The Preachers Son (14 page)

After weeks of prodding, I’d finally convinced Tanisha to come to our house for Sunday dinner, only now that we were pulling into my driveway, I was having serious reservations. To be honest, I’d been having second thoughts since the moment I picked her up and saw what she was wearing. Don’t get me wrong, she looked good. Damn good. I would have been proud to have her on my arm if we were going to a club or a party, but to meet my parents she looked totally inappropriate. To start with, her scarlet dress was way too short, not to mention too tight. She wasn’t leaving anything to the imagination with that bad boy. I tried to be open minded. I mean hell, lots of people wear short skirts on Sundays, but already I could imagine her dress filtering through my mother’s eyes and I cringed inwardly.

I didn’t have the heart to tell her that her dress was inappropriate and would not pass my mother’s litmus test. Tanisha was already looking for an excuse to back out of meeting my parents, and I didn’t want to give her any reasons. Hopefully she’d make up for her dress’s shortcomings with her personality.

“You live here?” she asked in amazement as we stepped out of my truck and headed hand in hand up the walkway.

“Yeah, why? Is something wrong?” I looked around playfully.

“Nah, but your people must be rich. Your garage is bigger than my whole apartment.”

I squeezed her hand. “As my father would say, the Lord has been good to us.”

“I’ll say.”

When I opened the door, we were immediately greeted by Donna, who offered her hand to Tanisha.

“Hey, Tanisha.” She smiled, glancing momentarily down at Tanisha’s outfit then at me. There was no doubt in my mind that she was thinking the same thing I thought when I saw the outfit:
Trouble
! Tanisha, who was clueless to my sister’s and my silent communication, smiled back at Donna. It was obvious she was relieved to see a familiar face. “Look, girl, Dante is my mother’s favorite, so don’t take nothin’ personal that goes on tonight ’cause she be trippin’.”

Tanisha looked nervous. “I’ll try not to.”

“Where’s the first lady and the bishop?” I asked.

“They’re in the dining room, setting the table.”

“They alone or is Reverend Reynolds with them?”

“He’s out of town.”

I drew a deep breath and asked, “Well, sweetheart, you ready to meet my parents?”

“Not really, but I’m here, so let’s do it.”

We walked through the living room and into the dining room, where we found the bishop and the first lady sitting at the table in their Sunday attire. Of course, the bishop smiled the second he saw Tanisha. My mother, on the other hand, stared at her, stone faced.

“Ma, Bishop, this is Tanisha. Tanisha, these are my parents, Bishop T.K. Wilson and my mother, First Lady Charlene Wilson.”

“Nice to meet you, Bishop Wilson, and you, First Lady Wilson.”

“Just call me Bishop,” my father replied, offering his hand. Tanisha shook it then reached out to my mother, who ignored her. She didn’t even speak to Tanisha, which was her blatant message of disapproval. She merely eyed her up and down then, acting miffed, threw her nose in the air.

“It’s time for dinner,” she said with irritation.

“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” the bishop said, glancing at his watch.

We all sat down, and after my father delivered the blessing, which somehow felt more like a eulogy, we all began to eat in silence.

Finally, the bishop spoke up. “Well, Tanisha, where are you from?”

Tanisha paused before she spoke. “I’m from the Forty Projects.”

The bishop’s facial muscles twitched subtly then shifted downward as he glanced at my mother, who was sighing loudly. Trying his best to cover up his disappointment, he smiled at Tanisha. “We have quite a few parishioners from Forty Projects. Do you know Sister Wilma Johnson?”

“No, sir, I can’t say I do.”

“What about Sister Charlotte Dumpson?”

Tanisha shook her head.

“Too bad. Now, that sister can cook some fish.” The bishop smiled at the thought.

My mother fired a couple of questions at Tanisha.

“Is that a tattoo on your arm?”

“Yes, ma’am. I have three of them,” Tanisha said proudly. “I have one on my arm, one on my shoulder, and one on my—” She stopped herself when she realized my mother wasn’t impressed.

