With Friends Like These (7 page)

M
y heartbeat was thumping so loud as I leaned up against the stairwell, trying to make sure they didn’t see me. I couldn’t believe my ears. My mother was listening to this crap like this woman actually had a point. Why didn’t she stop this woman’s crazy talk?

“So, I think Camille is a really, really sweet girl. I love what you’ve done with her. She’s so articulate, and she carries herself just like a little young lady.”

I waited for my mother to go off or say something to show that she was just a little bit offended by what this woman was saying. But nothing happened. I peeked around the corner to see if maybe my mother had used some kind of silent technique to drop-kick her without me knowing. Of course she hadn’t.

They stood at the front door, inches from each other. I wanted to jump from my hiding spot up against the stairs and confront Walter’s mom myself, but it was obvious that being quiet and out of sight would be my better option.

My mother was just coming in from her first job when Mrs. Lewis popped up. She hadn’t even made it in the door good when she looked up to find this strange woman standing there, smiling. Mrs. Lewis had called my mom for some reason earlier this week, but my mom wouldn’t go into details about what she wanted. But I’m sure she didn’t know Mrs. Lewis would be showing up on her doorstep today. She even had the nerve to be holding a basket filled with what looked like chocolate chip cookies. I couldn’t believe it. My mother didn’t know I was home because I was supposed to be at the church, helping Rachel with some stuff, but we wrapped up early. My plan was to run home and change real quick so that Walter and I could sneak out together.

I hid behind the stairs when I heard the keys rattling at the front door. I stepped back a few feet, and listened.

“Hi there, you must be Lydia, Camille’s mom,” Mrs. Lewis said. “I’m so glad I caught you. I really was just taking a chance by showing up here,” she said. I saw her look around as if she was concerned for her safety. Walter’s mom had her golden blond hair pinned up in a French bun. Her skin was perfectly tanned. And even from where I stood, peeking around the corner, I could see the large diamonds that sparkled from her ears to her neck to her thin fingers.

“I am Lydia, and you are?” my mother asked curtly.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m Penelope, Walter’s mom. Remember we talked on the phone the other day, and I told you then that I’d like to meet for a few minutes?”

My mother let out a fake laugh, the one she used when she really didn’t know what to say. I’m sure she probably wanted to tell Mrs. Lewis she had only thirty minutes to change, fix a lunch, and rush out to make it to her next job on time. I knew exactly what she was thinking because I watched as she sighed, then stepped back a bit. Mrs. Lewis didn’t even really step all the way inside the house, so they stood in the doorway with the door wide open.

“I didn’t realize you meant this soon, and without even calling,” my mother said.

“Oh, yes, I’m so sorry about that. But really it was just an impulse that brought me over here. I had business nearby, and well, I was just hoping you had some time. This is really important,” she said.

My mother flicked her wrist to check her watch, then she said, “I’ve got a few minutes. I take it this is about the problem we discussed right?”

Mrs. Lewis nodded. She looked around, then said, “You mind if I come in?”

“Oh, where’s my manners?” My mother sighed and stepped aside. “Please, come in. Would you like a seat?”

Mrs. Lewis glanced around again, the look on her face saying she didn’t trust sitting on our tattered furniture. She looked like a fish out of water. I pulled my head back when she walked farther into the house.

“I won’t take up much of your time. I just wanted to make sure that you and I are on the same page. I know as a mother you want what’s best for your child, as I do for mine.” Walter’s mom shook her head like she was just about to deliver devastating news.

“And my Walter is such a super kid,” she continued. “His father and I are so very lucky. We know we’ve done a terrific job with him. Did you know he has already been accepted at Princeton?”

Before my mother could even answer, Mrs. Lewis continued. “Well, we just think, his father and I believe, that this is really a crucial time for our son. And as parents, well, it’s our responsibility to do what we feel is best for him. And we, well, we just don’t think him getting involved in a serious relationship at this time is the right thing to do. We just don’t think he needs that kind of distraction right now. I’m sure you understand just what I’m saying.”

When my mother cleared her throat and shifted her weight to one side, I just knew Mrs. Lewis was about to get it.

“Oh, these,” Mrs. Lewis said nervously as she looked down at the cookies. “I brought these for you.” She shoved the basket at my mother in a way that forced her to accept it. My mother looked down at the cookies, did her fake smile, and placed the basket on the coffee table.

“Thanks,” she said. “But I’ve been thinking about what you said, and I think you should know—” Mrs. Lewis held up her index finger as her cell phone rang, cutting off my mother while she reached in her purse to get it.

