“I am kind!”
“To every man you come across!”
I throw my arms out. “Stop it! This isn’t helping!”
“Why don’t you go back to Atlanta and leave me alone!”
“Don’t talk to my friend like that!”
“I was talking to you, Deenie!”
“Maybe I will!”
“Fine!”
“Fine!”
I groan, “No. You will not.” Turning to Denise I implore her, “You will regret it if you don’t stay. You know you will.” Her anger downshifts to frustration, an improvement that gives me hope. I turn to Rhonda. “Mrs. Jabari, think how bad it will make your family look to all those guests if you don’t get along.” Vanity is her weakness, and her jutted chin softens a little, so I continue while I still have an in. “Imagine how much nicer a party it will be if you’re all here, unified. Your guests will go home saying good things about you.” Her eyes flicker with interest.
I’ll take what I can get.
I ask Denise, “Do you want this house?”
“No, I don’t want to move back to Richmond. But that’s not the point!”
“You want Nana’s memory respected with a little more time and consideration.”
“Yes!”
Mrs. Jabari snaps, “I am respecting it!”
We stare at her. I take a deep breath to maintain my patience. “I need a little self-awareness here, and so does your daughter, who I know you love. Mrs. Jabari, no disrespect—just honest communication, okay?”
“Fine,” she grumbles, crossing her arms.
“You’re moving a little too quickly, and that’s not taking into consideration how much Denise is hurting.”
“That’s because she loved my mother more than she loves me!”
The room goes silent.
There it is.
The real reason.
When you dig underneath anger to its root cause, you’ll always find pain. If you can approach that hurt with compassion and honesty, that’s where healing begins. I learned this when I studied child-psychology. And we’re all really just adult children, trying to find our way.
Denise quietly says, face softer now, “I just loved my Nana, Mom. She was there for me when you weren’t.”
Mrs. Jabari walks to the only black dress, stroking it like she knows it’s the one she’s supposed to wear. Chewing on her lip, she confesses, “I wasn’t meant to be a mom.” She swallows and clears her throat. “I got pregnant too young. I didn’t want to spend my life as a grown-up yet.” Her chin raises as she meets her daughter’s eyes, so like her own but with less life experience. “I think I resented you…a little.”
Denise says, understanding, “I was your jail,” for the first time able to put herself in Rhonda’s shoes. Not as a mother, but as a person. Denise has told me many times that she doesn’t want to be a mother.
Slowly I walk backwards to give them space. It’s so huge, and never talked about. You’re supposed to be elated when you’re pregnant, but not everyone is meant for this job.
“I didn’t mean to be born. I didn’t have a say in that. I was just a little girl who didn’t understand why her Momma didn’t want to spend time with her.”
Mrs. Jabari grimaces against rising emotions. “I’m proud of you, Deenie.”
“No, you aren’t.”
“You’re the woman I wanted to be.”
Denise whispers, “Momma!”
“People love you. They don’t look at me like they look at you.” Mrs. Jabari blinks to the dress. “Maybe I’ll wear this one. It’s more appropriate for a grown-up.”
Tears gather as Denise rushes over and embraces her, “Please don’t push Nana’s memory out of this house so fast. Wait until I go home. I’m begging you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. Let’s just put it behind us.”
Bucky stands up, tail wagging as he sees me. I give him a pet, and close the door.
After a few more moments, Denise walks out, wiping her eyes and we head downstairs.
Tee Tee’s voice travels up as she insists to the staff, “I didn’t order lavender napkins. I ordered white and yellow! What is this?”
Denise mutters, “Do me a favor. Don’t cure me and my sister. I like hating her.”
“You got it.”
CHAPTER 15
N ICHOLAS
I ’m impatient with this party. Haven’t seen Maddie here. It’s tormented me for two hours. Every female I see I expect to be her.
I was sure she’d show.
Or maybe I just hoped.
“You hung me out to dry,” Marla accuses me, clawing her way through the crowd.
I ask, uninterested, “What are you talking about?”
“At Billy’s you carried off that girl and left me in the backyard.”
Matthew catches my glance and smirks. I shoot him a look that I’d rather be anywhere but here, having this conversation. “I’m not your keeper. And you were in good hands with Matt.”
Her eyes flash with anger, but quickly cool. “I thought it was strange. That you would go to her aid and not mine after our…history.”
From under amused eyebrows I ask, “What history is that?”
Marla glares at me. “Wow, you’re a real fucking asshole.”
“Am I? You left with some guy. Were you crying into his pillow over me? Come on, Marla, you want as much attention as you can get, and I’m not in the mood.”
“Screw you, Nicholas!” She storms off.
Zoe walks up with Nathan and Wyatt, fresh drinks in their hands. She watches Marla’s exit and asks, “Who was that?”
“Someone I shouldn’t have fucked.”
“Nicholas!”
“What?”
“Did you just hurt that girl?”
“No, but her ego needs a tissue.” Looking at Matt I ask him to back me up.
He smiles, “Zoe, your brother is a player. Women know it, and they’re fine. They want his notch on their bedpost more than he wants theirs.”
Her jaw drops.
Wyatt chuckles from behind a red plastic cup. “Matt, you forget that our sister hasn’t had sex yet. She doesn’t know how to be casual, or how to do anything.”
I smack Wyatt in the chest. “Keep your voice down!”
“I was just…” He glances over to Nathan and gets a similar disapproving look.
Zoe is staring at nothing, her jaw proudly tilted up, but we know he embarrassed the shit out of her. And now Wyatt knows it too.
He takes a step closer and lowers his voice.
