A Good Man (8 page)

I registered with New Jersey’s DYFS Adoption Registry on her eighteenth birthday but could get no information until she registered two years later. They need to change that stupid rule. The child made me wait two years! That was one of the main reasons I retired from the WNBA. I probably could have come off the bench for a few more years, but the chance of finding her again was all I could think about.

Our first meeting was an absolute disaster. I hardly ever talk, and I did all the talking for at least an hour until she asked, “Why’d you give me up?” And then I cried for half an hour while she ripped me a new one, calling me the vilest names. And she didn’t shed a single tear before storming out of that McDonald’s in Teaneck, New Jersey.

I haven’t eaten at a McDonald’s ever since.

Since then it’s been one baby step forward, two giant steps back as I’ve tried to make up for lost time. The Bible says to redeem our time because the days are evil and to “walk in wisdom toward them that are without, redeeming the time.” It’s just been hard to walk in wisdom and redeem the time with a daughter who can be so evil.

I’ve been trying to build a relationship with Kim over the last six years, but whenever I give, she takes. When I build up, she tears down. When I cry, she laughs. I know there’s a season and a time for every purpose under heaven, I know this. I just hope one day I’ll hug her and she’ll hug me back.

And call me “mama.”

I spend more money on her than time with her. Her preference, not mine. I paid for her college at Rutgers, her apartment in Atlanta, a nice VW Jetta, and more clothes than one person could ever wear in a year. Luckily we have the same shoe size and I didn’t wear all those Nikes, some of which are coming back in style. “You can’t buy my love, Sonya,” she tells me, but she doesn’t flat-out reject any of the things I get her. It’s just her philosophy degree talking. Money doesn’t hurt when you’re a philosophy major in a world that demands MBAs and computer degrees and you want to live in Atlanta where everything costs something ridiculous while you only bring in twenty grand a year at most because you can’t keep a job for more than a few months at a time since “it’s so boring” and “I want to do something new” and “everyone at work is stupid.”

But I’m not bitter about it.

Sonya returned her attention to the personality test. “Do I want future kids?” she whispered. “Seriously? I got enough trouble with the one I’ve got.” She thought a little more. Okay, maybe. But at forty, it isn’t likely to happen for me.

Do I want to be joined at the hip with my man? No. Where’s the fun in that? Do I smother quickly? Yes. Let me breathe. Let me be me and be free. Do couples kissing in public bother me? Yes. That kind of stuff should take place in private.

I am so not romantic.

What do I like to do on a Saturday night? Nothing. Watching a movie. Flipping channels. I don’t do ballet, attend the theater, or go dancing. Hosting a party? Who does that? Grandmama used to host rent parties in Paterson. Those were fun. Until someone broke something and the neighbors complained and the cops came …

Do I like unpredictable situations? No. Oh, yeah. I’m about to get into one. But I still don’t like them. Do I get bored easily? Not really. I have perfected the art of doing as little as possible. Am I optimistic? Sometimes. Hmm. “Sometimes” is not a possible response on this test. Better mark “Yes.” Am I always looking to do new things? No. Do I take risks? Absolutely not. Until now. Do I have a consistent routine? Yes. Do I believe people should have morals? Of course. When I doodle, what do I doodle? I don’t doodle!

These questions are ridiculous.

The questions about sex and relationships earned an “oh my” from Sonya. “Is sex necessary in a relationship?” she whispered. I wouldn’t know, but again, my response is not one of the possible answers. The key word is “necessary.” Hmm. No. A relationship based on sex is not a relationship. It’s only mating. How often do I fall in love? I haven’t. Where’s “never” as an answer?

What’s this? A book cover with some skinny white lady in a skimpy teddy staring at her man who is staring out at the ocean? What would I title this picture if it were a book? Their titles are so lame. I’d call it Brr, I’m Cold, Man—Get Back in Here and Warm Me Up Now or I’ll Cut You with My Bony Frigid Elbows. That title wouldn’t fit on the cover.

Do I listen to my heart whenever I have to make a big decision? No. I listen to my brain. If I thought with my heart, I would …

I might have a man in my life by now.

Do I change my mind easily? No. Well … sometimes … No.

What is my personality color? Red, blue, green, or yellow. Those are my only choices. What if my personality color is purple? I mean, I sometimes turn red, I sometimes feel blue, I manage my green, and I ain’t yellow. What if I want to be orange or burgundy or brown?

