Page 53 of João
“Put my foot in it, didn’t I? But yes, listen, I know you made a decision and all, and I have to respect it, but me wanting you not to leave the church was for both our own good, you know? I just don’t see why on earth you would want to leave and let that boy win. I mean, that marriage is not going to prosper, God forgive me, and maybe once he divorces, you and him will have a chance…”
This was why I had taken a break from her—I couldn’t be part of this delusional thinking that only made me want to pray for my mother to get a grip on reality. Not a very charitable thought.
“Mom, I don’t love that man, I don’t want him back. It was so scary how quickly I got over him in particular. I just didn’t know what was hurt was my ego instead of my heart.”
“What do you mean, you don’t love him? I thought that’s why you left church, ‘cause you couldn’t bear seeing him get married?”
“No, I left because people in the church thought it was okay to manipulate me into singing for his wedding when I didn’t want to.” Suddenly, the kitchen wasn’t large enough for this conversation. Sometimes I wish Daddy was still here; he was good at listening and not judging. He was good at listening and not jumping to conclusions.
“Girl, those people are always going to try to be in your business, that’s normal. Every church has that.” Mom shrugged while checking on the pot of rice.
“Well, I don’t want to normalize that type of stuff. I get to choose for myself and I did.”
“You sure did. People are still shocked you’re gone. They keep saying we lost our best singer, and damn right we did! Serves them right for messing with my baby girl, but…I just wish you hadn’t let them win. You gave them too much power.” She shook her head.
“Is that what I did? I would like to think the opposite.” I shrugged, pacing back and forth between the living room full of pictures of different church events, my mom and I dressed to impress in our Sunday best. Nowhere was there a picture of Daddy, something that she and I had arguments about in the past. Now we both just…let each other be.
“Well, I guess you would think that. When they talked about me and your Daddy divorcing, I ain’t let them run me away from my place of worship. It was not their place to talk about us, but chile, humans are humans. This is why we hold onto the Word of the Lord.”
“Mom, when you and Dad divorced you stopped going to church for months. I remember.” Not her trying to change the history of what happened. For weeks she barely ate, just went to work and back.
“I meant after that.” Mom waved her wooden spoon in the air as if those months weren’t part of her reality.
“Do you regret it, leaving Dad because he wasn’t as devoted to our religion as you were? Was it worth not being with the person you loved?”
My words froze my mother. She turned slowly toward me, her eyes full of pain and hurt. My chest constricted at the tangible ache I felt in her.
“Is that what you think? That I left him because of his beliefs?”
“Well, I know it wasn’t as simple as that, but yeah, I remember Daddy explaining to me how both of you had decided to part ways because your life priorities were different. That you wanted someone to walk the same path with you and that included your religion.”
“Oh, baby, I should have spoken about things more with you. You know your father, it wasn’t just about the religion, even though that definitely caused a divide in us. When we first met, well, I didn’t care if he was churchgoing or not, I was so infatuated with him and the life he provided me that…it was easier to turn a blind eye to the things we weren’t morally aligned on. But once you came into our lives, what type of Christian would I be if I didn’t lead by example? We had you and I wanted us to be the best version of ourselves, but your father…he didn’t think that required us going to Church, nor believing in the Word without doubt. And obviously, that showed in his…profession…and just how he moved in the world. Suddenly I couldn’t turn a blind eye anymore. I had to ensure you and I were safe.”
Through the years I had always wondered what Mom thought about how Daddy made money. She never talked about it; it was one of those forbidden topics that every family has. This was the most she’d ever shared about it.
“Mom, I get that, but Daddy paid for this house. He paid for everything for us, you never had to work even after the divorce.I mean, we basically lived off that money, so…” How did you call out the hypocrisy in your parent? I didn’t want to hurt her feelings but to me, it only seemed she divorced him so she could pretend to take the high moral ground at church but still accept the money he gave her.
“Well, you’ve always been a Daddy’s girl, so I ain’t surprised you’re siding with him. You might think I wasn’t working, but someone had to raise you, make sure you were good when you got home from school. I had a job too—it was you!”
Sometimes silence worked best when I had nothing nice to say. Mom opened and slammed the pot lids over and over, waiting for me to break and say something.
She would wait.
My father died loving my mother, hoping she’d let him back in after years of divorce. I was ten when they divorced and twenty-five when he died.
He came to our home every Sunday and had Sunday dinner with us; he offered to take us to all the major church days but Mom always declined his offers. Daddy had tried in all his ways to show her how much he loved her, even if his faith wasn’t the same as hers. She wouldn’t entertain it. I am sure he had women after her and I knew Mom had a couple of gentlemen callers through the years, but neither of them ever had a serious relationship after each other.
The silence lengthened between us while Mom served the plates, the fragrant dish making my mouth water.
We sat at the dining room table, the knives in our hands not enough to cut the tension in the space.
“Don’t you wish you’d done it different?” I asked after taking a few bites of my food.
“I loved your Daddy. I wish there had been another way. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t wish I could hear his voice again or get one of those big hugs only he could give.” Thesadness weighing each of her words echoed the sadness in me. What I would give to see him one more time.
Her anguish was palpable, her yearning a third occupant at the table. After that, no other words were said. We finished our meal in companionable silence, and right then and there, I realized I never wanted to have those type of regrets. I wouldn’t have those regrets.
the club
