Chanel

 

 

“Mama! Are you serious?!” I asked, jumping from my seat and rushing over to give her a congratulatory hug. “You were just talking about meetin’ some young tender at the club,” I said, smacking my lips.

“I was kidding, silly. Notice when you asked about Ronald, I didn’t say much.”

“You sure didn’t. Slick!”

“You know I had to be kidding anyway. There is absolutely nothing a young boy can do for me.”

“Got that right!” I exclaimed. “And Ronald is good to you. I’m so happy for you!”

“Thank you, sweetheart. I didn’t know how y’all would take it. So that makes me happy.”

“Oh, so you just wait for her response and that’s all you need?” Rochelle shot.

Me and my mother both shot her looks at the same time. I’m sure my mother’s was out of shock. Mine was more of the wanting to reach out and touch this girl.

“It’s not like that, Rochelle, and you know it’s not. Why be a shit-starter? What’s wrong with you?”

“It’s more like what’s right with her, Mama,” I shot.

“Fuck you, Chanel,” Rochelle spat.

“No thanks.”

“Come on, y’all. Stop it, please.”

My mother reached over to softly place her hand on Rochelle’s wrist and rubbed her like she was some damn piece of fragile merchandise. I could understand my mother wanting to not ruffle feathers. She felt guilty about her missing the early years of our lives so she overcompensated—a lot. She especially overcompensated where Rochelle was concerned. Like when she bought her a replacement car two months after she carelessly wrecked the first one. And not to mention a few years back when she was messing with some married man, beat up his wife and ended up in jail. Instead of letting her ass sit there for a few days to reflect on the life she was letting run down the drain, my mother bailed her out just a few hours later. That type of babying was exactly why she was sitting at this lunch, acting a damn fool now.

I shook my head as I watched my mother console a grown-ass woman for absolutely no reason.

“What are you shaking your head at, Chanel? You think you’re so much better than everybody, don’t you?”

I lifted my shoulders lightly in a hunch, then responded nonchalantly. “I’m shaking my head because I can. And I’m not the one who thinks I’m better . . . you’re the one who thinks I’m better. That’s your real problem.”

“Oh my God, Chanel, stop it,” my mother insisted. “Just stop it.”

“I’m up here happy that you’re getting your happy after all this time, and you use this moment to take sides? Really? She could care less whether you end up in bliss or a damn ditch! She wants to make sure that your money ain’t tied up so she can still keep that permanent handout for cash and whatever else you just give her without question!”

“Would it kill y’all to act like you’re sisters?” my mother sneered through clenched teeth, her jaws tightening in the process. “Would it?” she cried. “Because I did not raise y’all to—”

“Tuh!” Rochelle shot out. I immediately looked over at her when the hiss escaped her mouth. She had a great look of satisfaction on her face. And the look in her eyes was easily readable—she was ready for battle.

Bring it.

“I already know what you’re going to say, Rochelle. No need for sound effects,” my mother said, suddenly cowering in humiliation.

“See what I mean, Mama? But that’s what you protect. She has no respect for you or anyone else.”

“I don’t have respect for her because I cut off her little slip of the tongue?” She turned her attention to my mother after leaning forward with her arms across the top of the table. “Raise us. That’s what you were about to say, Mother. That you didn’t raise us like that?”

My mother lowered her eyes in shame. I literally watched her shoulders slump and her face sink. She was defeated. A part of me wanted to snatch my sister up and beat her like she was somebody on the street. But there was another part of me that wanted to allow her assault to continue so that my mother could finally see that she was catering to an ingrate; because up to this point, I hadn’t been able to say shit to her about the girl.

“Because . . .” Rochelle continued, “I don’t recall having a mother to raise me at all.”

Something in me stirred, the longer I watched my mother’s defeated stance. She had been happy just moments before and protecting the very person who was now attacking her. I hated a bully, but I hated the suffering of the underdog even more. Before I knew it, I had hopped up from my seat and snatched Rochelle up by the collar of her cute pink blouse.

“Chanel, nooo!” I heard my mother in the background as she tugged at the sleeve of my jacket. I was somewhere between a blind rage and happy times when I drew my fist back and lunged it toward Rochelle’s pretty face. But my mother acted quickly and managed to wrap her arms around me from behind, prohibiting my punch from landing.

“No, Mama! Let her do it!” Rochelle coaxed. She wore an excited grin across her face that had me fighting to get loose from my mother’s desperate grasp.

“Chanel!” my mother yelled, again.

Rochelle moved close, taunting as though she wanted to be dropped. “Do it,” she threatened, in my face. “So I can end your entire life—this time for real.”

I inhaled a deep breath as she and I stared each other down. The longer I had to think the more I came to my senses and realized that she wasn’t worth it. But I did have to get away from her because I didn’t know for how much longer I’d be able to be of sound mind.

“Let me go, Ma. I’m done.” My mother was slow in her action, but she finally released me. When she did, I turned around to her, shook my head lightly while straightening out my jacket. “Never, ever invite me to some shit that she’s at. I mean it.”

Those were my last words as I exited that restaurant thinking, Family is who you make it, and it ain’t always the fuckers you share DNA with. Rochelle and I were done, and I was perfectly okay with that.