It had taken months for me to work through my resentment of my sister. I read countless scriptures and books on forgiveness. It had been hard watching everyone in our home be preoccupied with staying afloat except for Ruth. She’d broken up with that boyfriend for unrelated reasons, and moved on to another of the same caliber. It upset me to no end.
“To answer your question, young lady,” my mom called over to me, awakening me from my trance, “I knew I was in love with your daddy when I saw a husband in him. I had lots of crushes when I was a young girl. But when I saw myself as his wife, I knew I was in love.”
I sighed, resuming my previous source of frustration.
“So, because I don’t see myself as his wife it means I’m not in love?”
My mother paused as my gaze was fastened to her kneading hands that were in a mixing bowl, preparing dough. “Is this about that tall young man that came over here Christmas?”
My eyes averted in inferiority. I never lied to my mother, but discussing something that had become so precious—complicated—to me almost overnight wasn’t as easy as all of our other conversations. Sarah Barrett was my best friend. There was nothing I couldn’t come to this woman with. My mother never judged; only guided and nurtured. I had to get on one accord with her concerning this. I needed answers.
“Elizabeth Ardell Barrett, don’t you look away from your momma like you stole the last of the porridge. Spill it, young lady!” Her voice was so firm, yet powerfully controlled. She didn’t want to alert my dad or sister.
I rolled my eyes back over to her. “I told him I love him,” I squeaked.
Her left hand landed onto her popped up hip. “And if I know my own child, you meant it.” It wasn’t a question. She knew I’d never been in love nor made it. Her long searing gaze was inquisitive. And as my mother, she knew every answer that didn’t leave my mouth by asking the questions that never left hers. She knew that I had given myself to Stenton Rogers. “Did he at least say it back?”
I chanced a glance to see her mouth wide open and her brows furrowed. She was unsettled.
“Yes, Momma.”
“Do you think he meant it?”
“Yes, Momma.”
“How?”
I sighed, feeling my stomach jump in my abdomen, the same sensation I’d always feel when I thought of Stenton. “Because he looks at me as though I’m the coming messiah. It’s hard to explain, but when his marble orbs hit me, I feel a power over him too potent for a mere human being. It empowers me and scares the crap out of me at the same time. Momma, I’m so…”
“Confused.” She answered for me. My sister re-entered the room and just when I thought the conversation was over because my mother snapped out of protective mode and went back to her dough, my mother continued, “And afraid.”
“Yes, Momma. Afraid.” My voice reduced to a whisper. She understood me.
“Well,” Ruth inserted herself back into the conversation. “…if you still a virgin, Zo, you ain’t in love, or you crushin’ on a man that don’t want you ‘cause I truly do believe you are going to die with your library card in one hand and your v-card in the other.”
“Ruth!” my dad shouts from the living room. “Come turn this TV to my sports channel.”
Ruth sucked her teeth, but quickly obeyed as she swung her legs from beneath the table very dramatically and stomped her way out of the kitchen.
“You just make sure y’all be careful, young lady,” my Mom whispers over to me with her face contorted. She was not happy, but not judging either.
“We always do, Momma,” I fully put it out there to make it clear that she knew about my move into womanhood. I couldn’t keep that from her.
She rolled her eyes hard back into her bowl. “Go get cleaned up for dinner. I hope you stayin’ for the peach cobbler.”