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“Mother! Stop,” I yell.
She goes on like she hasn’t heard me, smiling fondly now.
“Oh, and a week ago she sent him a doozy. Your dick is so small, satisfying women is your Mission Impossible.”
Her smiles brims at this last one.
I can’t help it, that ridiculous joke, added to the ludicrous scheme of Rabea’s, and to just how crazy it all is, I burst out laughing.
She joins me in the laughter and when we catch our breath, we stand there and look at each other.
“Milly, I'm sorry. I didn’t realize you were going to be an idiot and start this prank calling stuff. I figured he would never be able to make the connection.”
“I’m the idiot?” I chuckle.
She sobers instantly. She grasps my hands before she responds, “Yes, my love, you are. For marrying out of fear instead of love. For trying to make a home out of a house with no real foundation. You are well rid of him. I know you don’t see it now, but you are.”
“We had a good life,” I say weakly, defending my marriage more out of reflex than real passion.
“Why have good when you can have great? That heart shaped pendant Dad and I gave you, the one you stopped wearing when he left? That Adinkra, that Sankofa, is one of the most meaningful in our culture.
“Its message was our charge to you, Milly. That you always remember who you are and where you come from. I hope that with Kevin gone, you can start to do that again. I know you know better. I know it’s been a while, but I also know you’ve had better.”
My hand goes up to my throat, which is bare, and I remember the pendant. I couldn’t bear to look at it after my father left, so I took it off. But I still have it. The heart shaped symbol is sitting in my jewelry box along with another token that also became a source of pain. They were reminders of everything I’d lost.
I sigh. I don’t have a response to my mother’s advice. My mind is swirling with so many conflicting thoughts.
Maybe the end of my relationship with Kevin is a good thing. Do I have it in me to find out what life lived with less caution holds? I’m not sure. I sigh and close my eyes.
She pats my hand and hops off the stool.
“I’ll go get Anthony up.” She starts to leave the kitchen, but then stops to say, “He’s bluffing, Milly. I’ll get Rabea to stop the notes and flowers and you’re going to stop with those phone calls, and then he will leave you alone. He won’t take Anthony from you, he won’t even try.”
* * *
.
3
* * *
I hate Mondays. And the rotten cherry on this spectacular crap cake of a Monday is that Kevin has decided Anthony should be living with him and Rachael.
A week after our disastrous early morning call, he sent me official separation documents with terms that gave him primary custody of Anthony. Whatever sadness, pain, wistfulness, or regret I was feeling over the demise of my marriage, disappeared when I got the letter. They were replaced with pure, w
hite hot rage. In this, there are no shades of gray.
He cannot have my son.
Today, we are meeting at his lawyer’s office to see if we can settle this with a mediator. I’ve come prepared for battle.
I’m glad I started running again a few weeks ago. It has really helped my stress levels. I feel clear headed and energized as I walk into his lawyer’s office.
Our trust funds were set up with pre-Enron money and so they remained intact when my father left. I'm a wealthy woman in my own right. So, I hired the best attorney money could buy. I'm not taking any chances with Anthony’s custody.
I have always been a conservative woman when it comes to my sense of style. So, today my hair, long, curling and the same bronze red as my father’s, is pulled back into a ponytail caught at the base of my neck. I’m wearing a white wool Carolina Herrera sheath dress that fits me like a glove. My gold chain with my pendant and an old ring hanging from it are my only jewelry.
I feel strong just by putting these things, given to me out of love, back on.
