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Authors: Rhonda McKnight

BOOK: An Inconvenient Friend
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“Well, that's something else we have in common.” Angelina smiled. This time it held appreciation. “My daddy left too. And my mother? I have never heard her talk about a man. If I found out she had one, they'd have me stretched out in one of those beds in there.” We both laughed. “I think she hates men, but she also seems to think they're the answer to every problem a woman has. It's a strange thing going on in her head.”
I lay my head back against the wall. “My mother is three hundred pounds. She's ignorant and she's crass.” Tears burned my eyes. “If you went in there right now and she was able to speak to you, she'd say something crazy, and I'd be embarrassed.”
Angelina reached into her purse for more tissue and handed them to me just as the first of two hot tears escaped the prison I'd tried to hide them in.
“It doesn't matter.” Angelina exhaled. “She's your mother. She's not someone to be ashamed of.”
More tears spilled down my face. “You haven't talked to her.”
“We can't choose our family. The only thing we choose is what we do. And as for shame, we all have something we're ashamed of.”
“Oh, yeah? I can't imagine that's true of you.” I looked at her sideways. Tried to imagine what she could be ashamed of. We were killing time, so I asked. Teased her with my tone. “What's your secret shame?”
Angelina paused for a moment. I could tell she was trying to decide if she were going to tell me. “I'm ashamed of how I treated my father before he died.” She turned to me and her eyes were misty. “My dad left us when I was six. He worked construction and there wasn't any work in New Jersey at the time. Or as my father said, the Portuguese had taken over the jobs brothers did back then on the construction sites.” She laughed. “Anyway, he got a job, but it was in California, so he went out there to work. I remember he used to call me every week, but then the calls got fewer and fewer, and then they stopped all together.” She paused. “When I was in college, I heard from him. He was still in California. He wrote me some letters, begged me to come see him. He said he was sick, and he wanted to see me before he died. I wanted to punish him for leaving, for leaving me and Mom. For leaving me with Mom.” She laughed through tears. “So I didn't respond. I don't think I really believed that he was dying.” She shook her head, and I squeezed her hand. It felt like the right thing to do. It's what I would do if I were comforting a patient at work.
Angelina continued. “After I graduated, I became curious. I tried to contact him, but he didn't answer. So I flew to Los Angeles to try to find him.”
“What happened?”
“I found my daddy buried in a pauper's grave. He'd been writing me from a church mission that housed homeless men. He had hepatitis C. He'd been an I.V. drug user, but he got saved when he got sick, and he was trying to reach out ...”
I squeezed her hand again. It seemed to give her the strength to keep talking.
“I let my daddy die alone because I wanted to punish him.” She threw her head back. “The only person who ended up punished was me. That was a year of his life that I could have had with him, but I was stubborn and angry.” She sniffed and a slow, joyless smile crept over her face. “Try to find something to love about your mom. She's not perfect. None of us are, but she's here. She didn't abandon you.”
I nodded. Thought about how I could share my daddy story, but chose not to. My daddy, the singer who sang my name every day until he walked out the door when I was five. He didn't have a job waiting in California. He hadn't made empty promises, and he hadn't said good-bye. He had just left. That wasn't anything to share.
“And I don't know anything about that Mekhi, but I can tell that he loves you. It's in his eyes, and you feel something for him too. It's obvious.”
I let her hand go and stood. “Oh no, sister-friend, we're not going there. Mekhi and I have too much bad history.”
“What did he do? Hurt you, disappoint you?”
“You could describe it that way.”
“He's not the man you were talking about the other day. The one you're dating because he has money.”
I shook my head.
Angelina crossed her legs. Seemed to settle in for more of this soliloquy. “People do things wrong, but forgiveness goes a long way. Remember what I taught you about Jesus. He forgives us, and we must forgive each other.”
I turned my back to Angelina's pleas and took a few steps to my left toward the dirty window that looked out over the trash compactor. Mekhi's face filled my memory. I rolled my eyes and sighed. Mekhi let me sit in jail. All the begging and showing up at hospitals wasn't going to change that, and that wasn't going to change how I felt about his betrayal. “I hear what you're saying, but sometimes that's easier said than done.”
She nodded. “I agree, but we still need to forgive. It's more for us than it is for the other person. When you don't forgive, you hold on to anger and hate. It fills you up, and you can't fit any love and peace inside of you.”
“But what if they do it again?” I asked.