I watched them as Mrs. Lewis answered. She paused, then threw her head back and released a phony laugh.

“Well, Vivian, darling, let me just say this. If you are going to wear that gown, we’ll all have to start working out this very second. Everyone knows how fabulous your figure is, and that design will just be the icing on the cake. You’re sure to outshine us all. But look, sweetie, I’m right in the middle of something awfully important right now, so do you mind if I get back to you in a bit?”

There was silence.

“Yes, I promise, the minute I wrap this up. Smooches, darling.” She snapped the phone shut and looked at my mother after tucking the phone back into her purse. “I apologize for that. My friend and I have this debutante event coming up, and we’re just a wreck about what to wear. Don’t you hate that?” she asked. She didn’t wait for an answer before she leaned in close to my mom, like they were old friends. “It’s actually her daughter’s coming-out event, and as quiet as it’s kept, since Walter and Valencia were babies, we’ve always dreamed of them attending together. Now Walter is saying he doesn’t even want to go.”

Mrs. Lewis placed her hand across her chest as if she were really hurting. “Imagine the nightmare that’s causing. So you can see what confusion this thing with your daughter has caused. I’m sure you understand my concern. And, well”—she shrugged—“I just really hope I can get your help with this situation.”

“So let me get this straight,” my mother said.

Now that’s what I’m talking about.
I knew once she got my mother going, it’d be on for real. My mom is pretty laid-back until someone messes with her baby—me.

“It sounds to me like you think your son is too good for my daughter,” my mother snapped.

Yeah, that’s right. Get her, Mama.

Mrs. Lewis threw her hands up in surrender and actually stepped back a few feet. Her little green eyes widened in horror.

“I’ll have you know, I have black friends,” she quickly defended. “We donate to all of those little orphanages in Africa! Well, maybe not all of them, but you know what I mean.” By now, her face had turned a shade or two of red. Veins were popping at her temple and her neck. She was pointing her own finger at her chest. “No one can accuse my family of being racist! You don’t know anything about me.” Her lips were trembling.

“Look, I don’t have to know you to know I don’t appreciate you coming into my house acting like you’re tossing compliments around when you’re not doing a doggone thing but stirring up trouble,” my mother said. “And FYI—I never said a thing about color.”

That’s right, Mama.
I was so proud of her at that very moment, I wanted to jump in and cosign with a few comments of my own. But the next words to fall from my mother’s lips quickly wiped away my smile.

“But since we’re on the topic, do you think I want my daughter bouncing around with that son of yours? I know what people like you think when you see an interracial couple. I don’t want my daughter to have to suffer through that. I don’t want them together any more than you do, but you’re not about to come up in my house trying to play some reverse psychology on me. You tell your little perfect Princeton-bound son to stop sniffin’ around my daughter, and maybe you won’t have to lower yourself to such unpleasant work,” my mother said.

Needless to say, all of the triumph I felt only moments ago was gone. I wanted her to defend my relationship with Walter, not tear it down. I wanted her to put his mother in her place, not find a way to agree with her. My heart sank when Mrs. Lewis turned around and stormed out of the front door in a huff.

I slid down against the wall and wrapped my arms around my legs. I no longer cared if my mother realized I was home.

I heard her slam the front door, mumble a few choice words, and rush into the kitchen. While she moved around in there, I was burning with fury. I started to go in there and confront her myself, but I was too upset. Besides, I may have been mad, but I wasn’t crazy. After a few minutes, I looked up. My mother had come around the corner and stood right there in front of me.

“How long have you been sitting here?” she asked, a frown plastered across her face.

“Long enough to hear.” I couldn’t bring myself to look at her.

“You have to understand, I just want what’s best,” my mother said.

“Best for who?”

I glared at my mother. She didn’t respond at first. Finally she said, “Camille, seeing that boy is just opening the door for problems. Now, if you don’t listen to anything else I say, listen to this. Stay away from that boy and his family.”

There was nothing I could say. I didn’t care what Mrs. Lewis thought. I didn’t care what my mom said. I didn’t care what anyone said. There was no way in the world I was going to stay away from Walter.

I
t had been a long day, and I wasn’t in a good mood. My parents had been fighting all day. I heard them arguing when I left for school this morning, and they were still at it when I came home. I’d locked myself in my room and tried to turn up my TV to drown out the fighting.