“In my day, the only women who had tattoos were Jezebels.”

Everyone fell silent. I was terrified of what might come out of my mother’s mouth next, but mercifully my father spoke first, changing the subject.

“So, Tanisha, what church do you belong to?”

“I don’t really belong to a church, although after hearing you preach last month, I’m thinking about joining First Jamaica Ministries. You were very inspiring.”

The bishop smiled. “Why, thank you, young lady. It’s always good to know the young people are listening. I hope you know the doors of First Jamaica Ministries are always open to you.”

“Well, the Lord knows I need to make use of them,” Tanisha replied.

“Now, that’s the first intelligent thing I’ve heard all night. You look like you could use some soul cleansing,” my mother snapped.

“Charlene,” the bishop scolded. “May those without sin throw the first stone.”

I was proud of Tanisha. It looked like she’d won over my father.

“So, Tanisha…did Dante tell you he would be starting at Howard’s Divinity School in the fall?” my mother interjected. “And that he plans to be a minister?”

“A minister?” Tanisha turned to me. “I thought you told me you wanted to be a lawyer.”

“A lawyer? Heavens no!” My mother’s eyes were on me like a laser beam. “Dante, what is she talking about?”

I sputtered, “Well, Ma, I’m thinking—maybe I don’t wanna be a—”

Before I could finish a thought, my mother spoke. Her voice was filled with even more venom than I expected. “That’s just it. You’re not thinking. So I’m going to think for you. Now, you’re going to Howard’s Divinity School and that’s final. I don’t know what’s gotten into you. Maybe it’s this tramp you brought home, but I thought at least one of my children had his head on straight.”

“Charlene,” the bishop tried to interject but my mother raised her hand and kept on talking.

“I’m ashamed of you, Dante. You know that? We have all these nice girls in the congregation but no! You have to bring home this…this tramp.”

“Ma!” was all I could manage to shout before Tanisha stood up slowly and calmly and placed her napkin on the table.

“Well, I guess I’ll just bounce my trampy self up out of here, then.” She pushed her chair in then spoke politely. “Donna, it was nice seeing you again. Bishop Wilson, thank you for dinner. Mrs. Wilson, you have a lovely home. I’m sorry we didn’t get to know each other better because we have something very special in common. We both love your son.”

She turned to me. I was still frozen in my seat. “Don’t worry about getting up, boo. Finish dinner with your family. I’ll catch a cab.” Then she marched out of the room with her head held high. I’d never seen anything classier in my entire life.

When I finally regained my composure, I turned to my mother. “Ma, I can’t believe you. How the hell can you call yourself a Christian acting like that?” I demanded to know.

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that, young man. I am still your mother, and you live under my roof.”

Infuriated, I saw red. I pushed my chair out and stood quickly, causing it to fall over with a bang. “I might live under your roof now, Ma, but that’s about to change.” I called out, “Tanisha, wait!”

I heard the bishop speak as I bolted from the room. “Charlene, that was uncalled for.”

“I can’t believe he chose her over us. I thought one of my children would do right,” was her snide reply.

I found Tanisha at the end of our block, using her cell phone. Apparently, she was trying to call a cab. I tried to talk her out of it, but she was determined not to take a ride home from me. Finally, when she had waited a half hour, she realized no cab was coming. She reluctantly settled into my car, but she refused to speak to me during the drive.

The night had been a total disaster, and I was blaming myself. Maybe if I had prepared Tanisha better for my mother’s attitude, or if I had asked her to put on a different dress, then none of this would have happened. But as I looked over at Tanisha in the passenger seat, I realized I didn’t want her to change—not for my mother or for anyone else. I thought she was perfect just the way she was.

I’d been sitting in my car crying for the better part of twenty minutes before I decided to wipe my tears and go inside. If there was ever a day that I wished Terrance was home, it was today. He’d gone away to a wedding in South Carolina and I needed him. I needed him bad and I couldn’t wait until he returned, ’cause this was quite possibly the worst day of my life.