Angelina was on a roll. “I'm not saying you have to keep a relationship with them.” She stopped and measured her words. “I'm not saying you have to have a relationship with Mekhi. But at least forgive him and see where it goes.”
I looked back out the window at all the trash. It was a mess like my relationship with Mekhi, my best friend, my lover had become. I'd been angry with him for so long, I didn't know how not to be.
“Consider this, Rae. Especially since we're standing here in a hospital. If you only had one week left to live, who would you want to spend it with? Who would make you laugh and feel happy? Mekhi, or Mr. Ralph Lauren comforter?”
I nodded. “I'll think about it,” I said, trying to convince Angelina—and myself. “I'll work it out in my head.”
I'm just not sure how.
Chapter 26
I stood over my mother's hospital bed, looking at all the tubes attached to her body. The vent tube in her mouth gave me the chills, but the beeps and other sounds from the machines gave me comfort. Even though she wasn't conscious, I knew the numbers on the digital screens were good, and she was only on the ventilator as a precaution. They were sure they'd be able to take it out tomorrow.
I watched her sleep. Drugs. They'd found an excessive amount of oxycontin in her system. I remembered what she'd said that night on the phone. She'd used the word we.”
“
We just need some until the end of the month.
How had I missed that?
“Mama, I'm going to get you some help,” I whispered. I kissed two of my fingers and pressed them against her forehead.
I didn't know about June, but my mother wasn't going to kill herself taking drugs. Not if I could do anything about it. I stepped out of the room. Angelina had been waiting by the door.
“It's time to leave.” I could hear weariness in my own voice. “She's sedated, so she's not waking up tonight.”
Angelina nodded. “She's going to be okay. I'll be praying for her, and I'm going to ask the prayer ministry to pray for her.”
I nodded my head. If a prayer could help, I wanted it to be done. I hadn't told Angelina about the OX. Even though she'd shared that her father was a drug addict, I wasn't ready to give that information up. It was too new even for me.
We exited the hospital through the emergency room doors. Our vehicles were parked close together, so we were about to go our separate ways, but I was curious about something and I had to ask her. “Why did you tell me that story, about your dad? It was so personal.”
“Because you needed to hear it.” I waited for her to explain herself the way I knew she would. “As Christians, our painful experiences are not only about us. We have to be willing to share what we've been through to help others. I wanted you to know that shame was not a burden you bear alone. So I'm Dr. Preston's wife. I have my own business and a big time position with Youth and Child Services. I've got on a suit I paid way too much money for.” She laughed. “And I drive an eighty thousand dollar car. My daddy was a heroin addict that I had to dig up out of a state grave to give a decent burial.” The smile that had touched her lips was gone. “Everybody's got stuff, Rae. None of us are exempt from pain and drama. But we have to talk to each other, so we don't feel alone in our trials. That's what we do for each other, as sisters in Christ.”
“Sisters.” I sighed. “I don't think I make very good sister material. I've done horrible things, Angelina. I can't t believe someone like you is even here with me.” I swallowed to keep my emotions inside.
“We're all a work in progress. We sister-friends gotta hang in there with each other.” She smiled and rubbed her arm. “Oh, and speaking of which. I almost forgot.” She reached into her handbag and pulled out a picture. It was of her and me at the church. “Sister Green took this a few weeks ago. Remember when she came in all excited about her new camera? I was going to give it to you tonight.”
I accepted the picture. Looked at our twin smiles. Sister-friends she'd called us. We really did look like sisters. It actually hurt my heart because as the younger model, I looked like her. I wonder if she saw the resemblance. I looked in this woman's eyes.
What was I doing? How could I keep doing it?
Her phone rang. She pulled it out of her bag. “This is my husband. I'll see you tomorrow.” She gave my arm a squeeze. “Call me as soon as you have an update on your mom, or if you need anything.”
I nodded and watched her rush to her car. It was nine. No doubt the good doctor, or no-good doctor was home trying to find out where his woman was. Angelina pulled out of the parking space and waved as she sped off. I went to my car and climbed inside. There was an envelope stuck under the windshield wiper. I climbed back out and retrieved it. It was a greeting card. A homemade one with a beautiful, calligraphic writing. It read:
Sammie,
 
I said I wasn't gonna beg no more, but I don't have that much pride. I'll beg forever if I have to.
 
Love, Mekhi.
I got back into my car, dropped the card on the opposite seat, started the engine and pulled out.
I thought of the words Mekhi had said that day outside of my mother's apartment.
