“Right,” says Kumal. “My mother told me all about them, and about your mother, too.”
“Did Genevieve tell you how she met Daddy? I’ve been wondering, but I’ve been too afraid to ask him.”
“Wow. You don’t know the story? Well, our father and my mother were high school sweethearts. Then she went to college, and he went to the streets. When she was home visiting one holiday, they reconnected, and he shared his new passion with her—crack cocaine. My mother was an instant addict.”
I’m shaking my head in disbelief. This was not what I wanted to hear. I wanted to learn that Genevieve had turned my father on to drugs, not the opposite.
Kumal continues, “My mother loved our father, and she still loves him.”
“Why didn’t she get clean when he did? Why didn’t they go to rehab together?” My questions are desperate, begging for answers that I don’t want to hear.
“That’s the ten-million-dollar question. My mother says she woke up one morning and he was gone. She didn’t know he’d gone to rehab or anything. A week after that, she found out she was pregnant with me.”
“I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry.”
Kumal smiles tenderly. “Hey, it’s not your fault. Or mine. We’ve been dealt the hand.”
Darrin asks Kumal, “Will you take a paternity test? We have the equipment right here.”
“And I thought we were having a Hallmark moment,” remarks Kumal in a sarcastic tone.
I say, “If you take the test, I’m sure I can convince Daddy to help you and your mother.”
“He’ll help me whether I take the test or not,” Kumal says, not even trying to hide his scorn.
Darrin clears his throat. “So, are you taking the test?”
“No.”
Now I’m confused. “Why not? You must realize how difficult this is for us! A little more evidence than your mother’s word might help the healing process.”
“My mother’s word is enough for me. To you, she’s a crack whore, but to me, she’s everything—the only person I have.”
I object, “I never said those things about Genevieve.”
“But you’re thinking them. Just like Diana. She’s the one who convinced our father to leave my mother high and dry.”
“But they’ve helped you financially over the years, right?”
“Barely. If you can call it help.”
“Kumal, please take the test,” I beg.
“No. Put yourself in my shoes. Imagine that your father, whom you’ve loved your entire life, asked for a DNA test. How would you feel?”
“I’d be devastated, but this is different, and you know it.”
“Little sister, I am happy you reached out to me, but I won’t take that test.” He stands from the table. “Thank you for coming, but I think our lunch date should end now.”
“We haven’t eaten.”
“I’ve lost my appetite.”
Kumal strides away from the table and out of the restaurant. It is my first instinct to follow him, but Darrin grabs my arm. When I turn to him with tears in my eyes, I see that Darrin has a smile on his face. He dangles the plastic bag from the DNA kit in front of my eyes.
Inside is Kumal’s plastic straw.
Darrin
J
ust got back from my trip to Savannah with Emoni. The ride home was quiet—too quiet. She didn’t want to talk about the lunch date, and I couldn’t think of anything to get her mind off of the ordeal.
I had wanted to use that opportunity to tell her my secret. To divulge the fact that I’m here on a mission—or was on a mission. But I didn’t have the courage to destroy her mood even further.
I’m checking my e-mail, and I have a note from my own personal fatal attraction. It says:
Happy Thanksgiving, boo. I wish I could visit you next week and have some of your infamous sausage dressing. I can’t wait for you to come home so we can rekindle the flames of our romance.
Hugs and kisses,
Shayna
I’m really slipping these days. Shayna is too loose of a loose end to have hanging, but at least I know she’s tucked away in Cleveland and still pining after me.
I peek at the catalog sitting way over on the kitchenette counter. When I decided not to write this story, I applied at a culinary arts school in Savannah, but I haven’t opened the course catalog or the letter that I received from the admissions department. This is going to be my backup plan when Mathis cuts me off from the funds.
I think I’m waiting to see how things pan out with Emoni. Admittedly, I’m nervous about telling her the truth. More nervous than I’ve ever been when dealing with a woman.
Emoni has gotten me to a crazy, unfamiliar place. A land where weddings and Darrin Jr.’s reside. A place where spending the rest of my life with one woman doesn’t seem strange or impossible.
I think I like it here.
