Man Swappers (14 page)

She puts her hands up in mock surrender. “Fine. I’m only stating the obvious. Not looking to get into a fight with you.”

I raise a brow, feeling myself already getting frustrated. “Then don’t.”

My cell vibrates. I pick it up and see that I have a text from Persia. I
BET SHE
’
S ALREADY GETTING ON YOUR NERVES. HAHAHAHA

I text back.
WHATEVER
!

A few moments later she replies back with a smiley face. “So are you gonna fiddle with that phone all day?” I apologize to her. Tell her it was Persia; that she told me to tell her that she sends her love. Yeah, we both know it’s a lie. I smile. She gives me a look of disbelief, grunting. “Really? I find that hard to believe.”

“Mom, contrary to your feelings, Persia does think about you. We all do.”

“Well, they have a strange way of showing it; more so Persia than Porsha. At least Porsha will call me. Not as much as you do, but it’s still a whole lot more than what Persia does. That girl acts like I’ve done something to her when all I ever did was cater to you girls.”

I sigh, fully aware that this will turn into a drawn-out laundry
list of all the wonderful things she’s done for us, the opportunities she’s afforded us—the private schools, summer camp, ballet and piano lessons, trips abroad, paying for our college tuitions, blah, blah, blah. The list never ends. “Mom, listen...I don’t want to talk about that. We’re very much aware of everything you’ve ever done for us. And we’re appreciative. Why you insist on reminding us every chance you get is beyond me.”

I hear Persia’s voice, again.
She does it because she wants us to keep kissing her ass. She wants us to feel obligated to her.

“Well, it seems like you girls sometimes forget all of the sacrifices your father and I had to make to ensure the three of you wanted for nothing.”

I bite down on my bottom lip, pulling in a deep breath. My phone buzzes, again. She stares at it, waits to see if I’m going to pick it up, raising her brow. I turn it off, then toss it in my bag. “There. Now, how have you been?”

She opens her mouth to say something when the waitress comes over to take our orders. She orders the breakfast special. And I order their Greek salad. She watches the waitress walk off, then tells me that she’s doing well. I am mindful to not ask her anything about my father; especially knowing she realizes we talk to him every day. I ask her if she’s done anything new to the house since we’ve last been there. She tells me no. Tells me money’s been tight. Then, in the next breath, says she’s looking to buy a new Benz—the S-class series. I don’t say a word. She stops talking when the waitress returns to the table to fill our glasses with water. She asks her to bring us some lemons, then waits for her to walk off again.

“I wanted to put in a new kitchen floor and buy some new appliances, but your father said there’s nothing wrong with what we have. I swear, that man can be so tight when it comes to
spending money. He is so cheap. All he wants to do is save. I ask him what he’s saving for; it’s not like we can take it with us if something happens to us. I want to spend my money. What’s the point of leaving my hard-earned money behind for someone else to spend up? I told your father there’s no sense of leaving any of it with you girls. Y’all have gotten enough out of us over the years. I told him we sent y’all to private schools, paid for your college educations and made sure none of you had to be stuck with student loan bills. So we’ve done all we need to be doing. I want to enjoy my money while I’m alive. Not leave it for someone else to mess over.”

I stare at her, then blink. She’s oblivious to what’s come out of her mouth. I am so glad Persia isn’t here right now. This situation would definitely turn ugly real fast. I take a deep breath. Say a silent prayer that I can get through this lunch without incident. “So, what else is new?”

“Zena’s husband done left her. The shit—excuse my French, done hit the fan over there.”

“Oh really?” I ask, trying to seem disinterested in wanting to know the details. But inside I’m dying to hear every juicy morsel. And knowing my mother, she is going to deliver the gossip whether I ask for it or not.

“Mmm-hmm...he waited for her to leave for work, then packed his things and moved out. He left his wedding band on the kitchen counter with a note.” She shakes her head. “I told...” She pauses when the waitress returns to the table with our food. “...Oh, can you bring me a cup of coffee, please?”

“Sure, no problem,” the waitress says. She looks at me. “Can I bring you a cup as well?” I tell her no. Ask her to bring me a glass of cranberry juice instead. “I’ll be right back with it.”

