“There you go,” Tamia whispered. “Just take her down there and let her mother handle it from there. It’ll be cool.”
I frowned at Tamia. Somehow I was sure that wouldn’t be the case.
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sp; Maybe I was suffering from the effects of a hangover, but I felt like Tasha was talking a mile a minute as we headed down to the restaurant. First she went on and on about how much she missed Lionel, then she talked about the baby, and on the way downstairs in the elevator, she contemplated whether she’d have eggs and bacon or fruit for breakfast. All the while, I nodded my head, trying to figure out what I was going to say when she saw Porsche.
“Do you think I should do a fruit and vegetable diet for the rest of my pregnancy?” Tasha asked me, walking into the restaurant. “I read in Cosmo that a lot of celebrity mothers do a vegan diet when they’re pregnant. It helps the baby or something.”
“Yeah, girl,” I said. My head was pounding terribly. I felt like I was going to faint. Tasha could’ve said she was trying a pork and beef diet for the rest of the pregnancy and I would’ve agreed just to make her stop talking. I looked around the restaurant. I couldn’t see Porsche anywhere. Maybe she’d left, I thought. Maybe she’d left. Great.
“You’re here,” the host said, picking up two menus. It was clear she was expecting us.
“Yes, we’re here,” Tasha replied, still oblivious. “See, these folks expect you when you walk in. That’s what I’m talking about. Good service.” She turned and took my hand. “Come on, Troy. You’re dragging your feet. Are you hung over, too?” she asked, looking at me over her shoulder. I could see Porsche sitting at the table the host was leading us to. I closed my eyes and said a short prayer everything would work out and that Tasha wouldn’t slap anyone.
“What the hell is she doing here?” Tasha said when she turned around and Porsche caught her eye.
“Just sit down,” I urged Tasha. “Just sit down and talk to her.”
“Talk to her?” She looked at the host putting our menus on the table. “What is this? Did you do this, Troy?”
“Um, yes, Tasha,” I mumbled, hoping she wouldn’t hear me. I looked at Porsche. I’d never seen the woman in person and I rarely caught the show, but there was no way I could mistake her for anyone other than Porsche St. Simon. Tasha looked just like her—from the smooth jet-black hair to the dimple in the middle of her chin, there was no denying this mother-daughter pair. Porsche was stunning, but by looking in her eyes, I could tell she was hurting and afraid of how Tasha might react.
“Natasha,” Porsche said, standing up.
I grabbed Tasha’s arm and turned her around to face me.
“I’m telling you this because I’m your friend and I love you,” I said quickly. “You have to make amends with your mother before you become one. Remember what my mother said.” I pointed to her stomach. “I’m not asking you for much. I just want you to talk to her. That’s all, Tasha. Just talk to her.”
Tasha pulled away from me.
“Talk? Oh, that’s what this bull is about? You just want me to talk to the woman? Let’s see how this goes.” She sighed and turned back around. “Hello, Porsche.” She sat down at the table, leaving Porsche and me standing.
“Hello, Ms. St. Simon,” I said, shaking Porsche’s hand. I sat down next to Tasha. “I love your work.”
“Well, thank you, darling.” Her voice sounded so smooth and wispy that I imagined that she was an old movie actress like Dorothy Dandridge. “Forgive me. I’ve taken the liberty of ordering you ladies fruit platters. Nothing does the body better than fresh fruit in the morning, I always say.” She sat down nervously.
“Thank you,” I managed.
“So, Tamia, how do you know my daughter?” Porsche asked.
“She’s not Tamia,” Tasha said. “She’s Troy and we met at Howard. You know, in D.C., where I ran away to after you left me sitting in that damn hotel alone for two weeks?”
“Natasha, you weren’t alone. You had the finest of care, and it wasn’t two weeks, either,” Porsche said. It was uncanny how much Tasha sounded like her.
“Whatever.” Tasha picked up an apple slice. “So why are you here, Porsche? Publicity stunt? Trying to get on Oprah? Dying? Or did that twenty-two-year-old boyfriend of yours take all of your money? What kind of stunt are you pulling now for attention? For your career?” Tasha looked out of the window.
Suddenly, I wished I could be invisible. I felt like I was on the set of a soap opera.
“Well, if you must know, Natasha”—Porsche reached across the table and took Tasha’s hand—“your friends called me and told me about the baby.” Tasha immediately threw darts at me with her eyes. “And I wanted to talk to you.”
“About?” Tasha said, pulling her hand away.
“Look, I’m the first to say I wasn’t the best mother, Natasha.” Porsche tossed her hair over her shoulder. “I had you when I was young and I made a lot of foolish choices trying to chase my dreams. I was a fool.” She looked into Tasha’s eyes. “But even fools have to grow up. I want to be a part of my grandchild’s life.”
“Why should I let you do that?” Tasha asked.
“Because I want to give that baby all of the love it deserves, Natasha—all of the love I didn’t give to you. I want to give that baby a family.”