Page 25 of Thankful
“Dad, Dad—” I say to stop him from unleashing his frustration.
“Good golly—Pearl, let me call you back.” Mom sighs and says, “There. I’m off the phone. You happy now?”
“As a pig rolling around in the mud! And check your settings and turn that volume down while you’re at it. Thing so loud, it’s gon’ damage my eardrums.”
“See what I have to put up with, Brix? That’s why you need to move to Rhode Island. You’re the only one who can keep this man in line.”
“I keep myself in line,” Dad claps back.
“Remember that on the flight home. Anyway, what’s on the menu for tomorrow? My mouth has been watering for a taste of Cynnamon’s food. That girl knows she can cook.”
“She can, but y’all know how I do. Everything is being catered.”
“The devilisa lie. I ain’t eating no catered food.”
“Mother, the place is nice. I’ve used them several times before. It’s good ol’ fashioned soul food.”
“And why ain’t Cynnamon cooking?”
“Because she doesn’t have to,” Dad answers.
I say, “Well, she is making some pies, but she’s been too busy working to cook a full meal, Ma.”
“Hmph,” Mom grunts.
Suddenly, what should be a twenty-minute ride seems like an hour.
“How’s work coming along, Brix?” Dad asks.
Before I can answer, Mother says, “You know he’s the best doctor they got at that hospital. They headhunted my baby to work there when it first opened up. Head ER doctor. I’m so proud of the man I raised. So proud.”
“We raised him together, dear.”
“Yeah, well, it was my breasts that nursed him.”
Did she really…?
“Ma—”
“I wasn’t asking you anything, dear,” Dad says as calmly as he can. “I was asking Brix.”
“It’s okay, Dad. Mom’s right. Work is going well.”
Despite the posted speed limit of sixty-five, I do close to eighty so I can get out of this car and get some air. I need to breathe. If this is any indication of how the next four days will go, I’m in trouble. Between their arguments and my fake situation with Cyn, I’m going to need therapy after all of this is over.
We pull up. I get out quickly, and so does Dad. He opens the door for my mother while I get their suitcases out the back. Her suitcase feels like it weighs a ton. Women and their overpacking…
“Well, look who we have here, looking as pretty as a picture,” I hear my mother say.
I glance in the direction she’s looking and see Cyn standing there in a burnt orange sweater dress and brown boots, holding a bouquet of flowers. The sight of her so elegant, her hair in curls, rocking a bright smile with blushed cheeks – she’s a dream. And for all intents and purposes, she looks like she’s about to play her role well. For that, I’m thankful, but I wish it weren’t all pretend. I want us to be like we used to be – in love and happy with a world of possibilities open to us. For the time being, I’ll take what I can get.
“It’s so good to see you, Faith,” she tells my mother after she wraps her arms around her. “These are for you.”
My mom is touched. I can tell. She’s usually never at a loss for words.
Never.
She smells the flowers and says, “These are quite lovely. Thank you.”
