Grown Folks Business (20 page)

“I wish I could help you,” Sheridan said. “I wish there was something I could have done. I wish there was something I could do now.”

He looked down at her hand, resting between them, and he covered hers with his. “If I couldn’t change my heart by praying to God every day for more than half my life, there’s certainly nothing you could have done. You’re where I used to be. Wanting, hoping, praying. My prayer now is that God will forgive me for hurting you.”

Sheridan wanted to tell him there was much more he needed to be forgiven for. But she said nothing.

“I talked to my lawyer about custody.”

Slowly she moved her hand away from his.

“But,” Quentin continued, “I don’t want to fight that way. I want us to work this out.”

She stayed silent.

“For now, Sheridan, I’ll see Tori the way you say, but…”

He left his thought unfinished, and she was glad he did. She didn’t want to know his thinking, what his next steps would be; she just hoped he’d never want to finish whatever it was he was about to say.

“I’m willing to give you some time,” he said.

“Thank you.” She smiled, and tried to add warmth to her expression. She was relieved there wouldn’t be a fight—for now. They had too many battles they had to face together.

“I need to go up and talk to Christopher. Let him know that he’s on punishment until he’s fifty.”

They chuckled together, for a moment. “So, who are these new friends of Christopher’s?”

“Some guys who live in the neighborhood. According to him, they’re enrolled at L.A. Community College. But no matter how much I insist, I haven’t met them yet. There’s always some excuse.” She paused. “And then there’s this girl…”

Quentin raised his eyebrows. “So he’s really not seeing Nicole?”

“Apparently not. And I’m not crazy about this new girl.” She raised her hand. “Before you say anything, I’m not one of those mothers who believes no girl will ever be good enough for her son.”

“Why don’t you like her?”

“She’s older.”

“How much?”

“She’s eighteen. Graduated from high school in June.”

Quentin whistled. “So what does she want with a sixteen-year-old?”

Sheridan jumped from the couch at that question. “I don’t know, but I have to do something.”

“Telling him he can’t see her won’t work.”

“I know.” She paused as if she had a sudden idea. “I think I’ll invite her to dinner. See what she’s all about.”

“That’s a good idea.”

“Maybe I can scare her away, and maybe you should be here too.” A beat passed before they both shook their heads.

“I had to make new friends…get around guys who didn’t know anything about me.”

“I’ll come next time,” Quentin said.

She nodded.

He said, “Do you think I should try to talk to Chris again?”

“No, he knows where we stand, but I’m going to punish him. What do you think about two weeks with no driving privileges, no going out?”

Quentin nodded. “He’s never been punished for that long, so he’ll know we mean business.” He stood. “I don’t think we’ll have any more challenges with Chris. He said what he had to say, and now that he knows we’re watching, he’ll be more careful.”

Sheridan nodded, although she didn’t agree. She had a feeling there were plenty of problems ahead. But she kept those thoughts to herself as she walked him to the door. “Thank you for coming, Quentin.”

“There’s nothing to thank me for. This is where I…” He paused. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else.” He picked up his jacket and reached for the doorknob. But a beat later he turned back to Sheridan and pulled her into his arms. Surprise kept her from stepping back. Inside his arms she felt love from the man she had once loved. Felt gentleness in the embrace from the man who wanted to be her friend.

Quentin let her go and then walked through the door without looking back.

She didn’t bother to knock on his door.

Sheridan stepped inside Christopher’s room and stared at her son, who lay across his bed with his eyes closed.

“Your father just left.”

Still he didn’t open his eyes. She knew he wasn’t asleep, so she continued. “We decided you’ll be on punishment for two weeks—no driving privileges, no weekend dates, home during the week, right after school.”

His eyes popped open, and he leapt from the bed. “Mom, I said I was sorry, but I had to take Déjà home.”

“It doesn’t matter. You have a curfew. You didn’t call. You didn’t answer your cell.”

“Because I knew you’d be mad.”

“You were right about that.”

“But next weekend is Déjà’s birthday, and I’m supposed to take her out.”

“You should have thought about that before you began breaking the rules.”

“This isn’t fair.”

“You’re right, because if your father and I were being fair and took everything into consideration, your punishment would have been much longer.”

“Mom—”

She held up her hand. “This is a light sentence, and if you want to keep it that way, shut up now.”

He bounced back on the bed, crossed his arms, and closed his eyes.

Slowly Sheridan walked to his bed and sat on the edge. “Christopher, I know you’re hurt by your father.”

He stayed in place.

“When your father first left, you told me you were going to be the man of the house. Well, I don’t need you to do that because you’re not a man yet. But you are a mature young man whom I’m very proud of. And I expect you to behave that way.” She paused; when he still didn’t move, she added, “I won’t tolerate any more of this acting out, Christopher. No more tattoos, no more breaking curfews, no more being late to church, nothing.”