The light shining in the living room told me my parents were waiting up, and my day was probably only going to get worse. I really didn’t wanna hear my mother’s mouth about me coming in so late. It was only a little past midnight, but there was no doubt in my mind that she and the bishop would be sitting in there waiting for me to come through the door.

God, did I hate my mother’s double standards. She never treated Dante like this. Ever since he was sixteen years old, he could come and go as he pleased and she wouldn’t say a word. But if I walked into the house even one minute after eleven on a weekday or a second after midnight on a weekend without a decent excuse, she’d have a fit. I swear I would have paid good money if I could have found someone to make her understand that I was twenty years old and no longer needed her to babysit my virtue. Didn’t she realize that anything she wanted to stop me from doing after midnight I could just as easily do before?

When I walked into the house, just as I expected, both my mother and father were sitting in the living room waiting for me. My father was still in his suit, reading his Bible as he sat in a high-back chair. My mother was sprawled across the sofa in her silk housecoat, looking distraught. She sat up immediately when I entered the house. I knew what she was going to say before she even opened her mouth.

“Mother, I’m sorry I’m late, but—”

She stopped me before I could explain. “Sit down!” her shrill voice demanded as she pointed to the love seat.

I reluctantly did as I was told, mentally preparing for her lecture on how a responsible Christian lady conducts herself. This was a lecture I’d heard a million times before, though I couldn’t figure out why. It wasn’t like I had given my mother a whole bunch of reasons to lecture me on virtue. Before Terrance, I was pretty well behaved as far as teenagers go. Even now, I came in late a few times and forgot about Bingo, but it wasn’t like I was presenting myself as a hootchie or something. Nevertheless, my mother always found something to nag me about, and tonight would be no exception.

She had been staring at my red eyes, so I was sure she was about to falsely accuse me of some type of drug use. My mother had always been our household disciplinarian, and even though she’d stopped using a switch a few years back, if you weren’t prepared for her tongue-lashings, you could get your feelings hurt. That’s why I was both surprised and relieved when my father started to speak.

“Is everything all right, princess? You look a little upset. Is there anything you wanna tell us?” His voice was low and filled with concern. He must have spotted my red eyes, too.

“Everything’s fine, Bishop. I—”

My mother cut me off again. “Stop beating around the bush, T.K., and ask her. This isn’t a time for games. This is our family’s reputation on the line. Now, you ask her or I will.”

“Ask me what?” I turned to the bishop for an answer but the question came out of my mother’s mouth.

“Donna, are you pregnant?”

“Huh?” was the only response I could manage. My mouth hung open as I stared at my mother in bug-eyed disbelief. I couldn’t believe what she had just asked me. Especially since her question sounded more like a statement. I turned to the bishop, who was now sitting on the edge of his chair waiting for my response. The concern in his face was even deeper than before.

“Madonna Marie Wilson! I asked you a question. Are you pregnant?” my mother snarled in her holier-than-thou voice.

I was still speechless. Where was this coming from? Was she on a fishing expedition, or had she been searching my room again? Dammit, I knew I should have hidden those condoms in a better place than my dresser drawer.

“She’s pregnant, T.K. There’s no doubt in my mind,” she snapped with certainty.

My head was spinning.
How the hell could she know that I’m pregnant?
I asked myself.
Damn, I only found out myself this morning.

I glanced back and forth between my parents, trying not to look into my father’s eyes. Suddenly, all my questions were answered when my mother started to wave the small plastic applicator from the home pregnancy test I had taken that morning. As I suspected, my mother had violated my privacy once again, this time by going through my bedroom wastebasket, looking for anything she could nag me about. And unfortunately for me, this time she’d found more than even she probably expected.

“Charlene, calm down. You’re not giving her a chance to speak,” the bishop admonished. He shot my mother a look, letting her know that he was taking control of our conversation, and she reluctantly sat back on the sofa. My mother might have been the disciplinarian in our house, but there was no doubt my father was the king of his castle. He turned his attention to me. “Are you, princess? Are you pregnant?”

I couldn’t lie to my father, although I wanted to. So, ashamedly I lowered my head and whispered, “Yes, Bishop, I’m pregnant.”