“...And I’m not one bit surprised by it, either. I told Lucky he
was going to end up leaving her. We all knew that last child of hers wasn’t his. He just didn’t know it. Well, maybe he knew it but didn’t want to accept it. The truth hurts. And the truth was staring him right smack in the face for ten years every time he looked at that little boy. Bless his heart. And he’s the innocent one in all of this mess. I don’t know what’s wrong with these nasty-ass women these days...”

I’m surprised when she takes a break from her incessant chatter and starts eating her food before it gets cold. She scoops a forkful of home fries into her mouth, carefully chewing, then swallowing. I pick over my salad. The waitress returns with her coffee and my juice, then leaves us alone.

“Well, what happened?” I finally ask, picking out an olive and eating it. “How’d Aaron find out?”

She wipes her mouth with her napkin. “Well, from what I’ve gathered from talking to Fanny, who sometimes gets things all twisted around, is that he came home from work a few weeks ago and, out of the blue, asked her if Aaron, Junior was his.”

“Wow. I’m sure that must have caught her by surprise. What did she tell him?”

“What do you think she told him? She lied right through her raggedy-ass mouth; excuse my French. Then the messy heifer had the nerve to call her mother crying, saying he accused her of cheating on him while he was overseas when all she’s ever done is be a good wife and mother to his children. And that after all these years he wanted a paternity test because he didn’t trust her. I told your Aunt Lucky I knew y’all were hot in the ass. But that Zena...mmmph, she has nothing on you girls. That girl can light hell on fire with the flames coming from out of her tail. Even as a girl, she was always somewhere prancing her behind up in some man’s face. Anyway...so, of course, Fanny, with her meddling-ass,
excuse my French, gets on the phone and calls him up acting a certified fool. She told me she cursed him out something terrible, for the old and new. Told him her daughter was the best thing that ever happened to him and that she would never do some nasty shit like that. Mmmph, I told her ‘never say never’ ’cause I wouldn’t have never thought in a million years that my own daughters were out there doing the shit that they’re doing, but they are. So don’t ever say what your child won’t do ’cause mine are doing every nasty thing under the sun with God knows how many men.”

I blink. I am literally speechless, listening to her right now.

“Unbelievable,” I finally say, referring more so to her comments about my sisters and me than anything else.

She grunts. “Mmmph. No, what’s unbelievable is her naming that little bright-faced boy after him like that. Aaron, Junior. Mmmph. You tell me how that can be? That man is as dark as soot—ooh, but he has some beautiful skin and gorgeous hair. Anyway, and she’s about as brown as a tree and her trifling-ass—excuse my French, trying to pass some half-white looking child off as his. She had no business doing no nasty shit like that. Of course, Fanny is pissed that I said what I said about it. I mean, shit—excuse my French, it’s not like Lucky and I wasn’t saying it behind her back. Now it’s all out in the open...”

I feel a headache slowly making its way to the front of my forehead. I take a gulp of juice, slowly breathing through my nose. I press on. “I’m sure she didn’t like that.”

“I’m sure she didn’t. But she’ll get over it. Like I said, these trifling-ass women out here sleeping around with all these men, then getting pregnant like it’s nobody’s business makes no damn sense. Not even knowing who the damn fathers are.” She sighs, eyeing me. “I hope you and your sisters are not stupid enough to
be screwing all those men without using protection, exchanging all those bodily fluids like that is just nasty.”

I huff, dropping my fork in my plate. I sit back in my chair and eye her back. “Mom, what does Zena’s situation have to do with who
we
sleep with? I mean, really. We’re not the ones married. And we’re not the ones who slept with someone else and got pregnant on our husband. So what is the point you’re trying to get at here? Because obviously I’ve missed it.”

She picks up her coffee cup, eyeing me over its rim before she takes a sip. She takes a slow, deliberate sip, then sits her cup on its saucer. “The point is I’m glad it’s not the three of you being the topic of discussion for once. Fanny loves throwing dirt up on everyone else, but now she has her own pile to shovel through.” I’ve had enough. I abruptly get up from my seat, digging through my bag. “Where are you going?”

I toss a twenty up on the table. “I’m outta here. I am so freakin’ done with you right now.”

She looks around the diner. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about this...you,” I say, jabbing my finger through the air. “I’ve had enough of your holier-than-thou bullshit for one day.”