Sonya marked religion: “Christian—Other.” AME may be Methodist, but it isn’t the Methodist they think it is. I wish they had a choice like “His” or “None—Relationship with Jesus Christ.”

Where would I most like to live? I’m in the suburbs now, and I like the peace and quiet it offers. If I could, would I prefer the beach or a lake? Both, but only if the bugs were kind.

She finally arrived at the page called “About Your Mate.” My mate? Geez. I’m just looking for some companionship here. My mate? They make it sound so biological. Age range … forty to forty-five. I need someone who has lived long enough to hold an intelligent, mature conversation with me. I don’t want to spend the relationship having to explain things. And that disqualifies every one of the hunks.

Pity.

Height and body type? I guess like me, maybe a little taller. His interests? Why isn’t “me” one of the responses? I would hope one of his major interests would be me. Wow, what a long list of possible interests for a man. And it’s a stupid list. “Vegging” and “cuddling” aren’t on this list. Not that I’ve cuddled with anything but a pillow. No, he can’t drink or smoke, and I won’t abide even a “social drinker” or an “occasional smoker.” Ethnic background. Where’s “human”? This is the twenty-first century. We should be over all that mess. And anyway, I can’t afford to be picky at my age. Should I click them all?

Sonya clicked them all.

She blinked at the screen as it filled with empty white boxes, a flashing cursor in the first box. And now I have to write essays? This is ridiculous! How can all this foolishness help me decide what kind of man I want? How will any of this supply me with a man? I mean, answering a hundred questions and taking stupid tests will not help me find a man or even tell me what kind of man I want!

Hmm. Isn’t this precisely what I’ll be doing for up to a year? I really need to—

The doorbell rang.

Kim! Yes!

Sonya ran to the door, opened it, and watched as Kim brushed past her into the foyer. “Have a good trip, Kim?”

“I have to pee.”

The door to the half bath under the stairs closed.

Sonya stood near the bathroom door. “You made good time.”

“Yeah. Not much traffic. Um, Sonya, I can’t be your best friend on the show.”

What? She all but agreed the last time we talked! We leave tomorrow! And she’s telling me now? “Why not?”

“We look too much alike.”

And that’s about all we have in common. “You’re almost an inch taller.”

“But I slouch. We could be twins, Sonya.”

Except for her brown eyes, she’s right. “So you won’t do the show?”

Sonya heard a flush and then running water. “I’ll do the show, but only if I can be your sister.”

Why didn’t I think of that? That sounds almost … nice. “That sounds … doable.”

The door opened, and Kim Allen stood eye to eye with her mother. “I’d have to be your half sister, though.”

Sonya looked at her daughter’s outfit. Black and red, untucked flannel shirt, baggy jeans stuffed into the tops of her hiking boots. At least seven piercings on each ear. Shirt opened right down to the top of her black bra and one curve of a snake tattoo. Who wears a black bra without the black dress? And who puts snakes on her chest? And where does said snake end?

“Okay, you can be my half sister,” Sonya said. “We finally agree on something.”

“Whatever.”

Sonya looked outside at Kim’s Jetta, expecting to see a U-Haul trailer behind it. “Where’s the trailer?”

Kim flopped onto the couch. “I put it all in storage. If LA doesn’t work out for me, I’ll have my future apartment in Atlanta already furnished. The bill will be sent here.”

Not “I hope it’s okay, Mama, if I have them send the bill here.” Sonya sat on the edge of the coffee table. “But what if LA works out for you?”

“I’ll have it all shipped to LA.” Kim looked at Sonya’s laptop screen. “Don’t tell me you’re doing one of those lame surveys. I stopped doing surveys like that when I was ten.”

Note to self: Always close your laptop around your nosy child, no matter how old your child is. Sonya closed the laptop. “I did it on a whim, you know, just to see how ridiculous it would be.”

“Yeah. Right. And what did you learn?”

“That personality surveys are a waste of time.” Time to change the subject. “How’s Mark?”

“Mark? I haven’t seen him in weeks.”

They were hot and heavy when I called last month. “I thought you two were getting serious.”

“He was.” Kim smiled. “I wasn’t.” She fluttered her eyelashes. “I’m just like you, Sonya. I love ’em and I leave ’em.”

