give my father a verbal lashing for all of the years of mental abuse he had put me through, and had attempted to pass on to my son. No wonder I was so screwed up and selfish. In spite of fighting everything my father ever wanted of me, I had been fast becoming a spitting image of him, until I was forced to see his, and many of my own, imperfections with clearer vision. However, as we got the house ready for my parents’ visit that evening, Beverly insisted on trying to talk me out of it.

“This isn’t the time to do that, Walter,” she advised me.

Her kin were all going to visit her older sister Elaine for dinner, but I needed to sit down and talk with
my
family, so we decided to join her family again for Christmas. Beverly was a much-in-demand guest with her pregnancy and all. I was unaware of how much attention expectant mothers could receive from family and friends. Even people in the street seemed to take on a whole different approach to expectant mothers. It was really something else. All the while, I felt guilty all over again for not being supportive when Denise was pregnant with Walter.

I said, “Honey, I understand that you would like this to be a peaceful evening and all, but my father and I need to stop putting this thing off. We need to talk. Tonight!”

“Well, just make sure that you don’t do it at the table. Okay? Because I don’t need to be upset,” she snapped.

She sounded upset already. I looked down at her rounding stomach
and thought about the emotional stress that could be passed on to the baby. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” I told her.

Nevertheless, I planned on dealing with my father one way or the other, even if we had to take a long drive out in the cold. We were right around the corner from December, wintertime.

“Don’t you think we need to settle our differences?” I asked my wife about my father and me. “I’m thirty-two years old now. I’m not a child anymore. This is absurd. I should have gotten this out of the way a long time ago.”

“Well, it won’t look like you’ve learned anything if you present yourself with a temper tantrum.”

I faced Beverly and asked, “Is that what you think this is, a temper tantrum? I think it’s a grown son demanding that his manhood be respected, and that extends to respect for my son,
and
for us. Whenever he disrespects me, you, or Walter, he needs to be dealt with on a level of adulthood. But here
you are
speaking as if we’re kids, asking for
permission
to be adults.”

Beverly sighed. “That’s not what I’m saying at all. I just think that you don’t need a big buildup like this, that’s all. You need to be more levelheaded.”

I calmed myself down and thought about all of the great advice Beverly had given me. She was a very mature, respectable, supportive, and thoughtful woman. I was fortunate to have her on my side. And she was having my child in May.

I smiled and walked over to rub her belly. Then I kissed her on the cheek.

“What was that all about?” she asked me.

“I just remembered why I love you so much.”

“I didn’t know that you had forgotten.”

“I never have, and I never will. Not as long as you keep being you.”

“And what if I change?”

I stood there cradling my wife and my unborn child. I said, “Then I’ll cry my eyes out and pray to have the woman that I married back again.”

She chuckled and broke away from me. “Let’s finish what we’re doing, okay?”

“What do you mean? We
are
finished.” I looked at my watch and added, “It’s only eleven-thirty. My parents won’t be here until two.”

“I thought they said they’d be here by one?” Beverly asked me, confused.

I nodded with a smile. “Exactly. And that means two. They’re going to be
leaving
around one.”

She smiled and agreed with me. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. You think we’ll ever be like that?”

“I hope not. But you never know. When this baby comes along, things will get a lot more complicated,” I answered. “Just look at how long it takes for your sisters to get ready. It takes them an hour or so to leave, so you can imagine how long it takes for them to get ready.”

Beverly broke out laughing. “Oh, that
won’t
be me. I was
always
the first one ready to go,
and
to leave in our family.” She was the third child of four daughters.

“Yeah, well, we’ll see when it happens,” I told her.

“Are you planning on helping me?” she asked.

I frowned and said, “Of course I am. What kind of question is that?”

“I’m just making sure that you realize it’s not going to be all on
my
shoulders. The more you help, the easier it’ll be. Look at your brothers-in-law,” she told me. “Randy is very helpful, and Greg is not, and you can see the difference that it makes.”

Beverly was referring to her sisters’ husbands, and she definitely had a point. A strong helping hand got immediate results.

“I’ll try my best to remember that,” I promised my wife.

By the time my parents arrived, at exactly two o’clock, I was good and leveled. I don’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Sometimes when you cool off too much, you forget many of the points that you wanted to make while you were heated.

My mother gave Beverly and me a hug and a peck on the cheek like some political dignitary. Then my father followed up with some rather weak handshakes and shaky eye contact. He was already starting the day off wrong. It almost seemed as if my mother had forced him to accompany her against his will. That brought all of the points that I wanted to make with him back to the front of my mind.

“You need any help with the food?” my mother asked Beverly. She looked around at our empty house and added, “Where is everyone?”

I had already told my mother it would be only us, Nevertheless, she loved being dramatic. Beverly and my mother were like night and day. Whatever happened to the saying “Sons grow up to marry women like their mothers?” That was far from the case for me. My mother and Beverly
were both the third child in their families, but the similarities stopped there.

I said, “Mom, this is a private affair between us.”

My father sat down at the dining room table and looked up at a new picture that Beverly and I had purchased only a week before. “Is that new?” he asked.

“Yes, it’s new. It’s from John Ashford. He’s out of the Maryland/D.C. area.

My father nodded. The print of the spectacular oil painting was of a naked black child with dreadlocks, who was playfully running through the bushes from his mother after just getting a bath. Ashford called it
Innocence
. Each of his pictures came with a short summary and a certificate that explained them to you. Beverly and I bought it as a positive reminder of our expected child.