“You’re not giving it to him. You’re giving it to me.”
“Why should I giveyoumoney?” I tossed back.
My mother set her glass down on the table hard, rattling the plates near her. “Because I gave birth to you. I fed you. I read you stories. I fostered your imagination.Iinspired you to become an attorney.”
Before I could even stop myself, I laughed. She was right, though. My parents did inspire me. Because they treated me like shit. “In some ways,” I agreed. “But it was sheer will and hard work that got me to where I am today. But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you? Because you don’t knowme, and you don’t know how to work. Real talk? If I had waited for you and my father to do shit, I wouldn’t be doing anything.”
“Hey, now,” Desmond chimed in. “Don’t talk to her like that. This is our house.”
“Herhouse,” I corrected. “I know because I helped her get the loan modification a few years ago.”
“Demi!” Mom shouted.
“Is that why I’m here?” I asked, dropping my napkin on the table.
Everly sighed. “This isn’t the time to talk about this.”
“Answer me,” I commanded. “Did you invite me here to ask for money?”
My mother had the decency to shift in her chair. Because sheshouldbe uncomfortable with my question. “Partly,” she admitted.
“Ah,” I took another deep breath. Then let out another humorless chuckle. The room was quiet for a moment while I gathered my thoughts. Any hope that I had for my relationship with this family evaporated. “This is bullshit.” I stood. “How dare you ask me for anything!”
“Watch your tone in my house,” she warned. “Show me some respect. I’m still your mother.”
“You gave birth to me. Then, you left me and stayed gone. You don’t have the right to claim to be my mother. Mymotheris 2,200 miles away, probably making the shit out of some chicken and dumplings right now. With love. My motherandfather paid cash for my tuition to Hampton University every year because you couldn’t be bothered to support me in my education. Then, they paid for law school so I could graduate debt free. They didn’t ask me for anything in return. They didn’t even ask me if it was okay to do it. They just did it because they care about me.” I grabbed my purse. “Mymotherheld me when you didn’t bring your ass to my graduation party. Mymothercalled me this morning just to tell me she loved me and wished I was there.Youare not my fuckin’ mother. That honor goes to Victoria Young.Sheis my mother.Shedid the job you couldn’t.” I pulled out my wallet, grabbed all the cash I had and tossed it on the table. “There’s your money. Two hundred dollars. Do whatever, but don’t call me again. Fuck you.”
Then, I snatched a couple of pieces of chicken, wrapped them up in a napkin, and stormed out.
ChapterFive
MR. WRONG
Demi
“Where are you going?” Dorian walked up behind me. “Don’t you think we should talk?”
As far as I was concerned, I was done talking. I’d met Dorian in law school. We were two of seven Black students in our Critical Race Theory class. I was immediately attracted to him because he was smart as hell. He could break a subject down with finesse, leaving every woman in class transfixed. He asked me out once class ended and our relationship blossomed from there, even after he dropped out of law school to study philosophy. He’d been a huge support when I’d made the decision to go into private practice. And decided to move with me to California. That’s when things started to unravel.
Now, I couldn’t stand him. I never expected marriage, but I did expect him to pay some damn bills in the house. There was always an excuse, a reason why he didn’t get the job. Sometimes it was a feeling he got in the interview. But when that nigga came home and said he turned down a job because the company’s mission didn’t align with his belief system, I lost it. And just like I’d done with my mother yesterday, I was way past ready to cut him out of my life.
“Demi,” Dorian called.
“Get out,” I ordered. “You know how eviction works. Don’t make me throw your shit out on the sidewalk.”
“I don’t think you realize what you’re doing.”
He reached out to touch my face and I flinched, smacking his hand away. “Don’t touch me.”
He held up his hands, placating me. “Sorry.”
“And don’t try to counsel me like I’m a parishioner at your Bedside Baptist Church.” Last year, Dorian surprised the hell out of me by starting his own online church. To date, he only had five members, all of them women vying for a spot on the pastor’s dick.
“Let’s get married.”
I snickered. “You tried it. “I don’t want to marry you. I don’t want to talk to you. I just want you gone.”
“You never did pray with me.”