Not exactly. “Did he, um, did Mark take it hard?”

“I don’t know. I sent him a text, and he disappeared.”

How … modern. And mean. “You sent him a text? Why didn’t you at least talk to him?”

“Mark wasn’t much for talking, if you know what I mean.”

My Bohemian, heathen daughter and her conquests. Another reason I wish I had raised her. Her adoptive parents were excessively lenient and completely heathen. The child has never even set foot inside a church, not that I haven’t tried to get her there.

“I still can’t believe that I’m getting more action than you are, Sonya.”

Because I have morals. Because I believe in someone who will forever be greater than ten minutes of pleasure. Sonya sighed. “You’re taking all the necessary precautions, right?”

Kim rolled her eyes. “Yes. And thanks to you, I’ve gotten a little pickier about the men I hook up with.”

I know this is a setup, but … “You have?”

“Yes. I don’t date serial killers, rapists, roadies, lawyers, or police anymore.”

What a strange list. “I meant, you’re making sure that …”

“Yes, Sonya. I will never make the same mistake you made.”

I wish she were five so I could spank her!

Kim looked around. “This place never changes. It’s like a museum to loneliness. When was the last time I was here?”

“A few months ago.”

“Something’s new … let’s see. The TV. Nice flat screen. Wish I had one.”

“I can get you one.”

“Nah. I hardly even watch the one I have. When are you going to brighten this place up?”

Sonya looked at her cream walls. “I like this color. It’s calming.”

“Whatever.” Kim stretched. “So, what exactly are you looking for in a man, Sonya? Oh, I know. He has to have a pulse and the ability to walk without a cane. Oh, and he has to have the entire Bible memorized.”

I may spank her anyway, the little blasphemer!

“Maybe you just want him mute and tied to the bed,” Kim said. “Tried that once. He slobbered on the gag, which is so nasty. Almost left him tied up on his bed, too.”

Sonya didn’t respond. This is how it begins, and I don’t intend to keep it going. “So, are you seeing anyone new?”

“No, just the same old bedmates.”

Lord Jesus, please do something with this child!

Kim rolled onto her stomach and propped her head up on her hands. “You know, Sonya, whoever you choose on that stupid show will kinda be my daddy, right?”

No. “He won’t be your daddy, Kim.”

“Yeah, probably not.” Kim flattened out and closed her eyes. “When does he get out again?”

She always has to open this wound. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t you care?”

“Of course I care, but I’ve told you many times that Marcus wasn’t a bad boy when we … when we hooked up. It was later that he—”

“Became a thug, shot someone, and went to jail,” Kim interrupted. “You had excellent choice in men back then, Sonya. I can’t wait to see what mess of a man you’re going to pick this time.”

How can I lighten this mood? Sonya tried to smile. “I’m not a teenager, Kim. I have matured. What makes you think I’ll choose a mess of a man now?”

“Your track record. First my daddy and then Archie Freeman.”

Yeah, I’m two for two, but how did she know I went out with Archie? “I never told you about Archie.”

“So I Googled you.”

I hate the Internet.

“Sonya and her bad boys.”

Sonya frowned. “And all your men have been angels.”

Kim opened her eyes. “I prefer devils actually. They’re more fun where it counts. And they have such excellent imaginations. They’re never afraid to try new things.”

Sonya sighed and stood. “One day you’ll find a good man, and that good man won’t have you.”

“Who wants a good man when a bad man can do you better? And longer? And harder.”

This conversation is over. “You hungry? Thirsty?”

“No. I ate on the road.”

Is there anything I can do for this child? “Your room’s all ready for you.”

“You mean the guest room’s ready.”

“It’s your room, Kim, and it will always be your room.”

“Until you find a man or another career and kick me to the curb again.”

Lord Jesus, give me strength! “I made you a promise, Kim, and I’m tired of repeating it. I will never give you up again. Never.” No matter how much you try to tick me off.

Kim looked away.

“Now, please don’t bring up that mess again.”

“I won’t if you won’t.” Kim rolled off the couch, stood, and went to the stairs. “I’ll be in the guest room.”

I let it begin.

I wonder when it will end.

On the first-class flight from Charlotte to LA, Kim drank four glasses of champagne despite Sonya’s protests.