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I thanked June and the caterers, locked up, then drove with the family back to Bibi’s for a little private after-party. The talk flowed and Letitia’s laughter filled the house while Shirley Bassey played on Bibi’s ancient record player. The women sipped champagne while Rudy and Ronan stuck to beer. I wished I could’ve had just one glass of the bubbly to celebrate.
But then I will puke and no sexy times with Ronan, I thought, then giggled, giddy from the night. On the other hand, he probably wouldn’t care…
My laughter faded when I saw Mama drain a glass of Merlot and pour another. I’d lost count of how many she’d had at the shop. I frowned and went to the kitchen to get her a bottle of water.
Ronan joined me. “When can we leave?” His voice was low and rough with the promise of sex.
“You’re not having a good time?” I said, hiding my smile in the fridge and letting the cool air waft over my face.
“I’m having a hard time keeping my hands off of you.”
I turned, a bottle of water in one hand. I filled my other with Ronan’s groin. “Me too, as a matter of fact.”
He leaned in to kiss me when a voice rose in anger from the living room. We both froze as Bertie said loudly, “Oh, no you don’t, Marie. Don’t you dare.”
Bibi, Letitia, and Rudy were on the couch, my cousin holding tight to Bibi’s hand. Bertie stood in the center of the room, her black velvet dress rippling with anger as she leveled a finger at Mama who was clearly drunk.
“I have to tell her,” Mama said, swaying, spilling Merlot on the carpet. “She’s eighteen. She’s…old enough.”
“Tell me what?” I asked, though I knew. Of course, I knew.
“Nothing, baby,” Bertie said quickly. “Your mama’s just done a little too much celebrating. We’re going back to the hotel. Rudy…”
My uncle jumped off the couch and spoke soothingly to Mama, but she pushed him away, spilling more wine. “No. I have to do this. I tried before. I can’t…keep it in another minute. Not one…”
“Now?” Bertie cried. “You got to do this now? On her night?”
Ronan’s hand slipped into mine. I held on tight, my mind reeling.
“Yes,” Mama said and spun to find me, one eye shut to keep from seeing double. “Shiloh, you need to know. You needed to know a long time ago…”
“Marie…” Bibi’s voice was low and tremulous. “Not now.”
“Yes, now.”
“Yes, now,” I echoed.
Five pairs of eyes came to me, but I needed to hear it, even if it ruined the perfection of the night.
“I’m starting a new chapter in my life and I want to know who I am. No more lies. No more secrets.” I looked to my mother, hardened my voice. “Tell me.”
She briefly held my gaze, and I saw the hesitation—the fear—behind her eyes. For
a moment, I thought she was going to do what she did last time and try to flee. Instead, tears spilled over, unheeded, down her cheeks.
“They don’t want me to tell you who your father is,” Mama said, flapping a hand in Bertie and Bibi’s direction.
My father. The words seemed alien and strange.
“I should’ve done it a long time ago. But I was scared. And wanted to protect you. But it hurt you instead. My weakness hurt us. Because I look at you…and I see him. And I can’t…”
She half sat, half fell into the dining room chair. I rushed forward and knelt in front of her, even as fear sank cold knives into my chest. “What happened? Tell me now.”
Mama’s head lolled; she was so drunk. “I loved him, but he didn’t love me the same way. He couldn’t have. He couldn’t have…”
“Mama, who…?”
“No one,” she answered, her smile sad. Resigned. “He’s no one, now. He has no name anymore. He’s just the man who raped me.”
