“Albany is my daughter, Mother.”
Grandma placed a hand on her hip. “I can’t tell.” My grandmother had been my biggest defender growing up, which was why she brought me to live with her in the first place. “I told you a long time ago that your wife can try to be the evil stepmother, but this girl is not Cinderella.”
“So, I’m going to leave.” I kissed Grandma’s cheek. “Will you text me when you get home?”
“I will, Pooh.”
I glanced back at Granny, who was still on her phone. “Give Granny Joyce a hug for me.”
Turning on my heels, I walked out of the restaurant without giving my parents a backward glance.
“What happened with your marriage?”
I watched the scenery as Moses coasted down I-94 toward Downtown Detroit. The drive had been quiet for the first ten minutes, as I went back and forth on whether I wanted to break the silence.
“Albany”—he gripped the steering wheel, his eyes focused on the road ahead—“tell me.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to know.”
“He sucks.”
“What did he do?” he pressed.
The details were painful and had been relayed several times. I didn’t want to travel down that road again. Not today. “I don’t want to talk about it, Mo. It’s over.”
“It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me. I’ll ask him.”
I rested my head on the seat. “Please, don’t.”
“What the hell did you see in him? Because I never understood.”
Glancing at him, I said, “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“I’m sayin’ … What was it?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “He was charming. Smart. Rich. Definitely perfect on paper.”
“Except you’ve never been into appearances, and you’ve never cared what people think.”
“I cared whatsomepeople thought,” I mumbled. “For the first time in my life, I wanted their approval. I wanted Allison to be proud of me. I wanted Dad to love me.”
“So you married him because they chose him?”
“No. I chose him. Now, I’m paying for it.”
Silence stretched as we neared the city. Finally, he asked, “You know what I think?”
“I’m sure you’re going to tell me no matter what I say.”
“You jumped into that relationship, with that dude, because he wasn’t Wes.”
My body stiffened as his words replayed in my mind. Darrell was nothing like Wes. His demeanor, his work ethic … the way he talked, the way he processed things. Of course, he had good qualities, but they were surface qualities.
“I’ve never seen you the way you were when Wes left,” he continued. “We all were worried about you. Then, you went to college, met Darrell, and finally opened up again. I didn’t like his ass, but I couldn’t be mad at someone who was going to help you heal.”
“Is that why you never said much?”
