She waved her hand in the air. “I was just making sure the girl ate. So many women today are afraid to eat meat and all that. They watch one documentary on Netflix and next thing you know they’ve sworn off all meat and dairy products. It’s ridiculous.” She turned, cutting pieces of the chocolate cake she always made for my father and putting them on plates.
“Ma, Netflix documentaries? What are you even talking about? Can you just tone it down a little with the attitude toward Angela? She’s my guest.” I was doing my best to be as respectful as possible.
She shrugged. “Fine.”
“I’m going to bring out the cheesecake tarts as well,” I stated. I moved to the counter where the platter was sitting and removed the lid, exposing the little mini tarts. It was apparent that Angela had gone through a lot of trouble making these. Knowing that pissed me off even more at my mother’s behavior. I heard the kitchen door open and then swing shut behind me. I sorted the desserts out on the platter and then carried them to the table.
“Ohh, look at these.” My father’s eyes grew bigger in excitement, staring at the cheesecake. “Are those strawberry cheesecake tarts?”
“With graham cracker crust,” Angela answered, smiling proudly.
“I must try one of them. I don’t know if my son has told you, but I have a thing for chocolate cake and cheesecake.”
“He may have mentioned something about it.” She winked at me.
“Yep, I?”
“We need to light the candles before it gets too late. Don’t want it sitting out too long. That’s how cake dries out,” my mother began, shoving my father’s plate with his slice of cake on it practically in his lap.
My father gave Angela and I a contrite look before smiling at my mother as she lit the three candles she’d placed in the center of the cake.
“Time to make a wish!” Angela clapped‚ causing my father to laugh.
“We don’t make wishes in this house. We work for what we want.” My mother stared pointedly at Angela. Between my mother’s glare and Lisa’s stupid giggle in the background, I’d had it.
“That’s it. Ma, in the kitchen!” I stood and moved to the kitchen without a backward glance. “What is your problem?” I was doing my best to rein in my temper.
“I am not the one with a problem!” my mother protested. “Why did you let that girl come here with cheesecake of all things? Did you bother to tell her your father is lactose intolerant?”
I stared at my mother as if she had three heads. She was ordinarily one of the most rational people I’ve ever met. Except now nothing she was saying was making a bit of sense.
“No, I didn’t think it would be appropriate to discuss my father’s digestion issues,” I stated flatly. “What is thisreallyabout? The truth.”
“She’s not right for you!” my mother burst out, hands waving in the air.
My head shot back at how adamantly she stated this. “How would you even know that? You’ve barely spoken to her the entire time we’ve been here.”
“I just know. A mother knows these things. I can’t believe the first woman you bring home in years is someone likeher.Did she even go to college?”
I squinted at my mother, not believing what she was insinuating. “Ma, what do you meansomeone like her?”
“I just meant?”
“She’s black.”
“No! Of course not,” she insisted. “I mean, I don’t know anything about this girl’s background. Who knows where orifshe went to college? What does she even do for a living? She has purple hair for goodness sake!”
I tightened my jaw, still not liking the distasteful tone my mother was taking on or the way in which she spoke about Angela.
“You need a good, ambitious woman like Lisa in your corner. She just got promoted to manager of her bank branch.”
I sucked my teeth. “Are you even listening to me? Do you even hear yourself?”
“I am … I just am worried about you. Ever since you quit your job at Townsend to become a firefighter?”
I erupted at the way she said, firefighteras if it was gum on the bottom of her shoe. “Are you fu?” I paused, remembering this was still my mother. “Are you serious? So this is about my career? You know what? I’m not fucking doing this.” I stormed out of the kitchen, violently pushing the door open.
“Dad, thank you for inviting us. I wanted to give this to you once we had cake, but that’s not happening. Here you go.” I pulled the envelope with the card inside from my back pocket. Inside were two tickets to the opera. Both my parents loved the opera.
