Cold As Ice (18 page)

“Jeremy, please tell me you didn't invite me to come over here and hang out with you and Chance,” I ask, embarrassed that I let my emotions get the best of me, but I know what I heard. And Jeremy should know what he implied even if he didn't fully say it.

“I didn't, not really, but I can see how you'd react to seeing me leave with another girl. It doesn't feel good being jealous, does it?” Jeremy asks, taking me by the waist and kissing my lips, forcing me to smile. “I'm sorry I wasn't clearer, Jayd. But we can still save the evening, if you want.” He takes my hand in his, raising it to his lips and kissing my knuckles. He sure does know how to calm a sistah down.

“I think you two are the sweetest thing ever,” Alia says, looking dead at Chance as she says it. Alia's had a crush on Chance since I've known them both, and I think it goes back to their days in elementary school. Nellie better watch herself. If she turns into the white girl she's going for, she just might drive her man away from the black girl we all know and love. Why have a wannabe when you can have the real thing?

“So what are we doing?” I ask, surrendering to the moment. Forgiveness is the most important element in any good relationship, and I'm choosing to practice it often when it comes to the people who matter most in my life. Maybe Candace will get the message and back up off my man, because I know she's digging him.

“The night is young,” Chance says, walking toward his Nova with Alia on one arm and Candace on the other. Should I warn Nellie that her bougie friends are distracting her from her man? Maybe later, but right now I just want to get something in my stomach. I'll worry about mending relationships tomorrow.

 

By the time I got in last night from hanging with my friends, it was too late to try to memorize my speech. Instead I put it on note cards when I got up this morning, but I'll probably end up winging most of it. The church is packed with young people for the special services planned all day to cater to the teen-and-under crowd. It's five after eleven, and my mom's still not here. I know she's not into church—especially not her father's church—but I figured she'd show up for my first public speech. I really wanted her to be here for this. But it looks like my words will have to work their magic on Mama. I hope the residuals will hit my mom if she does decide to show up late.

I hate that my two moms are fighting, and I feel like it's mostly my fault. I mean, their feud has been going on since my mother learned how to talk, but my moving out didn't help matters much. I'm going to change all that when it's my turn at the mic. My congestion isn't fully gone yet, but my head is clearer than it's been in a long time.

“Jayd, are you ready? After the choir sings, you're up,” Daddy whispers to me from his great seat. I'm seated next to him, like I'm the first lady of the church. When Mama stepped down, her equally adorned but slightly smaller seat became the guest chair. When there are no guests, the seat remains empty, a constant reminder that no one can ever take Mama's place in the church—or anywhere else, for that matter.

“Yes, Daddy, I'm ready,” I say, shaking slightly. I guess this is what they call having cold feet. I've never been this nervous before. I look down at my index cards, praying for my mother to walk through the door. I need for her to be here when I make my speech. My mom's notes said all parties have to hear the words simultaneously, or the spell won't work. We also have to break bread together soon after for it to seal. Where is she?

I'm right here, Jayd
, my mom says, creeping into my thoughts right as the choir sings the last note of one of my favorite gospel songs. I was about to weep like Mary in the song if my mom didn't at least check in.

Mom, where are you? Daddy's introducing me now
, I think back, half listening to my grandfather share his pride in me with the congregation. I'm just glad we're over the wench-calling part of our relationship. I never want Daddy to be mad at me like that again.

I'm sorry, baby, but I'm running a little late. I'm on my way, and I'll stay here the entire time so I can hear your speech as you say it, okay?
That actually might work. It won't do anything to keep Mama from being even more pissed at her tardiness, but it should work for my ulterior motive.

Okay, but you'd better get here soon. Mama's calling you everything but a child of God, and in the Lord's house, too
, I say telepathically, looking at Netta and Mama eye the room. Mama can't help but glance back at the double doors leading into the main sanctuary from the front door, hoping to see my mother walk through at any moment. I wish I could inform her of my mother's impending arrival, but no such luck. I'm on.

