Unbeweaveable (18 page)

Circle of Life

We ordered our dessert to go—fudge brownies thick as bricks topped with homemade caramel and vanilla ice cream. We ran, ignoring the crazed glances from strangers, eager to get to our hotel room before it melted. We laughed like kids as we ate our brownies and ice cream soup.

“I'm having fun,” Renee said, licking the back of her spoon. We were both lying across her bed on our stomachs, our legs up in the air.

“I am, too.” And I was, which was a surprise.

“So, tell me a secret.”

I rolled my eyes. “You really are trying to make this thing into a big slumber party, aren't you?”

“Well, it is. We just need to throw on pajamas. Go on,” she said, nudging my arm. “Tell me a secret. I'll tell if you tell.”

I sighed. “All right, let me think.” I licked the back of my spoon and said, “I haven't seen my real hair since high school.”

“No, try again. That's not a secret.”

“Okay, well…I pluck all the hairs off my big toe.”

“Gross! You're supposed to be telling me a secret,
not
describing your beauty routine.”

“That is a secret! You didn't know, did you?”

“No, but—”

“Okay, so I told a secret.”

“Come on, that doesn't count. I want a real secret!”

I sighed again, hoping she could sense my displeasure. “All right, if you really want to know, I tell everybody that I dump all my boyfriends, but the truth is they dump me.”

“Really? How many have you had?”

“Three.”

“And all three of them have dumped you?”

I nodded. “And get this, they all tell me the same thing. They all say that I'm ‘boring,
'
” I said, making air quotes with my fingers.

She kept eating her ice cream without looking at me.

“Can you believe those jokers? They say I'm too rigid, not flexible, and not fun! What a bunch of losers.”

Renee kept eating her ice cream.

“What? You don't think they…You think I'm not fun?”

“Well…”

“I don't believe this! I am the queen of fun!”

“Okay, name something you've done fun in the last couple of weeks.”

“The last couple of weeks don't count because I was stressed about being unemployed.”

“Okay then, the last couple of months.”

“Same thing.”

“All right then, when you thought your job was secure. When was the last time you had fun?”

I bit into a piece of brownie and thought back. What about when…no, that didn't count, that was work-related. Surely when I went…no, that was for the job, too. Was I that pathetic that I can't remember the last time I laughed, let alone had fun? I slowly came to the realization that my evening with Renee was the most fun I'd had in a long time.

“I don't remember,” I said sadly.

She smiled at me. “Well, if it's any consolation, our trip here has been anything but boring.”

I laughed.

“And look, that's the second time you've laughed tonight! That's a record.”

“Thanks.”

She nudged my shoulder again.

“All right, Dr. Phil, what's your secret?” I was through with her analyzing me. Now it was her turn.

She paused for a minute, then said, “I wish we had the same father. I hated when we were younger and you introduced me as your half-sister.”

“That bothers you?”

She nodded. “You haven't done it since being back, but still…”

“Okay. I'll start calling you my sister. We don't look anything alike, so people will figure it out on their own…What are you doing?”

She was off the bed and throwing the remains of her brownie in the trash.

“You just did it again. I'm aware of how we look in the mirror. You act like my skin color gives me some kind of power over you—”

“It does. I've seen with my own eyes how your skin color and wavy hair is like a magic wand that gives you everything you want. I love you, Renee. And I appreciate everything you've done for me, but we have different fathers. That makes us half-sisters. It is what it is.”

“I'm well aware of what it is. But you act like you don't want to claim me sometimes.”

“I do, Renee. A lot of times I just said it so people wouldn't ask questions. If I introduced you as my half-sister I wouldn't get all the stares. It just made things easier for me.”

“All right. I forgive you,” she said teasingly, sitting back on the bed.

“Well, it's about time somebody forgave me. I've committed more mistakes this past week then in my whole life.” I ate another spoon of my brownie. “I want to leave tomorrow. I need to get started about my father.”

“You really are going through with this, aren't you?”

“I have to. Wouldn't you?”

