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I led her to one of the Victorian-style couches that no one ever sat on in the lobby of the building. “I need to ask you something and I don’t want you to be mad,” I said, trying to go slow on her. Tasha could get really defensive at times and I didn’t want her to simply dismiss my thoughts and walk away. She would.
“Okay.” She sat down next to me.
“When are you going to tell Lionel about wanting to have a baby?”
“I don’t know,” Tasha said. “I guess I have to now. Unless I plan on using someone else’s sperm.”
I chuckled at the thought. She’d make headlines with that one. KNICKS PLAYER’S WIFE KNOCKED UP BY NEXT MAN. She’d be all up in “Sister2Sister.”
“Seriously, Tash. He has a right to know about all of this,” I said. “I know I said I’d stick by you but you have to know I don’t approve. I know Lionel. I’ve seen the two of you together and I know he will stand by your side.”
“I know that.” Tasha looked at me.
“So what are you afraid of? Why do you think he’ll say no?”
“It’s not about him saying no. It’s about me. I know that already.” She paused. “I’ve never had to answer to anyone. I left home when I was just a teenager and since then I’ve made up all my own rules. I’ve done it on my own. Even marrying Lionel was my decision.” Tasha looked down at the marble tile and played with her wedding ring as she spoke. “So when I decided to have a baby, I just wanted it to be my decision.”
“But having a baby isn’t about one person’s decision. It’s about two people coming together and agreeing that they have enough love to give that baby.” I grabbed her hand. “You have to make sure Lionel is ready for all this.”
“I’m just afraid, I guess. I’m afraid to give all that away…the control, you know? To let someone else make that decision for me.”
“Tasha, marriage doesn’t work like that and we both know it. You said it yourself the other night to Tamia,” I said. “My parents have the oddest relationship, but I did learn one thing from watching them.” I paused and reached over to turn Tasha’s face back toward me. “And it’s that you have to make decisions together. You have to give up some of your power in order to be more powerful with your husband. And you’ve got to do that with Lionel. You have to tell him, Tasha. And not just about in vitro—about everything. About wanting and trying to get pregnant behind his back. You have to tell him so you two can try to understand why you felt a need to do what you did. You can’t keep secrets like that in a marriage. He deserves to know. And if he’s a good man, like I know he is,” I said, staring into her eyes, “he’ll stand by your side and forgive you.”
Tasha put her head on my shoulder.
“You’re right,” Tasha said. “He doesn’t deserve this.” She paused and a tear rolled down her cheek. “I can’t promise anything tonight, but I am going to tell him. I just have to find the right time.”
“That’s enough of a promise, Ms. Lovestrong,” I said, patting her knee. “That’s enough.”
“Mommy?” I called, walking into my parents’ living room. “I’m here.” As usual, everything had been changed since my last visit. My mother was a compulsive decorator and this time the decor was Indian, reflecting my parents’ recent trip to India.
“Hello, Troy,” Desta said, rushing out of the kitchen. Only a few years older than me, Desta was stunningly beautiful. Her skin, dark as Pepsi-Cola, was smooth and clear. She had enticing brown eyes, a
nd though my mother said she plowed through the fridge like a racehorse, she never went a pound over 120.
“Hi, Desta.” I smiled. “This is my friend Tasha,” I said, turning to Tasha, who had made herself cozy on the new sofa my mother had had shipped from Bangalore.
“We’ve met already,” Tasha said, waving. Desta smiled pleasantly and nodded her head again.
When Desta was just seven, both of her parents died of AIDS and she was sent to live with distant relatives in Kenya. The people were really nice to her, but she said they couldn’t afford to have her, so they sold her to be married when Desta was twelve. The man was much older than her and he beat her so severely, Desta’s first child died in her womb. When she was twenty-four, she secretly applied to a program that allowed women to come to America to work, and luckily she got in. So on her twenty-fifth birthday, she left her home in the middle of the night, leaving behind her three children. She told my mother it broke her heart but that she knew it was the only way she would ever be able to do anything for them.
“Your mother outside,” Desta said. She pointed to the terrace. “She wait for you.” I pulled a reluctant Tasha up from the couch and headed outside to the terrace.
My mother was sitting at the table yapping away on the phone. She was saying something about needing more bricks to finish the porch on the new Habitat for Humanity house she was building with her sorority sisters.
“Well, would you want to live in a house with no porch?” she said, holding the phone beneath her chin and balancing a cigarette in one hand and a glass of wine in the other—it was a skill she’d picked up a long time ago. She smiled when she saw me and Tasha and nodded for us to walk over to the table. “I know they’re poor, Mr. Councilman, but they deserve options, too.” She skillfully took a pull from her cigarette and stood up to kiss me on the cheek. “Look, if you can’t give me what I want, I’ll just call Judge Shivers up and see what he’s willing to donate. Maybe you’ll match his offering.” She paused. “He is running for your office next year, right? Let me remind you of the black Greek’s voting stronghold in the community.” My mother had him right where she wanted him. Votes. I loved watching her play hardball. Lord knows she could raise some damn money. Get donations from a poor man. “Well, thank you. I knew we could come to a compromise. I’ll look for that check in the mail,” she said, smiling. She was wearing her favorite orange and black sari, another Indian import. “Yes, and it’s great doing business with you, Mr. Councilman.” She hung up the phone and grinned mischievously. “Darling, I can’t believe you’re here,” she said, kissing me on the forehead again.
“You invited me, Mom.” I sat down at the table. She had it set up for a formal dinner.
“Don’t get smart with me, girl. You’re still on my bad side, after that stunt you pulled last week at the theater—not speaking to me.”
“Hi, Mrs. Smith,” said Tasha, my ineffective distraction.
“Hi, baby,” my mother replied, kissing Tasha on both her cheeks. “Troy didn’t say you were coming over. Are you staying for our dinner?”
“Dinner and some of your famous Bloody Marys, I was hoping,” Tasha said.
“Oh, flattery will get you young ladies everywhere in life.” My mother smiled. “Desta,” she shouted, “I’ll need another setting.” I counted two settings on the table. “And a pitcher of my Bloody Marys.”