“Thank you, Daddy, and good morning, church,” I say, looking out into the crowd of over one hundred folks dressed in their Easter Sunday best. It's always a full house for the holidays.

“Good morning,” the congregation replies. Here goes nothing.

“There are many types of returns. And I want to talk about bringing joy back to life and peace and harmony back home, starting with your own relationships, especially those between a mother and child.” I check in with my mom to make sure she's listening, and she is. I've also got Mama's full attention, as well as the church members. I hope I don't lose them, because the speech I'm giving isn't going to be the typical Easter Sunday discourse.

“Amen, little sister,” says one of the elder women seated in the first pew while waving a paper fan toward me, egging me on.

“Well.” Another obligatory comment from the congregation floats through the now still air, waiting for me to continue.

“I can speak only for daughters because, well, that's what I am. But I suspect the same type of love and respect is due from son to mother, too.” I hope Mama's really listening to my message this morning. Not only does she need to back up off us girls a bit, but she also needs to check her sons. This has been going on for two generations, and there's no time like the present to break this negative cycle once and for all.

“Preach! “shouts one of the female junior pastors from her chair behind me. I haven't even gotten started yet, and they're already feeling me. I just hope it continues past what I'm about to say.

“And as a young woman, I look up to my mothers for being mothers. For constantly supporting me, taking care of me when I'm sick and sad, for rejoicing in my happiness with me, and for teaching me right from wrong, always.” I look at Mama, who looks back at me, beaming with pride. Even if she was against me speaking at Daddy's church today, she was always for me showing off my oratory skills in front of our haters. Misty and her mom are here, too, minus Esmeralda. That woman knows better than to step in any building while Mama's inside, unless she wants to get beat down.

“But I also look to them to show me how to be a woman, how a woman interacts with the men in her life and other women as well. It seems like in my generation a lot of the mutual respect and adoration for one another as women is lost in the past.”

“Yes, Lawd,” the same junior pastor says from behind me. I guess she can relate. I can only imagine the hate she must get from the other sisters in the church, being the only female representative on the pulpit right now.

“Say it, little sistah,” calls out another woman from the congregation. The choir even starts to hum, which is an indication that I'm definitely on point this morning. I can see why Daddy likes his job so much. There's a surge of power that comes with this post.

Okay, little girl. Don't get ahead of yourself
, my mom interjects, checking the mini dictator in me. I'm glad she's still here listening.

“I don't know about y'all, but I'm tired of the drama between us girls,” I say, looking directly into Misty's eyes. I try to enter her mind, but it's too cloudy for me to see. My words alone will have to reach her. “I'm tired of the evil eyes and gossip that's all too prevalent among girls my age and older women, too.” As the holy ghost of truth roars through the small building like thunder, I notice one of Daddy's girlfriends look sideways at Mama. It's the same lady I saw Daddy talking to at the house a few weeks ago, and she also left the juju bag Mama had to fix. That woman's got her nerve plus some. She already had Mama go after her for bringing Daddy a cake, and now she's trying to give my grandmother the evil eye. Some people just don't learn.

“Let's bring back the spirit of love between us,” I say. No matter what my cards say, apparently I'm done because the choir takes over, and so does the congregation with a standing ovation. Mama and Netta are crying, and so is my mom in my head. Even Misty looks slightly moved by my words. I guess my job here is done.

 

In the traditional fashion of any black church, a huge feast is underway for the after-church dinner. It looks delicious, but I already made plans at the Cheesecake Factory, and we need to get going if we're going to make our reservations, but Mama's got too many admirers to escape quietly.

“Sister James. So nice to see you again,” the junior pastor says to Mama, who's looking for the quickest exit possible, but not before this woman sinks her claws into my grandmother.