“Yes.” She nudged my arm again. “I'm proud of you.”

“Don't be. I'm beyond scared.”

“That's normal. At least you're still going to meet him. Can I ask a favor?”

I held my breath and nodded.

“Can we leave tomorrow night? You were teasing me by showing me all those shops and not letting me go inside any of them. I want to get some shopping done.”

I laughed. “Whew. I thought you were going to tell me something else in my childhood that I did wrong.”

She hit my arm again.

“I know I'm black, but if you keep hitting me you're going to leave a mark.”

Now it was her turn to laugh.

“But that's fine,” I said. “That will give me a chance to say goodbye to Norma.”

“I want to go with you.”

“You sure?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Did you really want to be a mother?”

“More than anything.”

“You will.”

“I know. I know I'll get another chance. It's just hard, you know?”

“I can imagine.” I grabbed her hand. “I know I haven't been there for you before, but I'm here for you now. Sis.”

She tightened her grasp in my hand. “Thank you.”

* * *

Is this what it could have been like growing up? Having fun conversations and eating so much junk food that you think you'll be sick, but surprisingly find yourself feeling fine? And I do feel fine. No, better than fine.

I wrote as I sat on top of the closed toilet seat in the bathroom, Renee's snoring creeping in under the crack in the door.

I missed out not only on having a father, but on having a sister. Who can I blame for that one? Only myself. This trip has been more eye-opening than I wanted. So far I've learned that I'm a selfish, boring, mean bully that loves to intimidate people who I think are inferior. But that's not me at all. Not the me I want to be, anyway.

* * *

Renee slept during the plane ride back to Houston. The way she marathon shopped from store to store, she had me tired—and this was coming from someone who felt they
invented
marathon shopping.

Saying goodbye to Norma was hard. She cried as she hugged me—so tight that she squeezed tears out of my eyes.

“You're going to get the love you've been searching for your whole life.”

“You think so?” I asked into her hair.

“I know so. He's going to love you, Mariah. Just like I love you.”

“What if he doesn't?”

We broke apart and she held my face in her hands. “Trust me. He has to love you.”

Has to love me.

I looked over at Renee and hoped I was making the right decision.

* * *

Houston's heat slammed into me like a car accident.

“Man, it's hot,” I said, slinging my bag into the backseat of the rental.

“I can't believe that a Toyota Camry was the only car they had left,” Renee whined, getting into the driver's seat.

“So sorry, princess, all the Bentleys were rented out.”

“Shut up,” she said, starting the ignition. “Where to?”

“Grandpa's, right?” We both decided before we left New York that I should start with Grandpa for information about my father.

She shook her head.

“I need to go home first.”

“Well, take me to Grandpa's first.”

“No.”

“What?”

“I've been talking to Mama—”

“
Your
mama.”

“She wants to see you—”

“I'm jumping out this car, Renee. Don't pull this on me.”

“You need to talk to her. She might have more information than Grandpa.”

“I'm not talking to her,” I said, my teeth clenched, my hands turning to fists.

“Relax,” she said, touching my shoulder.

I flinched. “I can't believe you're doing this.”

“Do you trust me?”

“No.”

“Well, too bad. We're going anyway.”

“I
don't
want to see her.”

“Do you want to meet your father?”

“Yes.”

“Then you need to talk to her. She's the one that has the information you need.”

“I can't believe it's come to this.”

“The circle of life.”

I turned away from her and faced the window.

“Don't be upset.”

“Shut up.”

The rest of the trip was in silence.

Hat Box

She was sitting outside when we arrived.

Her back was to us as she was overlooking the patio.

“I'm going to my room.”

Renee snatched my bag from my hands. “No, you're not. Go,” she said, pointing outside to Beverly's direction.

I glared at her.

Her face softened. “Please. I promise this will help.”

She nudged me, and I walked toward her, willing my legs to freeze. They wouldn't, they worked like my brain told them, and I was standing on the patio, hot wind blowing my face. Not my hair, I might add. I pulled out a chair from the iron patio set, making a harsh scraping sound against the concrete. I sat down and waited for her to turn around, but she was more interested in Houston's skyline than in me. As usual.