She tapped his shoulder and he opened his eyes. “Sit up.” She waited as he moved as if he were ill, sliding his legs over the side of the bed. “Christopher, you’re a wonderful young man; that hasn’t changed. And the greatest tragedy would be if you did change.”

She was surprised when he said, “I’m sorry about everything, Mom.”

“I know you are. I just need you to help me by being the young man I know.”

“I promise, nothing more is going to happen.”

She hugged him, but still she felt as if she’d lost part of him, a part she had to get back. She said a quick prayer, asking God to keep her son from the trials ahead. But even her prayer didn’t end the stirring inside her soul.

H
e may have been on punishment, but Christopher had been excited all week.

“If Christopher can have friends over, and he’s on punishment, why can’t Joy and Lara come to dinner too?” Tori whined as she placed three plates on the table. It was her fiftieth request to have her friends join them, but all appeals had been denied. This was a dinner her children thought was for Christopher. But it was really for Sheridan.

They’d completed the first week of Christopher’s punishment, but there hadn’t been the normal parental grief that came with having one of the children sentenced to weeks in his room. Christopher had been beyond pleasant from the moment last Sunday when Sheridan suggested he invite his new girlfriend to dinner.

“I thought I was on punishment,” he’d said, as if Sheridan needed reminding.

“You are, so don’t take this as a sign of anything. I just want to meet her. Do you think she’ll come to dinner?”

“Will she?” Christopher grinned. “She’s been dying to meet you.”

“Why haven’t you introduced us before?”

“I didn’t think you’d like her. But now I know that you will.”

No, I won’t,
she’d thought at the time. But she’d only smiled.

“Can she come on Saturday?” he asked. “It’s her birthday.”

Sheridan paused. Saturday was her anniversary. The beginning of what would have been the eighteenth year of her marriage. She didn’t want to spend that day with Christopher’s new friend. “Let’s do Friday.”

“Okay.” Anything was fine with Christopher.

Now Sheridan had spent the entire morning planning with Kamora, who tried to finagle her own invitation to this dinner.

“Girl, I just want to see what she’s like. With a name like Déjà, you know she’s ghetto,” Kamora had said when she dropped Sheridan back home after they’d shopped.

Sheridan laughed; Kamora had expressed what she was too polite to say aloud.

“Let me come,” Kamora had continued begging. “He’s my godson, and I need some entertainment after the week I’ve had. You know I broke up with Clark.” After none of her protests worked, Kamora said, “Well, call me the moment the thugette leaves.”

Sheridan had to make that solemn promise before Kamora drove away.

“Okay, Mom.” Tori’s whining invaded her thoughts. “Then can Lara and Joy sleep over next weekend?”

“We’ll see.”

Christopher barreled down the stairs. “She’s here. She’s here, Mom.”

“Oh, brother,” Tori said, rolling her eyes. “Why does she have to come to our house anyway?”

My thoughts exactly.
“Tori, be nice to your brother’s friend.”

“He’s never nice to mine. Ask Lara and Joy. He always calls them names and…”

Sheridan never heard Tori’s complete complaint. She waited in the hallway as Christopher opened the door. Her eyes widened as the girl pushed up on her toes and kissed Christopher as if his mother were not standing there.

Sheridan cleared her throat.

“Oh. Mom.” Sheridan hadn’t ever seen a grin so wide on her son’s face. Christopher entwined his fingers with the girl’s. “Mom, this is Déjà.”

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Hart.”

Sheridan wondered how she could talk with a wad of gum in her mouth so large that it stretched her cheek. “You too, Déjà.” For the first time she noticed her son’s shirt—a white T-shirt with a huge red heart in the center. It was identical to the shirt Déjà wore, only while Christopher’s was two sizes too big, Déjà’s was at least two sizes too small.

“Let’s go inside,” Sheridan said.

Following Christopher and Déjà, Sheridan stared at their hands, clasped together as if they’d been bonded by industrial-strength glue. And she wondered if they’d purchased the glue at the same place where they bought the paint to cover Déjà’s ample hips and thighs with what looked to be painted-on jeans.

They sat on the couch, and Sheridan parked herself across from them. Tori was already sitting Indian-style on the floor.

“Hi, I’m Tori.”

“Nice to meet you, Tori. I’m Déjà.”

“Hi, Deejay.”

“No, it’s
Day…zha,”
she said, pronouncing her name slowly.

Tori frowned.

“That’s okay, people mispronounce my name all the time.” She turned to Sheridan. “Thank you for inviting me to dinner, Ms. Hart.”

At least she’s polite,
Sheridan thought, a moment before Déjà blew a bubble so large, Sheridan was sure the gum would pop over her entire face. But Déjà sucked in the air and returned the gum to her mouth as if she were a bubble-blowing professional, never smearing the violet-colored gloss that shined her lips.

