Single Mom (37 page)

Brock looked like he choked on his food to get out a nervous laugh. Camellia had caught us all off guard. I guess that’s what holidays are for, family and friend embarrassment.

Brock said, “If you feel good about
you
, then the weight doesn’t really matter.”

Camellia said, “I’m a grown woman, okay? Now don’t you sit here and lie to me. I know good and well what men want; a woman they can wrap their arms around.”

I hadn’t heard Camellia talk like that since I’d known her. I was really beginning to be concerned about her. I knew she had been on a diet lately, but I never really took it seriously. Since she was so busy in the community, I guess I never sat down and thought about what Camellia thought of herself. She had always been the one to inspire others. Maybe the superwoman, single mom thing was finally catching up with her like it had done with me.

I looked over at my friend and said, “Now you know that’s not true.
Definitely
not with
black
men. Maybe you need to stop looking in these white women magazines for a while.”

Camellia looked at me and frowned. “You know good and well I don’t read white women’s magazines like that, Denise. What are you talking about?”

I was reaching for anything to lighten the discussion about her weight. Suddenly I had lost my appetite. We all had. All but my mother.

“I weigh two hundred twelve pounds, Denise. Now Brock, how much do you weigh?”

I cut him off before he could answer. I said, “I don’t believe we’re even talking about this.”

“Well, at least you’re tall with your weight,” my mother commented.

“Yeah, it would be even worse if I was only five foot two or something,” Camellia responded. She was five-seven and a half, slightly taller than my five-seven even.

I was just about ready to jump up from that table and go to war with her. How long had Camellia been feeling so bad about her weight? I calmed myself down and asked her about it. “How long have you been feeling this way?”

“Girl, you know I always talked about my weight. You just never wanted to listen to it.”

She was right. I ignored her weight discussions, and she ignored my discussions about being a single mother with money. What are friends for?

“Well, why did you pick today to talk about it?” I asked her.

“Because it’s time that I stop being passive about it and do something. It’s the same thing I told the people in the homeless shelter we visited today. ‘If you know it ain’t right, then don’t just sit there,
do
something about it!’”

“Well, who said that having a little weight isn’t right?”

“Let’s see: dietary advisors, exercise trainers, cardiologists, and even funeral parlors, because they have to order extra-large coffins for us.”

Brock looked at me and began to smile.

I said, “It’s
not
funny, Dennis.”

Camellia said, “No, it
is
funny. Because see, I don’t want to have a problem when I talk about it anymore. I don’t want people saying that it’s okay, unless it really
is
okay. That means that
I
have to feel that it’s okay, and
not
somebody else.”

“That’s right,” my mother said, instigating again.

I was glad that Nikita wasn’t sitting at that table with us. Camellia was on a subject for mature adults only. Nikita would have had something childish to say about it.

Camellia said, “Denise, just like it’s not healthy for women to have to raise their kids on their own, it’s not healthy for me to keep gaining weight. And I have to be honest about that.”

“Some people are meant to carry more weight than others,” Brock said. “Look at Luther Vandross. He never looked right as a skinny man. And could you imagine Barry White with no weight? I’m no stringbean myself.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not falling over the sides of your chair either.”

My mother started to laugh. I guess she was comfortable with her added weight.

“Stop, Camellia. Now I don’t like this,” I protested. “I don’t like this at all. Especially not on Thanksgiving.”

“Oh, well, I’m gonna eat tonight, so don’t even worry about it. I’m not out to starve myself. I just won’t be taking any leftovers home. Not even for my kids.”

I paused and thought about that. “Levonne could use some extra weight.”

Camellia looked at me and asked, “Did you look at him today?”

“No, not really,” I answered. “He had his coat on when I saw him. Jimmy took his coat.”

“Well, Levonne is
gaining
weight. You go in there and look at him. He has gained about twenty-five pounds since the summer.”

“Well, that’s good,” I told her.

“Not when you have big genes, it’s not. I don’t know if he’s gonna stop or keep right on going.”