Several minutes passed and she turned around to face me. Her nose was red and swollen, and her eyes were watery.

“I look pretty bad, don't I?”

I didn't say anything.

She sat down across from me. Her face lacked the foundation and blush that usually sat on her skin, and her hair was flat and lifeless, without all the Texas volume and bounce it usually had. I noticed the small lines around her eyes and mouth for the first time. Her shoulders were hunched and her expression was drawn. There was a hat box on the table, covered with faded pink roses. I kept my focus on it, refusing to look at her. If I looked at her eyes, drained and dead, then I would apologize, like I always did, for being born. I wouldn't do that again.

“Renee says you want to meet your father.”

“Yes.”

She slid the box to me.

“What's this?”

“Look in it.”

I opened the box and saw a mass of crumpled papers. I picked one up and smoothed its edges and read it.

Why don't you call? Is it something I've done or said? Whatever it is we can
work it out. Please don't be scared…

“My father wrote these? To you?”

“Yes.”

“Why are you—”

“I thought this would help.”

“How?”

She reached her hands to me across the table, but I pulled away. She sighed. “This is all I have to give you.”

“You could have told me the truth. You shouldn't have lied—”

She put her hand up. “I know you hate me right now. But read these letters before you pass judgment.”

She stood up.

“That's it? That's the big speech?” I stood and faced her. “That's the big forgiveness speech? You lie about my father being dead and you think a box full of letters is going to fix it?” I shook my head. “You are so lazy—always wanting someone else to fix everything for you. This isn't enough,” I said, standing.

“What do you want from me?
Blood?
I've racked my brain trying to figure out how to fix this, but honestly I don't know if I can. I have done my
best
with you. Ever since you were a little girl you've wanted an excuse to hate me. So now you have an excuse. So HATE me,” she screamed, spittle flying from her mouth.

“Be careful for what you wish for.” I grabbed the box and left the room.

* * *

What can I do to get you back? I've begged and still nothing. Marriage is hard, don't let ours end this way. I love you. I need you. Please come home. I know things are hard with my mama, so I've saved enough for us to get our own place. Please come back. I'll take care of you and the baby. Your father told me that we had a girl. Did you still name her Mariah?

Love, Paul

I want to see my daughter, Beverly. I know me and you can't be together, but why would you block me from seeing my daughter? I love her. She needs a father in her life. Don't let what happened to us mess her up. Please contact me.

Love, Paul

A knock on the door stopped me from digging further into the box and retrieving another letter. I knew it was Renee, and told her to come in.

“I take it things didn't go well?”

I shrugged. “What did you expect?”

She sighed. “I thought you two would patch things up.”

“Some things can't be patched up.” I patted the spot next to me on the bed and she sat down.

“What are you reading?”

I handed her one of the letters.

“This is dated over twenty years ago. You think he still lives here?”

“Let's hope so.”

Renee started reading aloud:

“
Beverly,

You pushed for this divorce. Well, I won't stop you. I thought your father was always behind your silence, but know that I see it in writing that you don't love me—”

She stopped reading and looked at me. I nodded and she continued.

“The court ordered me to pay child support, and
even though you refused, I'm a man and I take care of my responsibilities.”

She pulled a check out of the envelope.

“It's made out to Mama. Two hundred and twenty seven dollars?”

“Must have been child support.”

“You think he sent a check—”

I nodded.

“Every month?”

“I haven't looked through the whole box, but I think so.”

“Oh, Mariah—”

“Don't look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you pity me.”

“I don't pity you, Mariah, I was just…” She shook her head. “Never mind. What are you going to do now?”

“Isn't it obvious?”

“You're going to find him.” She sighed. “Oh boy.” She flicked over the envelope, and read the address aloud: “5217 Herkimer Lane, Memphis, Tennessee.”

“Well, Memphis, here we come.”