He inhaled loudly, clutching his Bible as he sat back in his chair. He actually remained pretty calm, but I was sure he wasn’t pleased with the fact that his little princess, as he called me, was pregnant. Instead of speaking, he just stared at the floor. I could almost feel the hurt and disappointment he must have been feeling.

Tears sprang to his eyes and mine as I whispered, “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

He didn’t say a word. He just lifted his head, and when our eyes met, I knew I was forgiven and that everything would be all right. He opened his arms and I sprang into them, weeping like I was a five-year-old child. Even at twenty I was still his little princess, and that meant the world to me.

My father was the sweetest, kindest, and gentlest man I’d ever met, and to be honest, it was him that I hated to disappoint, not my mother. She’d made it clear years ago that there was room for only one woman in our house, and that was her. So either I was gonna stay a little girl under her thumb or I was gonna have to go.

“I can’t believe this. Now what are we gonna do? I told you we needed to keep a closer eye on her, T.K.,” my mother snapped sarcastically, sounding as if my news had just proven every negative thing she’d ever said about me. “But nooooo, you didn’t wanna invade her privacy. You trusted her. Do you trust her now?” My mother was now back in control and staring at me with a sinister look. “Lord, why couldn’t you have given us another son instead of a hot-to-trot daughter?”

“Charlene!” my father shouted sharply. “I know you’re upset, but Donna isn’t perfect and neither are you.”

“Upset is an understatement, T.K. I’m way past upset. I’m pissed off. How could you do this to us, Donna?” The look she gave me was as cold as they come.

“It…it was an ac-accident,” I sobbed.

“An accident?” My mother’s voice went into hysterics. “Did you accidentally pull down your britches and let some man do his business? Please, I know you can do better than that.”

“Charlene, you need to calm down. What’s done is done. All we can do now is try to help Donna.”

“Help her?” My mother laughed. “Seems to me, T.K., that’s all I’ve ever tried to do for her. I’ve done everything in my power to make this girl become a good Christian woman and prevent this from happening. Without your help, I might add. But now she’s on her own. I want her out! I want her outta my house!”

“Charlene, where do you expect her to go?” my father reasoned.

“She can move down South with your sister and have her baby, but she’s not staying here to embarrass this family or me. Now pack your shit, Donna, and get out my house!” She pointed at the door. This was no heat-of-the-moment speech from my mother. She was serious; she honestly wanted me to leave.

“Daddy,” I whined.

“Don’t worry, princess. You’re not going anywhere.” He turned to my mother. “Charlene, I’d like a word with you in private if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t care what you say, T.K. That ungrateful wench is not staying in my house.”

“I’d like a word in private, Charlene,” my father repeated sternly. My mother immediately but reluctantly got up from her chair. “Excuse us, princess.”

I let go of my father and he stood and walked toward the kitchen. My mother followed him with her arms folded across her chest and a huge scowl across her face. She refused to make eye contact as she passed by me.

A few seconds later I could hear them arguing. I couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but my mother was yelling from the very start. To my surprise, my father began to yell even louder. That was something I couldn’t ever remember happening before, and from the look on my mother’s face when they returned, neither could she.

“Okay, Donna.” My mother took a deep breath then sat down next to me, placing her arm stiffly around my shoulder. I couldn’t be sure, but I think she was even holding back a few tears. “Maybe I was a little too hard on you. If I was, I’m sorry. I know this can’t be easy on you. It’s just that you’re my only daughter and I love you. I just want what’s best for you. You haven’t even finished college.” I’d never heard my mother speak with such concern. “Well, what’s done is done. How far along are you?”

I wiped away a few tears. “I’m not sure. Two, maybe three months. I missed two periods.”

She exhaled, her voice still filled with newfound concern. “Well, that’s good. At least you won’t be showing at your wedding.”

I froze for about three seconds then sat up straight as a board. “Wedding? Who said anything about a wedding?”

“I just assumed the baby’s father
is
going to marry you.”