“Get him involved in playing football,” Brock suggested. “The activity of playing a sport would level his weight off so that he would reach a set point.”

Since Levonne had always been prone to getting sick, Camellia had always babied him. More than I had with Walter. I doubted if she wanted him to play any sports.

“Maybe that’s what I’ll have to do then,” she responded, to my surprise.

Camellia had sure enough dropped an unexpected bomb on me! I was speechless. What was I supposed to say? What I needed to have was a private conversation with her, and not during a Thanksgiving dinner. So when the phone rang I was more than thrilled to answer it.

“Hello?”

A gruff voice asked, “Yeah, can I speak to Nikita?”

I grimaced. I just
knew
that my sister couldn’t be giving people my phone number! I asked, “Who may I say is calling?”

Nikita jumped on the other phone before he could answer. “Hello? Is it for me?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” he said to her.

“Well, who is
me?
” I asked him again.

“It’s my friend, Denise. God!” Nikita fussed at me.

“Well, let your friend announce who he is. Especially if he’s calling
my
house.”

“I just paged him. I didn’t give him—”

“Look, I don’t care what you did. When people call my house, I want to know who they are. Period!” I ranted, cutting my sister off.

Her “friend” on the other end began to laugh, as if it were all a joke to him. “It sounds like y’all got problems,” he commented.

“No,
you
have the problem,” I told him. “When you call somebody’s house, you should have the common courtesy to identify yourself.”

“I was about to do that, but I didn’t get a chance to.”

“Can I speak to my friend for a minute, please?” Nikita asked me harshly.

By that time, Camellia and Brock were staring at me from the table. My mother went right on with picking through her food. She knew her second daughter, and the drama was nothing new to her.

I hung up the phone and went back to the table, pissed! If I had said anything else, I may have been forced to wring Nikita’s damn neck!

“What was that all about?” Camellia asked.

I shook my head, not wanting to talk about it. But in light of what Camellia was going through, I felt a need to reach out and share my thoughts with her anyway.

“You know who went and paged somebody on my damn phone. And then wouldn’t let him identify himself.”

Brock shook his head with a grin. He had heard enough stories about my sister before he even met her to understand the constant turmoil she was able to drive me through.

The next thing I knew, Nikita was in the dining room with us, wearing her coat and a colorful ski hat. “Mom, are you gonna be here for a while?”

“Where are you going, Nikita? This is a family event,” Camellia asked before anyone else could.

“I’m just going out for a second. I’ll be back.”

I didn’t even have the energy to try and argue with her anymore. If she wanted to throw her damn life in the streets, then I was finally ready to let her do it. But what would happen with my niece, Cheron? A crazy mother would no doubt affect the mental state of a child in the long run. In fact, it was already affecting my niece. She wasn’t learning as fast as she should. She was nowhere near being potty trained. And she cried far too easily to have any confidence in herself. I had some thinking to do about that, because my mother was in no condition to raise a child. With my niece in my mother’s care, she was allowing Cheron to become just as underdeveloped as Nikita had become. I just couldn’t understand what happened to my mother’s spirit. It just seemed lost somewhere.

Camellia stood up to talk Nikita out of it. She could see that
I
wasn’t going to.

“If you have someone you want to share Thanksgiving Day with, then invite him over here. We would all love to meet him,” she said.

I looked up at Camellia as if she had lost her mind.

Nikita looked back at me and said, “
Denise
doesn’t want to meet him.”

“You got that right,” I told her. “And I
damn
sure don’t want him coming over here.”

“Yeah, because
you’re
too good for him.
You’re
too good for everybody,” she snapped. Then she looked at Brock and said, “You must be the best man in the world. Congratulations!”

I looked at my mother who was beginning to shake her head. She didn’t even look up from her plate. Her food had gotten cold twenty minutes ago.

“Mommy,” Cheron’s mousy voice called through the commotion. Camellia’s daughter Monica was holding her hand, and Cheron had spilled fruit juice all over her yellow skirt.

“Dammit, girl! What did you do?” Nikita yelled at her.