Sheridan said, “Christopher never told me, where did you two meet?”

“Well,” Déjà began, as she hooked her arm through Christopher’s, “Chris and I met when I was at the park watching my cousin Brendan play basketball.” She smiled into his eyes.

“His name is Christopher,” Tori interjected.

Déjà grinned. “I know his real name, but I love calling him Chris. It’s okay with you, isn’t it, baby?” Déjà purred.

Who are you calling baby?

“And look.” Déjà held up her hand showing fuchsia-colored inch-long nails with a letter painted in gold glitter on each finger.
C-H-R-I-S.
“I have my baby’s name on my nails. Just so everyone knows he’s mine.”

Tori laughed as if she had never seen anything so ridiculous.

Surely this is a joke.
But when Sheridan glanced at Christopher, he was gazing at Déjà, showing no signs of humor.

She cringed as Déjà squeezed even closer to Christopher, and Sheridan knew at any moment the girl would be on his lap. Or worse, he’d be sitting on hers.

“What school do you go to?” Tori asked, taking her place in the inquisition.

“I graduated,” Déjà said proudly.

“Aren’t you going to college?” Tori continued, as if she were the mother.

Déjà waved her other hand in the air, and Sheridan noticed all ten fingers claimed her son. “No, I’m going to beauty school in the summer.”

Tori scrunched her face. “Beauty school? What’s that?”

“None of your business,” Christopher said. He looked at Sheridan. “Mom, make her stop.”

“Tori, that’s enough.” Sheridan’s words had never been truer. She didn’t need to hear another thing.

But it wasn’t until they sat at the table that she was convinced she’d have to break this duo up. Déjà chatted about her life goals: having babies, getting married, and if her husband made enough money, maybe one day buying a house.

Only Déjà spoke. Tori sulked because she knew dinner would have been much more uplifting if her friends had been invited. And Christopher couldn’t speak. His eyes were glazed; he was hypnotized.

“Your son is wonderful,” Déjà gushed, as Sheridan picked at her pasta.

Déjà spoke with the confidence of a woman who knew she had her man. And throughout dinner, the way she touched Christopher’s hand, his arm, his cheek, let Sheridan know that Déjà was familiar with Christopher in ways that weren’t obvious.

Oh, my baby.
Sheridan shuddered.
Are they having sex?

“Ms. Hart, you should see my baby play basketball.”

He’s my baby.

“He told me he used to play golf, and he wanted to teach me, but I don’t wanna run around in the sun chasing a little ball.” Déjà laughed.

So why are you running around in the sun chasing a sixteen-year-old?

“Plus, I told Chris he’d develop his body more by playing basketball.” She rubbed his arm. “He’s already developed more muscles.”

Oh, my God.

“Ms. Hart, haven’t you noticed the changes in his body?”

“No!” Sheridan asked, “Déjà, what time are you leaving?”

Christopher’s eyes widened, horrified.

“I mean,” Sheridan began again, “Christopher told me your cousin was picking you up. I just want to make sure we have enough time for dessert.”

“Oh, we do,” Déjà said. “My father doesn’t care what time I get home.”

“What about your mom?” Tori asked, and Sheridan almost smiled. One day her little girl was going to make every overprotective mother in America proud.

“My mother is dead.”

Those words, spoken softly, covered the room with a blanket of sadness.

Oh, no. Well, that explains it.
“I’m sorry, Déjà,” Sheridan said. Her thoughts about the girl had been harsh. Déjà was doing the best she could without a female figure to guide her.

“It’s not too sad anymore,” Déjà said. “My mother died when I was four, and I have six older sisters. They helped my father raise me.”

Sheridan wondered what her sisters were like if it took six of them to come up with Déjà.

It was still another painful ninety minutes filled with chocolate-chip cheesecake and endless, meaningless chatter. By the time Déjà called her cousin, Sheridan was ready to drive the girl home herself.

“Thank you for a wonderful evening, Ms. Hart,” Déjà said, as Brendan’s Navigator waited in front of the house. He’d been honking for almost five minutes, and Sheridan wanted to run outside and ask him if Déjà’s sisters had raised him too.

“I hope we get to do this again,” Déjà said.

Sheridan marveled at the girl. At times she spoke so maturely, so politely.

Sheridan walked Christopher and Déjà to the door and stood there as if they needed a chaperone. When Christopher glared, Sheridan turned to the kitchen. It didn’t matter anyway. Not much could happen at their front door, and Christopher would be on punishment for another week. In that time she could come up with something to keep them apart. And if she couldn’t, she knew Kamora had a trick or two. No matter what it took, Christopher and Déjà were not going to be.