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“How’s the web design business going?”
“Good,” she answers, shifting in her seat. “Where’s Daddy?”
“Your father’s home,” Mother offers, squinting at her. “Were you—”
I cut her off before she says something to escalate the growing tension between the two of them. I ask her how Aunt Fanny and Lucky are doing. Ask her when’s the last time she’s spoken to Aunt Harriett. She tells me everyone is doing well. That she spoke to Felecia and Pasha’s grandmother a few days ago. How she wants to have all of us attend Sunday service the day after Pasha’s wedding.
Paris and I start shaking our heads. “Gotta love her,” I say.
Persia grunts, mumbling something under her breath as she pulls out her cell. She starts texting.
Mother stares at us and smiles. “I know we don’t always see eye-to-eye, but I’m really glad to have…” Mother looks at Paris and me, then cuts her eyes over at Persia. “…the three of you here with me,” Mother says, lifting her flute. “Hopefully this is a good start to a new beginning.”
Paris and I raise our glasses. “Hopefully,” the two of us say in unison, watching as Persia scoots her chair back and stands up.
“I feel like I’m gonna be sick,” she says sarcastically. “I’ll be back.”
The three of us watch as she walks off to the front of the restaurant. Mother waits until she’s out of view, then says in a hushed voice, “I’m done trying with that girl. She could have kept her nasty ass—excuse my French, home. I’m tired of her shit. All she—”
Paris gives her a disappointed look, cutting her off. “Mom, don’t. Not today. So far everything’s been good between us. Let’s not…” She hops up from her seat, holding her stomach with one hand and her mouth with the other. She races toward the bathroom.
I excuse myself, pushing my chair back and getting up from the table. “I need to go check on her.” I don’t wait for her to respond.
I walk into the bathroom and find Paris in one of the stalls, leaning over the toilet throwing her guts up. I walk in; rub her back. There’s a film of sweat on her forehead. “Ohmygod,” I say, rushing out of the stall. I grab paper towels and wet them. Go back and place them across her forehead. “Paris, we need to get you to the hospital.”
“No, I’ll be fine,” she says, standing up. She looks pale.
“Sweetie, you don’t look good,” I say, touching the side of her face. She feels warm.
“I need to lie down,” she says, walking over to the sink. She splashes water on her face.
“Girl, I hope it isn’t food poisioning,” I state, handing her three paper towels.
“No, I don’t think that’s what it is. You and I had the same thing. I’m coming down with something; that’s all.”
“C’mon, girl, let’s get you out of here.”
When we return to the table, Mother is at the table with a concerned look on her face. And Persia is still missing in action. “Is everything alright?” She gets up from her seat. “You don’t look well at all.”
“I’ll be fine,” Paris says, grabbing her purse. She apologizes for having to leave. Tells Mother she’s going to have me take her home. That she’ll call her later. Mother gives her a hug, kisses her on the cheek.
“Don’t worry about it. You get home and get some rest.”
“Have you seen Persia?” I ask, scanning the room.
Mother tosses her hand in the air, dismissively. Says Persia walked toward the table but turned on her heels when she noticed Paris and I weren’t there. “Check the men’s room. She’s probably up in some man’s face as usual.” Paris shoots her a look.
I roll my eyes, pulling out my phone to text her. Bitch, where r u?
I reach into my clutch and pull out a hundred dollar bill. “Mother, here’s money toward the bill.” She hands me the money back. Waves the waiter over and tells him to bring the check.
“Brunch is on me. You get your sister home. I’ll call later to check on her.” She gives me a hug, kisses me on the cheek, then whispers in my ear. “Thanks for coming.”
It is in that moment that I realize how much I’ve missed her. How having a better relationship with our mother is just as important to me as it is to Paris. I smile. Hug her back. “I had a nice time. I’ll talk to you later.”
Mother closes out the check, then gathers her things as well. Tells us she’ll walk out with us. Persia texts back. Says she’s with Royce heading home. I huff. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”
“Where’s Persia?” Paris asks.