“What does it
look
like she did?” I snapped back to my sister.

Camellia looked and shook her head. “You see that, Nikita. That’s a sign for you to stay and spend more time with your daughter. You’re not even supposed to leave here today. Your daughter needs more of your attention. That juice on her skirt is a message from God.”

Nikita sucked her teeth and said, “I don’t even have a change of clothes for you.” She all but ignored Camellia.

“Mmm hmm,” I grumbled. “I don’t know why not. The girl’s far from being grown,” I commented. Luckily, I had three outfits in my closet for Cheron, just for awkward occasions. Actually, I had bought my niece a few outfits in case the family had some formal affair to attend, or even a church affair. Instead of listening to Nikita run around and complain about not having the money or the time to buy her daughter anything to wear, I had stocked my closet with three such outfits that were slightly different sizes.

“I have something for her to wear,” I said, excusing myself from the table.

Nikita was still itching to leave. “So, are you gonna be here for a while, Mom?”

My mother finally lifted up her head and answered, “I’m not watching her today. This is my day to rest.”

I stopped in my tracks for a minute to see what Nikita’s response would be.

Nikita looked at Monica. I read her mind before she could open her mouth, and I’m sure that Camellia was doing the same.

“Well, could you watch my daughter for a couple of hours, Monica? I’ll pay you for it.”

“No, she cannot,” Camellia stated. “Cheron is
not
Monica’s responsibility, Nikita. She’s
your
responsibility. She’s
your
daughter.”

“I know whose daughter she is,” Nikita snapped. She had found herself between a rock and a hard place.

Monica said, “I could watch her for a couple of hours, Mom.”

Camellia said, “I know you
could
, but you’re
not
And I mean it!”

“Why can’t she?” Nikita asked desperately. She was just plain sickening!

“Nikita, I just told you that God was trying to tell you something,” Camellia repeated.

My sister let out a long sigh and said, “Fine. If nobody wants to watch her, then she’s going with me.”

“Going with you where?” I asked, sticking my nose into things. She still never said where she was going.

Brock sat there embarrassed by it all. I felt sorry for him, but on the other hand, he needed to experience just how hectic things could become if he wanted to be a part of my personal life and space.

“Where I’m going is my business!”
my
sister snapped at me.

“Oh, no it’s not, either,” Camellia responded to her. “Especially if you’re asking
my
girl to watch your daughter. She needs to know a name, an address, a phone number, a time,
and
an emergency number in case something happens.”

Frustration was written all over my sister’s face. “Well, she don’t have to know none of that because I’m taking my daughter with me.” Then Nikita looked back to me. “Now do you have a change of clothes for her?”

I said, “Do I?
You’re
making all the rules here. So maybe
you
have a change of clothes.”

I wanted to see just how irrational my sister was going to get, and in front of everyone so that I could prove to myself, and to everyone else, that it wasn’t
me
who had the problem. And Nikita went there.

“Well, shit, I don’t need your damn clothes then!” she shouted, yanking her daughter’s hand away from Monica.

Tears came streaming down Cheron’s tiny face. “NOOOO!” she screamed. “I don’t wanna go!” She yanked her arm away and ran into my legs, holding on to me for dear life. And there was no way in hell I was letting her leave with her insane mother!

“WELL, FINE! YOU STAY YOUR ASS HERE THEN!” Nikita shouted at her daughter.

Camellia was staring in bewilderment. Brock was horrified. And even the boys had come out of the family room to see what in the world was going on.

“What is wrong with you?” Camellia asked my sister. “You can’t scream at a child like that.”

Nikita turned and made her way for the door and slammed it when she left. Everyone in the room was silent, even Cheron. I wiped her tears and soothed her in my arms.

Finally, Camellia shook her head. “I’ve never seen anything like that in my life. At least not in
real
life. I thought that kind of stuff only happened on TV.”

I grunted. “Hmmph, you know better than that. We’ve been around a
few
off-the-wall mothers. You’re usually just too positive to notice them.”