Page 34 of Happy Is On Hiatus
Rita had often wondered why her mother had married a preacher when it seemed she rarely found anything good about being in the church. Sure, she could spout a scripture for any circumstance, and for the most part she walked the saved-and-sanctified line pretty well, but there’d been tiny glimpses of another side of Violet Leanda Johnson Henderson that had given Rita the barest space to breathe. Because as long as her mother wasn’t the saint she sometimes proclaimed to be, Rita could justify all the times she’d dared to stray from the generational curses being passed down from one Johnson girl child to the next. Unfortunately, after the demise of her marriage, Rita wasn’t sure she’d strayed far enough.
“There was a lot on the agenda because it’s the anniversary celebration. I think it went well, all things considered.” With “all things” being the fact that her mother had tried to spearhead the meeting, circumventing the two committee chairs that had been elected.
She opened the menu and stared at it to avoid the chastising glare she could feel Vi tossing her way. Disagreeing with her mother wasn’t something Rita did often—at least not to her face.
“Well, I’m glad it’s over. I’ll talk to Carol about keeping more to the meeting guidelines established during our leadership training later tonight. She’ll be at choir practice by the time I get finished at the hairdresser, so I’ll have to put an alarm on my phone to remind me.” Vi did that while Rita continued staring at the menu.
She wasn’t really hungry. In fact, she hadn’t been eating much in the past two weeks. It would’ve probably been another stroke to Nate’s humongous ego if the reason for her loss of appetite had been because of him moving out of the house, but that wasn’t the case. That blame rested solely on her Aunt Rose, who’d commented on Rita looking “fat in the face” a few weeks ago. Not that any of the Aunts could talk with their very round, full faces and bodies that matched, but that had never stopped any of them from remarking on how she or any of her cousins looked.
A few minutes later Vi had put down her phone, and they’d both ordered grilled chicken Caesar salads.
“I don’t know when was the last time I’ve had cold chicken. I hope they heat it before putting it on the salad,” Vi said as she surveyed the new glass the server had brought her.
“I made rotisserie chicken salad last week when we had all those chickens left over from the women’s ministry meeting. I took the sandwiches down to the shelter the next morning,” Rita said. Thinking back on it now, it was a really good thing she’d decided to make a business out of doing something she loved, because she really did have a serious cooking regimen. She’d baked cookies and brownies for the youth ministry meeting a couple of days ago and had cooked pork chops, onions, and gravy for the fellowship after morning service yesterday. And that had been in addition to the dinner she’d cooked for her house.
“Did you add some vegetables? You know you could’ve done some mini carrots and cauliflower. You could just drop them into a plastic bag. That’d be a good way for people to get their vegetables. I used toalways do a nice vegetable scramble for you and Benny so you got your daily dose.”
Rita sipped from her glass of water. “Mm-hmm. I do the same every time I fix eggs. Whatever I have in the fridge at the time—scallions, red or green peppers—I just chop them up and toss ’em in.”
“Mmm, that sounds good.”
The one thing Rita and Vi could always talk about was food. It was their common link, and rightfully so. She’d learned so much standing at her mother’s elbow watching her cook. And the way food had always brought her family together had inspired Rita early on to do her very best in the kitchen. She’d wanted nothing more from her family than to be held tight by the same threads that had been weaved so intricately through the Johnson clan. Through the good, bad, and the worst—Aunt Justine’s death—they’d always stuck together, using food as a reason for fellowship while showering love and support on each other.
“So,” her mother began after she’d taken the first forkful of her salad, chewed, and decided the chunks of grilled chicken were warm and therefore acceptable.
Rita had just finished her first bite as well when the one word had her tensing.
“You really going through with this divorce?”
Rita had already swallowed the food, but it sat in the back of her throat, threatening to come back up, and tension immediately hovered over the table.
“Yes,” she answered after clearing her throat and willing the food to stay put. Just in case, she took another drink of water.
“I don’t know when the last time we’ve had a divorce in the family,” Vi continued and gathered more salad on her fork.
“You mean after Aunt Ceil?” It was knee jerk and sassy as hell. Rita took another sip of her water.
“That man ain’t want a family. Ceil didn’t have a choice,” Vi countered.
“Nate left me each time he found his way to another woman’s bed. And as long as I forgave and forgot, he was going to continue,” she said. “I don’t have it in me anymore.”
“What? The ability to forgive? Because you know that Jesus forgave ...”
“Yes, ma’am. I know all that Jesus did and how his life was given for my sins. I thank the Lord for all that every day. But I can’t be thankful for a man that doesn’t respect me or our marriage enough to stay faithful. Even the Bible said a man should keep only with his wife.”
Vi snatched up her napkin, dabbed it to her lips, and continued to hold the crumpled cloth tightly in her hand. “Well, I see you brought the attitude with you today. I thought this was gonna be a nice, simple lunch.”
Nothing was ever nice and simple when her mother had something on her mind. “Mama, I’m forty-two years old. Just because I counter something you say doesn’t mean I’ve got attitude. I’m old enough to have a different opinion.”
“You’re also old enough to know that people make mistakes,” Vi continued.
“Are you gonna sit here and tell me that I should forgive him for getting another woman pregnant?” Lord, please say that wasn’t what her mother was telling her.
“Do you know if it’s his? Was there a DNA test?”
“Mama.” That was all Rita could manage before a heavy sigh.
“Don’t ‘Mama’ me. Do you know how many women have chased behind your father? Wanting the first-lady title without doing any of the work. You can’t trust every word that comes out of a woman’s mouth.”