A knock on my door invades my thoughts of Emoni. When I look through the peephole and see Oscar’s mean-looking mug, I almost go back to daydreaming. But curiosity, as always, gets the best of me, and I open the door.
“Oscar. Do come in. Have a seat.”
“I don’t need to have a seat.”
I shake my head and roll my eyes. “Sure, then. Stand. I don’t care.”
“Why are you interfering in the Prentisses’ business?” Oscar’s tone is harsh and completely unfriendly.
“What, no small talk?”
“I’m not one of your boys.”
“To answer your question, Emoni asked for my help.”
“Why would she do that?”
“Because you and her father are trying to pretend that everything is fine. It ain’t fine, bro.”
“You don’t know anything about them—especially Emoni. She’ll never be yours.”
I laugh heartily. “Seems like you’re the one who doesn’t know anything about her. If you did, you’d be helping her find out about her brother.”
“I believe Bishop. He says that the man isn’t his son.”
“Believe what you want to believe, but I’m supporting what Emoni wants. Period.”
“You need to stay out of Emoni’s life. I can make things real difficult for you if you don’t.”
“Fool, you threatening me? In my own crib? You need to bounce.”
Oscar sizes me up, and I’m making mental notes about the closest thing I have in proximity to whoop this fool with in case he decides to take the leap. He looks like he might, but then he changes his mind.
“You ain’t even worth it,” he says.
What is this, high school? I don’t respond. I just slam the door in brotha man’s face. It is too late in the evening for this foolishness.
I sit down on my couch and exhale. The sound is loud and labored, as if it’s the last breath I’ll ever expel. I’m under too much stress, because hiding things—that isn’t me. I don’t keep secrets. I’m straightforward and blunt and honest and all those things that people value in someone’s character.
Keeping secrets is not my thing.
Not telling Emoni the truth isn’t like me. It’s so out of character for me that I’m grabbing my gear and rushing to the pool for a late night swim. Need to work off this energy and clear my head. Maybe I’ll think of a way to tell her without telling her.
I almost crash into Dorcas on my way into the gym. We’ve been doing a great job of avoiding each other. We sit on opposite sides of the church, park on opposite sides of the apartment lot, and work out at opposite times of the day. But tonight is not my routine, so I’m crossing paths with yet another Freedom of Life member who doesn’t care for my company.
“Dorcas. Hi.”
“Hello. Should one of us move or something? Is it going to be strange every time we bump into each other?”
Dorcas blinks up at me with a soft and angelic smile on her lips. Maybe she’s forgiven me for seeing Emoni. Maybe she’s just in a good mood.
“It doesn’t have to be. How have you been?” I ask.
She smiles. “I’ve been good.”
“Me, too.”
“Are you going to Bishop’s house on Thanksgiving?”
“I haven’t officially been invited yet.”
“I’m having a get-together for some of the people in the singles’ ministry who don’t have families to go to for the holidays. If you don’t go over there, you’re welcome at my party.”
“Thanks. Why are you being so nice all of a sudden?”
“I know that God is going to send me a husband, and I won’t have to compete for him. So you must not be the one.”
I know it wasn’t meant to be, but Dorcas’s words sound like an insult. Like she’s trying to get the last word.
“I’m glad you’ve made your peace with the scenario.”
Dorcas walks away but then remembers, “Oh, by the way, you have to bring a dish.”
Bringing a dish is the least of my problems.
Emoni
D
arrin has invited me over for dinner. He says that he has to tell me something important. I know it’s not the DNA test results. Those won’t be here for a few weeks. He sounded so strange when we talked that I’d be lying if I said I’m not nervous.
To keep myself busy until it’s time to go to Darrin’s, I’m helping Mother prepare the house for her yearly Thanksgiving celebration. She’s putting out all of her decorations: turkeys, pilgrims, Native Americans, and every shade of leaf you’d ever want to see.
I’m so fidgety and distracted that I keep dropping things on the floor. What could Darrin want to tell me? What if he wants to break up with me?
I pick up a leaf that has fallen and tack it back in place. Mother smiles at me and asks, “Are you inviting Darrin over for Thanksgiving?”
“I think so.”
“He seems like a good catch. His parents really are as rich as he says they are.”