Finally I’d gotten sick of listening to it and left to go hang out with Jaquan, but neither he nor Jasmine were at home. I felt myself falling hard for Jaquan, but I did wish we spent more time together. He was just always with his boys, although we had gone to the movies last night.

Since I couldn’t catch up with him or Jasmine, I went to hang out at the mall until tonight’s Good Girlz meeting. I charged up a few things. Well, not really a few. Almost six hundred dollars worth of stuff that I didn’t even need. I had just signed the sales slip when the young saleslady handed me my bags.

“Must be nice to shop like that,” she said.

I forced a smile. “It’s all compliments of my dad.”

She laughed. “Wow. Well, get ready to get it when he sees that bill. He’s probably gon’ hit the roof.”

“I don’t think so,” I said, wondering why she was all up in my business.

I took my bags and left the store as her words danced in my head. My father hit the roof about something I did? Fat chance of that happening. He would probably just pay the bill without even questioning me about it. Now, he loses it when my mother spends money. But me, he doesn’t say a word. I think it’s because he feels guilty about never being around. And probably because I never spend more than a few hundred dollars. My mom, on the other hand? It’s nothing for her to spend thousands and thousands of dollars.

I know it sounds crazy, but just once I’d love to get in trouble about something. I mean real trouble, like have my dad go off or scream or something. Heck, I’d even take a whipping. At least I’d know my parents cared. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not stupid, but I’ve never in my life had a spanking. My mother has tapped my hand before, but that’s about it. I’ve been punished a few times, but that usually means just being sent to my room and not being able to watch TV or something. I don’t want any of those beatings Jasmine claims she gets, but I do want my parents to act like they care. When my father gets the credit card bill, he’ll probably give me a two-minute lecture on his way out the door, about how I need to manage money better. My mother will spend another three minutes telling me how so many poor people in the world wish they had money like us, then they’ll go back to doing what they’re doing. And I’ll be left alone in my little world again.

I arrived at the meeting still down in the dumps. I made small talk with everyone, but I think they could all tell something was wrong.

Rachel got the meeting started. “Anything anybody wants to talk about today?”

Everyone looked at one another. A few eyebrows went up, Angel and Camille shrugged, and Tameka started examining her fingernails.

“Well, um, I kinda want to say something about my parents,” I softly said.

“What’s going on?” Rachel asked.

The room got really quiet. All eyes were on me. I ran my fingers through my hair, then sighed. “I know I can’t stand my mom at times, and my dad gets on my nerves, but I really think they’re gonna get a divorce, and I just don’t know what I’m gonna do.”

“Oh, sweetie,” Rachel said. “Sometimes adults argue and bicker and fight, but it doesn’t mean they’re going to divorce.”

I was hoping she didn’t start quoting Bible scriptures about marriage, because while my parents said they were Christians, I just didn’t think they kept God in their marriage, as the minister at our church is always talking about.

“Why is my family so messed up?” I asked Rachel.

Rachel smiled. “Honey, if I had that answer, I’d put Dr. Phil out of business.” She rubbed my hand. “But trust me when I tell you, just when you think your situation is bad, there’s always someone who’s worse off.”

“No. My family took the function out of dysfunctional,” I said.

“Have you all ever done counseling?” Rachel asked.

“Yeah, right,” I said, looking at her like she was crazy. “First of all, you’d have to get my dad to show up. Then if he did, he would talk about how some nerdy therapist can’t fix his problems. Then my mom would find some way to make it all about her. Thanks, but no thanks.”

“I’m talking about spiritual counseling. Like from your pastor. Or even here. Rev. Adams is great with couples.”

Since my parents hardly went to church anymore, at least together, I doubted very seriously they had tried spiritual counseling.

Rachel smiled at me. “Why don’t you suggest it to them?”

“Yeah, okay,” I said, still not believing she was serious.

“What do you have to lose?”

I guess she was right about that. “Fine. I’ll ask them.”

Rachel stood up and walked to the front of the room. “In the meantime, why don’t we say a prayer. So many times people get caught up in their lives, and they forget that God is at the center of everything we do. And when we lose sight of that, it’s like we’re losing the glue that holds everything together.”

I couldn’t help but stare at Rachel. Is that why my family was so jacked up? As a little girl, I remember we used to pray together as a family. We never missed a Sunday, and my mother would even read us Bible stories. What had happened to that? I racked my brain, trying to figure out if that was when things started going downhill for us.

Rachel started softly praying, and I felt a tear drop as I thought of my parents. I was so desperate that I’d try anything—even prayer. I was just hoping that God was listening.