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“Oh good; I was hoping you’d answer. I called your cell but it went straight to voicemail. Why isn’t your cell on?”
Paris frowns. “Mom, what difference does it make if my cell is off or not? You called the house. So, is everything okay?”
“Okay, Paris. Let’s not turn this into another mess. I didn’t call to argue with you. Where are your sisters?”
Paris looks over at me. I wave her on. “Persia left for a meeting. And Paris—”
“Hello, Mother,” I interject.
“How are you, Porsha?” I tell her I’m good. “I don’t know why you have me on speakerphone. You know I don’t like being on that thing.”
Paris shakes her head. “Well, Mom, if you call the house phone, you’re gonna be put on speaker.”
She huffs. “Well, then let me make this brief. What time are you going to be ready to head out to the Dutch Country tomorrow?” Paris glances over at me. I sit back in my seat, folding my arms, smirking. Last month it was the outlets in New York. Now this month she’s traipsing out to Lancaster, Pennsylvania to hit up the Tanger Outlets. I’m convinced the woman is becoming an outlet junkie in her old age. “I’d like to get an early start so we can get up there as soon as the stores open. I want to beat the crowds. Afterward, we can have an early lunch, then spend the rest of the day relaxing before heading back in the morning.”
“And we’ll need to leave early in the morning, too. I need to be back by eleven to open the boutique.”
“Oh, that’s fine. But why aren’t your sisters covering for you?” Paris tells her Persia will cover tomorrow, but she still needs to be back to open on Thursday.
“Well, what about Porsha?”
/> “Mother, I can’t. I’m booked all this week. Paris already knows if I could, I would.”
“Oh, I see. Well, Paris, maybe you should think about hiring someone.” I smirk. Paris glances over at me, giving me the finger.
I laugh.
“I’ll give it some thought. Look I gotta get ready for work. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
“You never said what time you were going to be here.”
“Like around eight.”
“Make it seven,” she has the audacity to say, “to make sure we’re there the minute the doors open.”
I snicker. Persia sighs. “Mom, I’m the one driving. And I will be picking you up at your house at eight o’clock; period.”
“Well, I—”
“Eight o’clock, Mother,” Paris says sternly. “That gives us plenty of time.” I smile. It’s about time she handles her, I think, getting up to make myself a cup of white tea. I pour water into the kettle, then set it back on the stove, turning the burner on. “If that’s not good for you, then you can drive yourself.”
She huffs. “Fine, then. I’ll see you when you get here.”
“Good. I love you. Now you enjoy the rest of your day. I have to get ready for work.”
“Love you, too. You, too, Porsha.”
“Love you back,” I say before she hangs up.
I burst out laughing. “Ooooh, she’s hot with you right about now.”
Paris shrugs. “She’ll get over it. I mean, really. I’m the one driving. And she’s…” She stops herself, shaking her head. “She’s still our mother.”
“Who is never gonna change.”
“Maybe not, but I’m still hoping it’ll change how I deal with her so that I don’t keep letting her disrupt my day.”
I wave her on. “Good luck, boo-boo.”
