Chanel

 

It was around the lunch hour when I walked up to the restaurant and spotted my mother and my sister, posted in outdoor seating. Everything began to make sense. The urgency in the phone call, the choice of locales—yeah, it all made sense. I didn’t need a psychic to tell me that there was going to be drama. Luckily, it was a covered setting with those fancy outdoor heaters because it damn sure wasn’t hot enough to be sitting outside without them.

You ain’t slick, woman, I thought as I neared my mama wearing a painted-on smile. She didn’t want to have this little meeting at her house because she thought her own environment was too pure for confrontation, and she probably figured that if we were in public, I wouldn’t give her the business for fear that others would look on. But clearly, she still hadn’t learned enough about her own child because audience or not, if the disrespect started, it was going to go down.

“I already spotted my party,” I advised the hostess, who was geared up to assist me, as I casually strode past her.

“Sounds good,” she chirped gleefully. “Enjoy your meal.”

Little did she know that this thing was geared up to be anything but enjoyable. Making my way through to the fish tank enclosure, I sighed inwardly and pushed right on through.

“Hey y’all,” I greeted halfheartedly, taking my seat. I knew it was rude to not at least give hugs or something, but being fake wasn’t on the menu; especially after seeing my sister, Rochelle. She and I didn’t have the best relationship, and it had been that way for more years than I cared to count.

“Hmm,” Rochelle said under her breath.

“Don’t do that, Rochelle. It’s no need for it,” my mother defended. She turned to me and asked, “How are you, sweetheart?”

“I’m good, Mama. And you?”

“I’m doing okay.” She looked from me to my sister. “Y’all wanna order something to drink to lighten the mood? They make a really good mimosa here.”

I was the first to speak up because a drink might not be so bad. “Yeah, I’ll get one.”

My mother signaled the hostess who scurried over in all her blonde excitement to take the orders. By the time she’d reached the table, however, I had changed my mind about the mimosa, and thought that something stronger might suit the occasion better. “I’ll take a screwdriver on the rocks,” I requested.

“Oh . . .” she responded, smiling. “Those are pretty strong,” she kidded.

“I know. I’m looking forward to it.”

“And for you ladies?”

“I’ll take a mimosa, and she’ll—”

“You can bring me a whiskey bourbon,” Rochelle interjected. “And an extra shot of whiskey in a shot glass. Thank you.”

My mother looked over at me and then quickly glanced away. She was embarrassed and didn’t have to say it; the faint shade of crimson on her cheeks freely gave the story away.

I wanted to tell her to not take on the burden of Rochelle’s issues, but it would’ve all been in vain because she was probably already sitting in a pool of guilt for having brought Rochelle’s ass in public to begin with.

“So, I see you and Mama wanna be all cute and shit with your fruity drinks, huh?”

“Watch your mouth, Rochelle,” I shot. “Have some respect.”

“Girl, please,” she said, waving me off.

I counted down in my head. It was a countdown that probably saved her dumb ass because I was seconds from dragging her ass in Walnut Creek for all the white folks to see. I could feel my mother tensing up. She didn’t say a word, but I felt the vibes. They were bouncing off of her like streaks of lightning.

“Rochelle . . .”

“What, Ma?” she said, turning her lip up at the edge. “I ain’t got time for that girl. She thinks she can say what the hell she wants to. I was just making a damn statement.”

“But did you have to cuss, Rochelle? That’s all I’m asking.”

“Mama, we’re all grown here. Grown,” she reiterated. “Why do I still need to watch my mouth in front of the woman who taught me how to cuss? Come on, now.”

I buried my face in my palms and released a heavy sigh; all the while saying a silent prayer for patience.

“What?!” Rochelle asked, clearly ready for battle. “What’s all of that breathing all hard and shit?”

“Did you already have something to drink before you got here? Because you’re on like ten and you don’t need to be. Ain’t nobody got time for that. Like, for real. Not today.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I cramping your style, miss goody two shoes?” she spat, sarcastically. “I mean, because I’d hate to upset the martyr.”

I reached inside my purse, grabbed a twenty and dropped it on the table. “Mama, I think I’m gonna go, okay? This is to pay for my drink.” I stood from my seat and jerked my head in the direction of my sister. “That right there, I don’t have time for. And I ain’t gonna make time for it. If you’re smart, you’ll get up and leave with me.”

“Girl, sit down and stop being so dramatic,” Rochelle remarked.

“Mama . . .” I repeated, ignoring my sister’s comment. “You coming?”

“No, baby, I’m gonna stay. I want you to stay too. It’s been four years since y’all spoke to each other and I just thought that we could sit down today. Is that so hard?” she queried, looking over at my sister. “Really. Is that so hard? Y’all are all each other have and you act like you hate each other. Do you know how hurtful it is for me to see? I talk to both of you all the time, but y’all don’t talk to each other at all. It’s time for that to stop.” She patted her hand on top of the table. “Sit back down, Chanel. And Rochelle, stop with the bullshit, you hear?”

“Ladies, I have your drinks,” the waitress said, appearing right on time to begin passing around our beverages. Unfortunately, the quiet time that had momentarily ensued was going to be short-lived as soon as my mother’s other daughter got the liquid courage flowing through her system. “Can I get you all going with some appetizers? Or did you need a little more time?”

“Appetizers it is,” my mother responded before shooting off a request for fried calamari, and hot spinach and cheese dip.

Shit, I said to myself. What was the purpose of me even drinking my healthy drink this morning with all this mess I was about to consume?

I drank my drink down to the halfway mark, trying my best to summon a buzz. My mother sipped on her mimosa, while her daughter wasted no time throwing that whiskey shot to the back of her throat and then chasing it with her drink like it was Minute Maid or something. The only thing I could do as I watched her was shake my head. She was such a wasted talent. She had so many opportunities in life and hadn’t taken any of them, choosing instead to always take the easy way out.

At a time, I blamed her entire demise on my mother because it was no secret that my mother wasn’t a model parent for either of us growing up. She lacked in every way, having succumbed to drugs at a point in time when we were two and three. It wasn’t until we had neared our early teens that she resurfaced and did a slow crawl back into our lives. 

But Rochelle’s lazy approach to life was all on her and not my mother, as I realized much later. Rochelle had family, just as I did, that took her in when we were separated; they also gave her a good life. And although we had similar upbringings, we had always operated off totally different sets of morals, values and goals. Her thing was to chase behind any athlete, rapper, or businessman that she could find. Her way to succeed was on the coattail of whoever would drag her along. But those dips into the ‘kept woman’ lifestyle, hadn’t really amounted to much—as far as I could see, anyway.

“So, Mama, what’s going on?” I asked, dying to get out of my own thoughts. “Has to be something,” I acknowledged, taking down a few more sips of my screwdriver.

“Yeah, Mama. What’s going on?” Rochelle posed with a light giggle, already feeling the effects of the whiskey. I knew the signs.

“Well, I wanted to bring y’all together so I could tell y’all at the same time. I’m engaged.” She smiled and then extended her left hand to show us a large diamond of some kind of cut that I couldn’t begin to identify. It was beautiful, nonetheless.