Marry me?
I thought.
He doesn’t even know he’s a daddy yet.

“Once again, you assumed wrong, Mother.”

She moved away from me, pulling her arm off my shoulder, looking at my father. I know she was dying to tell him, “I told you so.”

“B-but why? Why wouldn’t he wanna marry you?” my father stuttered.

I looked at my dad knowing he wanted an answer, but I doubted he would want to hear that I was pregnant by his good friend and right-hand man, the Reverend Terrance Reynolds. So I kept quiet.

“Listen, princess, maybe your mother and I should have a talk with him.”

“No, Daddy!” I replied desperately. “Leave him be. Leave him alone!”

“Leave him alone? What do you mean leave him alone?” my mother demanded. “He got you pregnant! That makes him responsible. He has a responsibility to you and his baby to make this right.”

I gathered all my strength then replied, “I said no, Mother! I’m not having any shotgun wedding. Did you ever think that I might be the one who doesn’t wanna get married?”

All expression left my father’s face. “But princess, why? Why wouldn’t you wanna get married?”

“Probably because he’s ghetto!” my mother accused. “She’s always been a attracted to ghetto people, T.K., just like you.” I wanted to slap my mother for saying that, and I guess my father could see it.

“Charlene! You’re not helping matters.” My father glared at my mother and she sat back in her chair with a pout. “Donna.” My father’s voice was as serious as it had been all night. “I need you to tell me who this young man is and where I can find him. I’d like to have a man-to-man talk with him.”

“I can’t do that, Bishop,” I replied defiantly.

My father gave me a disappointed look. “Why not?”

“Because, because—” I was about to admit that I hadn’t told Terrance yet, but my mother cut me off.

“Because she don’t know who the father is. Do you?”

I was so hurt by my mother’s accusation that tears exploded from my eyes. All I wanted to do was hurt her back, so I lashed out at her in a nasty sneer, not really caring how it might affect my father.

“And what if I don’t know who the father is, Mother?” I shouted hysterically. “What do you want me to do, give you a list of the five most likely candidates so you can decide which one you want to be your son-in-law?”

Both my parents sat back speechless in their chairs. My mother looked like she wanted to hit me, and my father, well, he was in shock.

“How could you do this to us? You tramp. Look at your father. He just announced to the world that he’s running for borough president, and he might’ve had a good chance before you went and did this. Now he doesn’t have a chance running on a family values platform!”

She looked at my father and tried to bring him into her campaign to crush what was left of my self-esteem. Granted, there wasn’t much left for her to do considering how bad I already felt about this, but she was going to try just the same. I wanted to just disappear at that moment.

“Leave her be, Charlene,” my father said softly.

“No, T.K. Can’t you see she’s done this to hurt us? To hurt me. She ain’t nothing but a tramp who didn’t have the common sense to use protection. Jesus, I can just hear Lillian Wright and the other deaconesses now. ‘Did you hear about the bishop’s daughter? That heathenous wench done gone and got herself knocked up and she don’t even know who the father is.’”

My father, as always, was there to protect my feelings from my mother’s harsh words. “Charlene, you’re wrong. Donna is human and she made a mistake. She didn’t do it to hurt us. Really, this is between Donna and God. It has very little to do with us.”

“How naive can you get, T.K.? This has everything to do with us as long as you’re the bishop of the church and I’m the first lady. You’re never gonna be elected to borough president now, and you might have a tough time keeping your job as pastor once the deacons board finds out. Lord, how could I have one child that’s so good and another that’s so bad?”

There she went again, throwing Dante up in my face. I loved my brother, but it always hurt when my mother tried to compare me to him. He was nowhere near being a saint, but in her eyes, compared to him, I always ended up looking like yesterday’s garbage. Sure, I’d messed up big-time and I knew that, but this was by far not the first time she’d compared me to Dante. Even when I did small things, like spill a drink on the kitchen floor, my mother would rant about how stupid I was, how clumsy I was, how I should try to be more like Dante. Now that I’d gotten pregnant, I doubted I’d ever hear the end of her insults.