“We forgive what we want to forgive. Remember, what comes around goes around. You may need somebody to let you off the hook for something messed up you did.”
And then Angelina's plea tonight. Who would I want to spend the last week of my life with? That was deep. It was easy for her to talk about forgiving Mekhi because she didn't know the skinny on what went down. Would she forgive Greg if she knew about me? There were limits to what we could forgive, even when we loved people.
Chapter 27
I pulled into my garage and made a hurried trip to my condo. It was almost ten, and I was tired. Really worn out. Emotional, more than physically because I had a new problem. Bigger than the ones I woke up with this morning. A drug addicted mother—that mess was over the top in the realm of problems that needed solutions.
I collapsed on my bed and rooted around in my purse for the picture Angelina had given me. Sisters in Christ. She loved using the word
sister
. If she'd only known, I was as far from a sister as any chick could ever get. I was every woman's worst nightmare. I was the other woman, and the only reason she even knew me was because I was devious enough to step to her with my
Operation Steal Greg
plan. I emptied my lungs of a long breath and propped the picture against a lamp on my nightstand.
My cell phone rang. It was the fifth call I'd gotten from Greg. I figured I'd better answer before he showed up again and used his key.
“Where have you been? I've been calling you.”
“I had a family emergency. I didn't have my phone with me.”
“My wife was out this evening. I wanted to see you.”
Hmmm.
Was there something I was supposed to say? I mean, it was obviously time lost. I guess this was his version of a lecture for being a bad mistress. I rolled my eyes. I was starting to hate him.
He kept talking. “I'm on my way home from the gym. I was thinking I'd stopped by for a few minutes.”
I swallowed hard and cleared my throat. “Not tonight, Greg.”
“Excuse me?” His voice strained.
“I said—not tonight. I'm tired, and I'm stressed from this family business.”
“Maybe I can help you work through the stress.” I could imagine him smiling on the other end.
Jerk. Was he kidding?
“It's not likely you can help me work through anything in a few minutes.”
He was silent for a beat. I could see his face, the angry set of his chin when he was displeased. I'd only seen that once before. The time I tried to make him jealous by throwing out another man's name in conversation. He set me straight in a way that only a man who was paying the bills could. I hadn't done that again. “Besides,” I said, thinking I needed to clean up the mess I was making with my attitude. “I have my period. Got it yesterday.”
“Your period. Do all you women get them at the same time?”
His question made me think of Angelina, which embarrassed me. I squirmed in my seat. “You must be mixing me up with your wife. Too many periods in your life.”
“You get in touch when your PMS or whatever you've got is over. I didn't call for this.” His end of the line went dead.
“Of course not,” I whispered. “You called to use me.” Tears brimmed my eyes. Greg had never, ever stopped by or called just to say hello. It was always “I'm thinking of sex” or “Can I come get some?” He hadn't even asked me what was wrong, what my emergency was. I was nobody to him.
If you only had one week left to live. Who would you want to spend it with?
Not him.
I tossed my cell phone and settled back in the pillows on my bed and picked up the pile of bills I'd gotten from the mailbox. Student loan bills, Macy's, Nordstrom, Visa, Lord & Taylor, MasterCard. All of them due and overdue. I threw them across the room and rolled over on my side. The picture of Angelina and me came into view and anger boiled inside of me. It wasn't directed at her. I was pissed with myself. What the heck was I doing getting nasty with Greg? If I didn't get these bills paid, I was going to be messed up big time. I needed him. I needed to stay on track with
Operation Steal Greg
.
“Stay focused. You've come too far to get mushy now.” I opened my nightstand drawer and put the picture face down inside. I reached across the bed for my cell phone. I could still call Greg back. All I had to do was tell that Negro I was wearing a purple thong, and he would be here faster than roaches on food left out on the stove in the projects. He'd forgive the menstruation lie.
When I went to dial, I saw I had a missed text message. I opened it first and it read:
Rae, remember, I'm praying for you and your mom. Love, Angelina.
D'rn her.
I tossed the phone again. This heifer was really messing with my head. She was under my skin deeper than Greg. She'd come and sat in that dirty hospital waiting room for hours. Angelina had called me sister. Hugged me. Not even I could mess around with her husband tonight. I reached into the nightstand drawer and returned the picture to its place against the lamp. I wasn't fooling myself that she and I would be the best of friends, but even I knew about giving a situation its due. Angelina was trying to be a sister-friend. I'd never had one of those, but I had one now, even if it was an inconvenient one.

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