“It's nice to see you again, Pastor Trudy. You were in college the last time I saw you, girl. You look good.” Mama accepts the sister's embrace before returning to her fanning. Daddy's church is good for advertising on the back of fans, sharing the paper-and-wood complimentary gift with the local funeral home's advertisement on the other side. It's a good reminder that the other side of life is death, and vice versa.

“Why, thank you, Sister James. And you haven't aged a day,” she says, eyeing Mama like a porkchop. What does this broad want with her? “And this one here is a special young lady,” she says, patting me on the shoulder. Her touch reminds me of Mrs. Bennett's reptilian hands. She gives me the creeps.

“Yes, she is,” Mama says, gently pulling my arm, forcing me away from our admirer and closer to where Netta and she are standing. Where is my mom? She should've been here by now. Finally, walking through the front door, the lost child returns to her father's church. My mom looks nervous but as fierce as usual, and everyone takes notice.

“What took you so long to get here, Lynn Marie, or have you forgotten what time church starts?” Mama asks my mom as she walks into the building against the tide. People are standing everywhere and talking up a storm, mostly about us.

“Traffic,” my mom says. Netta and Mama roll their eyes at her obvious lie. There's not much traffic from Inglewood to Compton on a Sunday morning. “So are we having brunch or what? I'm starved,” my mom says, looking and smelling like she just got out of the shower. More than likely she and Karl slept in late, and from the cross looks on Mama and Netta's faces, I'd say they're thinking the same thing.

“I bet,” Mama says with a tone that's salty even for her.

“What's that supposed to mean?” my mom asks with one hand on her hip while the other holds her black Prada clutch tightly under her left arm. I can't wait to raid my mom's gifts, starting with her new purse. Her thigh-high black boots are making heads turn, and the tension between my mom and Mama also causes tongues to wag even faster. But before Mama can answer her daughter, the churchwomen throw in their two cents like they don't know who they're talking to.

“Maybe if her mama came back to the church on a regular basis, she'd know what to do and how to act, like the young sister said.” Oh no, she didn't use my own words against Mama. Who the hell does she think she is? This is a bold bunch of sisters. No wonder Misty's a regular member. She's their perfect protégé.

“And how to dress,” one of her two friends says, looking my mother up and down like she just walked in off the street corner from turning tricks all night.

“Your husband seems to like my outfit just fine,” my mom says, smiling wickedly at the woman's husband from his stance where he's salivating by the sanctuary door. Oh hell. It's about to get live up in this place, for real.

“Evil! All of you, just no-good hussies,” the woman says, her friends pulling her away from my mom, Mama, and Netta. They already know they're no match for us.

“Is everything all right here?” Daddy asks, looking a little stressed and stepping out of the main sanctuary and into the social room where we're gathered. I guess having Mama and her girls back in the church was more than a notion.

“Yes, Daddy,” I say, intervening before Mama gets to cussing everyone out, including him, just for the hell of it. “Thank you for having me speak today. It was real cool.” Mama looks at my mom and sucks her teeth in disgust, and my mom promptly rolls her neck like a teenager. As far as I'm concerned, they both need to grow up. I don't come to church often, but I know this is neither the time nor the place for their beef.

“I'm the one who should be thanking you, Tweet. Maybe there's hope for you yet,” he says, kissing me on the forehead.

“And what is that supposed to mean, Pastor James?” Mama interjects. “There's hope for the girl whether she speaks up in here or not.” Why did he have to go say that in front of Mama? Is Daddy looking for more problems or what?

“You know exactly what I mean, Lynn Mae. This girl has a natural, God-given talent for preaching. I think she should come to church with me more often. She's my granddaughter, too, you know.” Now Mama's really about to lose it. Where's a fire or some other catastrophic distraction when I need one?

“There's more than one way to skin a cat, or have you forgotten?” Mama asks between gritted teeth. Netta looks at her homegirl, recognizing that she's been pushed too far. I guess Daddy feels invincible in the house of his Lord, but he forgets Mama's power knows no boundaries. Church or not, she'll go off on him and everyone else up in here.