She gives me an appalled look. “Paris, what in the world has gotten into you? You’re acting just like your sister, Persia—rude, using that tone of voice with me. And then you’re cursing at me. That is so not like you. We’re sitting here having a peaceful conversation.”

“No, there has been nothing
peaceful
about this whole conversation. For the last thirty-five minutes I’ve been sitting here listening to
you
not only insult me and my sisters, but confirm how you sit around with your busybody, gossiping-ass sisters and talk about us, and any-and-every body else in the damn family.”

“Will you sit down,” she says through clutched teeth. “You’re making a scene.”

“No, I will not sit down. And I don’t give a damn about making a scene. Every chance you get, you have to get a damn dig in. You can’t ever simply have a conversation without finding some kind of way to make some sort of snide comment about our lifestyle. Well, get over it,” I snap, raising my voice. I am so pissed right now that I’m trembling. I’ve never spoken to her like this, but today I have had enough. “Yes, Mother, we sleep with the same men. How many times must we keep going over this? Yes, you think it’s nasty. So what? Who gives a shit?! It’s our life! We’re fine with it and if you can’t be, then leave us the hell alone.”

She slams her hand down on the table, visibly shocked by my outburst. “How dare—”

I put my hand up to stop her. “Don’t. I’m sick of it. How dare
you
sit here and offend my sisters and me and act as if it’s okay? I am so disgusted with you right now.”

“
You’re
disgusted with
me?
” she asks indignantly, raising her voice. She catches herself, glancing around the diner to make sure she hasn’t drawn any more unwanted attention. She lowers her voice; speaks through clenched teeth. “How do you think I feel? My daughters out here doing all kinds of nasty shit—excuse my French, with all kinds of men,
together
. How do you think that makes me feel?”

“Newsflash, Mother: Who we suck and who we
fuck
is none of your damn business.”

She gasps. “You mean to tell me you’ll stand here and disrespect and curse me like this. Persia, yes; Porsha, maybe. But, you...” She shakes her head. “Never would I think you’d stoop to this and let your sisters turn you against me.”

I scoff. “Ugh, this has nothing to do with Persia or Paris. This is about you, and your attitude toward us. And the ugly shit you allow to come out of your mouth. I sat here and tried to overlook the mess you were saying about not leaving us money, about what you’ve done for us, about who we sleep with, about how we embarrass you. Get a grip, Mother! You and your damn sisters are pathetic. Now go back and gossip about that.”

By the time I’m done saying all this, I am on the verge of tears. But I will not give her the satisfaction of seeing me break down. Not today. I strut off, leaving her sitting at the table with her jaw dropped open.

By the time I finally get home, I am emotionally exhausted. The only thing I want to do is crawl up in my bed. “Damn, that was a long lunch,” Persia says the minute she sees me walking through the house. “How was it with the ole Wicked One?”

I grunt. “Ugh, I don’t have the energy to get into it right now.” I drop my bag on the floor and remove my shades, tossing them up on the table. “Right now the only thing I want to do is listen to some music, soak in the tub, and take me a nice long nap.”

She shakes her head, taking me in. She walks over and wraps her arms around me, giving me a hug, then lets me go. I walk toward the stairs.

As I climb the stairs, I hear her saying, “Poor thing. I keep telling y’all that woman is hateful.”

Persia
CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I
t’s almost seven o’clock in the evening when I finally decide to go upstairs and check in on Paris. She’s been up holed up in her room long enough. I’ve given her enough time and space to sulk; now it’s time to snap her out of it. When she came home this afternoon with her eyes all swollen and red, I knew that she must have finally gone off on our mother for, once again, saying something slick. Crying is Paris’s M.O. after she’s gone off on someone.

Even growing up, she was always the most sensitive out of the three of us; always wanting to please everyone; always wanting everyone to get along; always wanting to be sure everything was in its proper place. Whereas Porsha and I were always very vocal about our feelings, she kept hers bottled inside. Then when it got too much for her, she’d go off. And afterwards, feel bad about it. Although she’s more outspoken now than she’s ever been, she still has a ways to go. I’m telling you. It took everything in me not to call our mother to see exactly what in the hell had come out of her mouth
this
time. I wanted to scream on her. But I didn’t.