Nervous

“Do you need to talk in person, Jonquinette?”

“I would be grateful for that,” I responded without a second of hesitation. “Can you meet me at your office?”

“No.”

“I’m sorry, you’re right. It’s ridiculous for me to expect you to come out this time of night.”

She took me off guard by saying, “I’ll come to you. Give me an hour.”

• • •

Always true to her word, Marcella was knocking at my door exactly fifty-six minutes later. I had spent that time straightening up and trying to look more organized than I normally was. This was Marcella’s first time at my place and my mother always taught me that people can tell a lot about a person by the way they live. Being that Marcella was my psychiatrist, I expected her to really inspect and analyze everything about my residence. I rearranged my magazines so that they were in monthly order, my DVDs and CDs so that they were in alphabetical order, and my books as well. It was silly, really, but it helped me pass the time.

Marcella came in wearing a sweatsuit and a pair of sneakers. She looked youthful in the outfit. I was used to seeing her in business suits and heels. I had on a pair of pajamas and a fluffy pair of slippers.

I hugged her with appreciation when she came through the door. “Thanks so much for coming.”

“Don’t mention it, Jonquinette.”

I led her into the living room where I had prepared a plate of cookies and another pot of tea, since I figured we would be up into the wee hours of the morning.

After we were seated on the sofa, Marcella asked me, “So what makes you assume that speaking with your mother will be a confrontation?”

That was an easy question. “Because I know how she is.” I poured us both a cup of tea and put a spoonful of sugar in mine. “I haven’t discussed my mother much but when I said she was self-absorbed, that was an understatement.”

Marcella took her cup from me and put two teaspoons of sugar in hers. “How so?”

“My mother thinks the entire world revolves around her. She doesn’t identify with the fact that everyone else has problems of their own.”

“You mentioned her being bitter about the divorce.” Marcella took a sip of her tea. “Um, this is delicious.”

“Ha, bitter is putting it lightly. When that hooker showed up at Thanksgiving dinner and humiliated her in front of her entire family, she was distraught. She probably thought it was a fate worse than death.”

“Tell me more about your mother’s background.”

“My great-grandparents were murdered when she was a child and I don’t think she ever recovered from their loss. Her parents are retired. They were both janitors and she was ashamed of it.”

“Do you see your grandparents?”

“I try to visit them in Florida at least every two years, but when I go down there, they always seem introverted. It’s like I don’t exist. They never go out with me when I’m there and they don’t even offer to let me stay with them, even though they have the space.”

“So where do you stay?” she asked.

“At a hotel down the street,” I replied. “Plus, Florida brings back a lot of bad memories for me. Being tantalized and browbeaten. I don’t have any fondness for the place, but I do adore my grandparents.”

“Does your mother have a close relationship with her parents?”

“Good question. She talks to them on a regular basis; that much I know for sure. Whether I would classify them as being close, I don’t know.” I picked up a cookie and nibbled on it. “So much has happened this weekend. I’m not sure if I can handle anything else.”

“What happened this weekend?” Marcella asked excitedly.

“You better brace yourself.”

Marcella sat up straighter on the sofa. “Okay, consider me braced.”

“Darnetta showed up here yesterday morning and punched me in the nose.”

“Darnetta? The coworker you mentioned? The one who invited you to the wedding?”