Rude Boss

“Mmm-hmm,” Mom responds. “It sure does.”

I don’t even need to be here for this conversation. Looks like they’re having a good time all on their own.

To involve myself somehow so I don’t feel like a third wheel, I ask, “How have you been feeling lately, Mother?”

“I have my good days and bad days. Today is a…eh…semi-good day, I suppose. I felt good enough to cook and coax you to come over. You’re so busy these days, I didn’t think you’d make it.…out here being Essex DePaul…whoever that is.”

Frustration claws at me. I lean back in my chair because I’m officially done eating. It perplexes me how this remains a topic of conversation whenever I come around. I changed my name, changed my appearance – I became a better person, and you know who they want me to be? They still want the obese kid who had nothing. This is proof you can’t please everybody. That’s why you have to do what’s best for you because people, especially family members, will coach you on and tell you you’re the best thing smoking, even when they know you’re living far below your potential.

I say, “I won’t go there yet again, but—”

“You need to go there,” she asserts. “You know what’s going to happen, don’t you? You’re going to find yourself by yourself, wondering where the years have gone while you were out here making all these millions and trying to save the world.”

“I’m not saving anything.”

“There was no fancy philanthropist running to Detroit to save us when your father got laid off from that motor company,” she gripes. “Where were our handouts when we didn’t have anything in the cabinet but a bag of long grain rice and corn meal? When your father had to go fishing one day just to bring home dinner for that day?”

Sitting up tall, I ask, “Are you insinuating that just because no one helped us, my organization shouldn’t help anyone?”

“That’s not what I’m saying at all.”

“It sure sounds like it.”

“All I’m saying is, while you’re out here trying to save the world, your life is passing you right on by.”

“But it’s not.”

“Then where’s your wife? Hunh? I don’t care how much money you got—a man needs a good woman in his corner.”

I glance over at Dad. He ain’t saying nothing, but I know he agrees with her. Mother has always been the extrovert in the relationship. The more vocal one. He’s more on the laid back, quiet side and that’s a good thing, I suppose. I couldn’t imagine if they both were as rambunctious as her. I love my mother, but when she talks, she has no tact in her delivery. That’s probably where I got it from.

I say, “Mother, you have enough on your plate. I do not need you worrying about me and my personal life.”

“Well, somebody needs to worry about it.” She coughs. “You ain’t…” Now she’s sipping water.

“Are you okay?” I inquire.

“I’m fine. What I was saying was, you ain’t getting no younger.”

“None of us are,” I respond.

“Exactly. I want to see you get married and have a family, but from the looks of it, I’m not even gon’ see that.”

“Mother—”

“Whatever happened to that girl you used to like in high school?” She looks up at dad and asks. “What was her name, honey? It’s on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t call it.”

“Her name is Quintessa,” I say.

Mother’s eyes brighten. “Yes. You used to call her Tessa or something like that.”

“Tessie.”

“Right. Tessie. I remember she came here looking for you.”

This is news to me. Quintessa came back? But why? Did she want to see me? Did she miss me? I say, “She actually came here?”

“Yeah,” Mother answers.