Page 36 of Not About That Life
Two
Today is December first.
The official start of Ian’s Grumpfest.
Honestly, I’m being too hard on him. My mother died in April and I can say every April is a month I’ll forever dread. Her actual death date isn’t so bad but it’s the time that leads up to it that’s the worst. I become melancholy, emotional, and even angry.
I wonder how Ian is going to react.
He’s normally calm, cool, and collected, but everyone keeps warning me about how emotional he might become. Their warnings not are not ignored but no one is telling mehowI should prepare for Ian’s state.
Do I need to stay with Adrienne for the entire month? Would I need to move in Courtney from Inglewood with us? What do I need to do to prepare myself and Ian for this horrible month?
It’s our first Christmas together as a couple so I want to make sure his holiday is nice and light. I’ve taken the liberty of going Christmas shopping and dragging Adrienne along with me as I rummage through the Target shelves for décor. You can never have too much Christmas in your home, is what I say.
“Oh, this is adorable!” Adrienne picks up a heavy snowman and waves it. “You should get this!”
I probably don’t need it and I’m not sure where I’m actually going to do with it. That is pretty much my attitude with ninety percent of my clothes and shoes. “Got it.”
Dressed to kill in tight, hip-hugger jeans, Adidas sneakers, and a crop top, Adrienne is totally dressed-appropriate for Southern California winter. I let out a small sigh as I think what’s ahead in the coming months.
He really wants my black ass on those slopes.
I looked up where Ian proposed we were going. Some place called Valmorel in France. I looked it up online and it’s a really beautiful resort that promises nothing but fresh snow to ski, snowboard, and other things white people like to do because they never show a brotha or sista in those ads.
“You’ve gotten quiet over there,” she kneels down and looks at different garlands. They’re all gaudy-looking so naturally, they’re also coming home with us. “Is everything okay over there?”
“Yeah, just thinking about Ian. It’s the month that everyone has warned me about but no one is telling me how I should prepare for it so I’m just wondering what I need to do to make it easier on him.” I reply.
Adrienne nods as she stands up and studies ornaments. “Blow him.”
“Besides that.”
“No, that’s the only thing you need to do.” She nods as if it we’re having a serious conversation. Well, I guess it is. I’m serious about my fiancée and I want to see he has a good month despite the heartache. I guess talking about blow jobs is serious business? “Blow him every night and he’ll forget why he’s upset.”
“Well, I’m not getting locked jaw every night but I don’t think he’ll forget why he’s upset.” I point out. “Don’t you ever get depressed and moody about mom’s death?”
“All of the time,” she mentions, “I talk to her, I sing her favorite songs. I even use Pine-Sol when I have to clean because I know that was her thing.”
“And I fucking hate Pine-Sol,” I chuckle, “Ian’s maid uses that but I don’t have the heart to tell her to stop using it.”
“Don’t,” Adrienne turns to me with a grin on her face, “that’s mom speaking to you.”
Adrienne walks past me to look at some other ornaments and I’m stuck in the same place as I try to process what she just said. Was Ian’s older and petite Spanish maid really the Whoopi Goldberg to my Demi Moore?
Somehow, it doesn’t sound right in my head but I continue on. “How does mom speak to you?”
Adrienne pauses for a moment and looks up at the ceiling. “Oh, she does it in numerous ways. Whenever I have a big decision to make, I feel a tug on my heart and I know it’s her. She’s telling me to listen to my gut and consider the pros and cons.”
We’ve never had a conversation about mom because we were too busy processing our mother dying and our father’s subsequent betrayal. Yet, I’m compelled to have this conversation in the Christmas aisle while “Last Christmas” is playing overhead. “How were the last couple of years like between you and mom?”
Adrienne slightly chuckles. “Lots of prayer and tears for both sides. I was praying to God to keep Mommy alive and she was praying to the same God to make me a heterosexual male.” She faintly smiles. “Once we both realize things were going to be the way they were, we accepted it. I accepted her dying and she accepted me as a woman. It wasn’t easy for neither of us. For a while, whenever she saw me, she grimaced before she smiled. I picked up on it, so I started dressing down. Remember that? Whenever I saw her, I was in masculine clothing.”
The memory is clear to me. While Adrienne did dress more masculine, she didn’t hide the fact she wasn’t straight. She walked with a twitch and spoke with a Michael Jackson-lite tone. “So why did you change?”
“Well,” Adrienne clears her throat, “one day I went to see Mommy and I was dressed masculine. Now, Mommy’s scowl was even bigger. I finally relented and said, ‘What is it? You wanted me to dress like a man so here I am.’ And you know what she told me? She was like, ‘Adrienne, baby, I was scowling because I hated that awful shade of lipstick you kept wearing!’ This woman removes the blankets, gets out of bed, and starts getting dressed. She was like, ‘C’mon, let’s go to Sephora! I can accept you as a woman but I cannot accept that hideous shade you’re going to wear to my funeral!’”
It was much-needed laughter as we fell out in the aisle. Even other customers joined in the infectious banter. “Thank you, I needed that.”
