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“Girl, what? You must’ve had a few drinks before I got here because what kind of dumb ass question was that? You know what, I’ll drive because you’ve clearly been hitting the bottle,” Miranda said as she walked to the driver’s side of her car.

Miranda was appalled, and Myla knew it. In Miranda’s mind, Linda Pleasant could do nothing wrong.

“It’s just an observation. Ma didn’t even try to hide the fact that she was altering her appearance. Now she’s moving through life like a completely different person. She cut her hair, hired a personal trainer, and lost damn near sixty pounds. On top of that, she didn’t mourn him the way I thought she should. I didn’t see Ma shed a single tear. She just changed so much.”

Miranda could hear the sadness in Myla’s voice. She was a daddy’s girl through and through. So much so that she was oblivious to all the wrong her father had done. Myla simply refused to see him as anything other than a stellar human being. Because Miranda knew this, she chose to take the softer approach instead of telling Myla that she sounded insane.

“She changed so much about herself because life events changed her. Myla, you’re my girl, but you aren’t looking at the situation properly. Did you forget that it was your father that was moving as if he didn’t have a woman in his life?” Miranda asked.

Myla’s body stiffened.

“He wasn’t—”

“He wasn’t what? You don’t get to change the narrative to fit what works for you, Myla.”

“I’m not doing that,” Myla lied.

“Yes, you are. Look, I get it. You are and will always be a daddy’s girl. There’s nothing wrong with that. But you don’t get to make Mama Linda the villain here. Whether she loved your dad or was having an alleged affair is irrelevant. You know Papa M. was my ace, but we have proof that he was having an affair when he died. Pants around his ankles, dick and balls out for the world to see. Do you know how humiliating that is for a wife to discover? You’ve experienced heartbreak, but never as a wife. That shit cuts deep.”

Myla knew that last line was more about Miranda and her ex-husband, Dakota, than about her mother and deceased father.

“All I’m saying is one man played very different roles in two women’s lives. You lost a father, a mentor, a support system. He never gave you a reason to doubt him. But Linda lost her husband, the head of her household, and her partner. She also lost a piece of her dignity and respect for him when she discovered that the man she planned to grow old and die with had died while making love to someone else. So, if she changed, I think it’s justified. And maybe you can enlighten me because I’m clearly confused. What’s the right way to mourn someone?” Miranda asked.

Myla couldn’t answer the question, nor did she want to. Answering meant that she knew she was being ridiculous. It also meant that she would have to accept that her mother had the right to move on from the man she spent forty years with.

“Can we change the subject? I want to enjoy the night, not think about all the craziness of the past.”

Miranda looked at Myla as if she had lost her mind.

“Oh, you must’ve been hitting the bottle hard for real, huh? What do you mean change the subject? You brought the subject up.”

“OK, well, now I want to talk about something else,” Myla stated as she crossed her arms over her large breasts.

Miranda wasn’t surprised by Myla’s change in attitude. When discussions didn’t go her way, she would prefer to change the topic. Myla couldn’t handle negative talk about her father. Even with proof of his wrongdoing, Myla would always stand ten toes down behind him.

“See, it’s situations like this that make me say to hell with therapy. Some of you are so brilliant on paper, but personally, y’all are just loony. I swear high achievements hide deep instability.”

Myla burst into laughter. She couldn’t argue with that statement because she knew that some of her colleagues who were graduates of Ivy League schools were truly as crazy as an outhouse rat.

“Anyway, you threw me off so badly that I almost forgot to tell you that we aren’t going to Posh.”

“We aren’t going to Posh? Why not?” Myla asked.

She sat up so quickly that if Miranda hadn’t known any better, she would’ve assumed that she had a spring in her back. Miranda could see the devastation on Myla’s face and knew it was best to tell her exactly what was going on.

“We’re not going to Posh because every time a person takes a step forward, something tries to force them to take a few steps back.”

Myla looked at Miranda as if she were crazy. “What does that even mean? Where are we going? You better not say church.”

“What’s wrong with church? I’m sure there’s an AME church around here where the watchman can count us down to midnight.”

“Girl, what?” Myla said in genuine disgust.

The look on Myla’s face made Miranda burst into laughter.

“Talk about forgetting where you came from. I know Papa M was a Psychiatrist Monday through Friday. But I could’ve sworn he was also a Deacon on Sunday.”

“Let me out of this damn car!” Myla yelled as she removed her seat belt. She wasn’t opposed to going to church, but tonight she wanted to celebrate, dance off rhythm, and sing off key; not sing hymns.