“Mother, did you do a background check on him?”
“Of course I did. You should’ve done it yourself.”
“I prefer that he just reveal himself to me.”
Mother laughs at me. “No one just reveals himself. Not in a romantic setting. We’re all on best behavior.”
I remember my mother’s words as I walk up to Darrin’s apartment. Has he been on his best behavior this whole time? What if he has some ridiculous flaw that is a total deal breaker?
He opens the door before I can knock. “Hey, baby,” he says, and kisses me on the cheek.
“Hey.”
He rushes back to the kitchen but says, “Get comfortable and sit on the couch. Dinner will be ready soon.”
“We’re not sitting at the table?”
“Nope. Not tonight.”
I glance around the room at the strategically placed candles and the huge blanket in the middle of the floor. On the blanket are elegant place settings and huge, soft lounging pillows.
“Should I sit on the floor?” I ask.
“You can if you like.”
I sit down in front of a pillow and rest my head, inhaling the aromas coming from the kitchen. I feel kind of bad that I’ve never cooked anything for him. But I’m almost a thousand percent sure he wouldn’t like my cooking.
“Dang!” shouts Darrin from the kitchen.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
“No. I forgot the ginger for the sesame ginger chicken.”
I shrug. “So why can’t we just have sesame chicken?”
“Because I have my mouth set for sesame ginger, and it’s not the same thing. I’ll run to the corner and hope they have fresh gingerroot.”
I grab my jacket from the couch and start to put it on. “Oh, I can go and do that for you.”
Darrin takes my coat out of my hands and kisses me on the forehead. That was definitely a boyfriend move. “What kind of man would I be if I let my woman go out at this time of night? You can relax here until I come back.”
“You sure?”
He nods and smiles. “Yep.”
“Well, you better hurry up, because I might fix myself a peanut-butter sandwich.”
“You better not,” threatens Darrin with a laugh.
As soon as Darrin walks out the door and I hear the bolt turn in the lock, I hear my mother’s voice in my head.
No one just reveals himself. Not in a romantic setting. We’re all on best behavior.
I’m not too worried about Darrin having anything to hide, because a man who is hiding something does not leave his girlfriend in his apartment alone. Right?
A colorful brochure calls out to me from Darrin’s desk in the corner. It’s right out in the open, so he shouldn’t care if I take a little peek at it.
Why am I looking over my shoulder like there’s someone watching me?
I walk casually over to the desk and pick up the brochure. It’s for a cooking school in Savannah. I feel a smile stretching across my lips.
Is my man planning on going to school in Savannah? Is he doing this so he can be near me? Is he going to ask me to marry him? We’ve only been dating a few weeks, but it could happen.
I start doing a little praise-break shout like Sister Rogers at our church. Sister Rogers shouts
every
Sunday. Most of the time she shouts out of her hat. Sometimes she shouts out of her wig.
While I’m in the midst of my shouting, I accidentally bump Darrin’s desk, and the computer flashes on. I jump like somebody’s caught me, but then I blink and look at the screen.
A Google search page. Nothing exciting.
Then I hear my mother’s voice again.
No one just reveals himself
.
I had a friend in college who used to always hit the back button on her boyfriend’s Internet browser to see the Web site he’d just looked at. She found out that he had a cyber girlfriend and liked to look at butt-naked video chicks online.
No one just reveals himself.
I feel my hand reaching for the mouse, and before I allow common sense to stop me, I click on the back button.
I draw in a sharp breath when I read the screen, because it’s all about my daddy.
DIARY OF A MAD BLACK BLOGGER
Some of y’all want to know which lady I chose, and that’s funny to me. I tell y’all about a scandal that could make my career, and all y’all want to know about is which girl I picked!
I can’t believe y’all.
Before I tell y’all about the girl, let me give y’all an update about the hypothetical situation.
I actually met the alleged illegitimate son of the bishop. He was believable, and I truly felt bad for the dude.
This has got me even more torn because I was one hundred percent in the bishop’s corner until I heard this dude out. I mean, to grow up without your father and then see him on television every week: ouch. That’s gotta hurt. Sad thing is, I don’t think the bishop is going to acknowledge him or ever be in the dude’s life.