Meet the Grahams

“Now Isa, don’t forget to soften up when you go into the bridge.”

“Look, I’ve got this Edily, if anything you’re going to jinx me having me make a complete ass out of myself!”

For that exact reason I was reminding my little sister to soften up at the bridge; so, she wouldn’t make a fool of herself. She has the tendency to go over-board with things, especially when she feels like she has everyone’s undivided attention.

Nodding my head in response she continued to babble,

“Please Edily just spare me at least once in my life, besides this isn’t a sold-out show at Madison Square Garden. Its’ just a wedding reception. It’s funny how I couldn’t perform at the wedding because my ignorant sister found a way to book Jon B. just in the nick of time. Imagine how that panned out for me.”

Before allowing this conversation to get out of hand because this wasn’t the time or place, I cut her off, “Isa please cut it out, you’re still mad over that mess? Like I’ve tried to explain to you before, Faith asked me at the last minute to get someone to sing at her wedding, you and Jon B. were the only people available in my contacts and who do you think she chose?”

Looking at me with the most idiotic expression on her face, she replies,

“Screw you Edily.”

Waving Isa off as usual, I reminded her again to soften up at the bridge although I knew it would piss her off even more. I couldn’t help but stand there and wonder in utter disappointment about how completely sour and immature she was acting. Today is supposed to be the happiest day of my favorite cousin’s life. My sister, who Faith adores, is acting like a complete spoiled brat.

Everything around me was perfect for the bride. The satin ivory seat covers, along with dipped lilac roses in crystal vases, as center pieces were the perfect combination. The lights were dim in the room, causing the over-sized chandeliers to glow in a way so elegant that it left me amazed.

“Edily darling, could you hold Izzy while I get some pictures of your sister up there singing?”

“Sure Mama.”

Now, like always at every family function, I’m stuck with the baby. Seems like that’s how these family functions go down, Isa asks Mama to hold little Isaiah while she goes to the restroom, go say hi to a relative, make a plate, or hell, whatever excuse she can come up with to drop him with Mama. Mysteriously, Mama always finds her way to me, then I’m stuck with my nephew for hours, sometimes days at a time. For some odd reason, I don’t mind his company today. He’s the cutest and sweetest 2-year-old I’ve ever seen, especially in his little black and white tuxedo and lilac bow tie. I believe I’m just emotional and sappy because of the type of day and moment it is. Being here at my cousins wedding, does truly make me question my future. I’m 29 years old and still very much single. I have a decent job with a highly “important sounding” title and although my income is far from where I would want it, I’m an all-around hit.

When I look at myself in the mirror, I see natural beauty, both internal and external. I have a 5’4-inch frame, toasted almond skin, breasts and enough behind to cuff, grab and enjoy. Seemingly hypnotic, ebony eyes, defined lips, long dark brown naturally wavy hair that along with my nails always are maintained. I have a home, its small but it’s mine, a car, no kids, practically the works. A least in my opinion. You would think I would have men falling at my feet, but that’s far from the case. It seems like I can’t find a good man even if it meant saving my life. My family and friends believe I’ve set my standards for men way too high. What do they know?After the way I’d been treated, I feel left with no choice but to demand a man with more than just “something going” for himself.

The only person in my world that has had, or should I say is having a successful relationship is Faith, and she’s just now making it to the alter, with twin girls before her marriage at age 30.

Isa is the main character in my world pushing me to lower my standards. She believes in her own little mind that men fall at her feet and give her what she wants because she has a lot of what it takes to keep them on a leash. She would take a John with no job or home, but still hustles in the streets, and rides in $80,000 cars, just to look good. Then there’s Tom, who has a 6-figure income, but has no emotional attachment to her life and buys her what she wants. I love my little sister. She has so much potential but goes nowhere with it; where she does go, usually turns out to be a dead-end street, with little to no way out.

Isa is beautiful; I mean drop dead gorgeous. She’s so striking it’s almost frightening. She too has toasted almond skin, and ebony eyes. However, it’s the definition in her facial structure that makes her stand out. Her lips are plump and pouty if that helps paint a picture. Along with having extremely high cheek bones, she also has the cutest and deepest dimples ever! She was blessed to have more French than the Indian ancestry in our genes, so her hair is naturally thick and wavy. When it’s straightened, her beauty becomes flawless.

Now she’s always been a petite woman, but the Stair Master has been her best friend ever since she’s had Izzy. Isa is built like a stallion.

However, my little sister uses her beauty like poison, believing everything is supposed to be handed to her on a platinum platter. What’s most difficult for me to understand, is how and why she turned out to be so boisterous. We watched our mother go through so many years, different versions and levels of abuse, just to survive and give us the life we have today. My childhood scarred me to the fullest, so I don’t see how Isa pulls some of the stunts that she does.

Looking back, things were really traumatic growing up; it seems as if life was just starting to get better for us as a family of women trying to endure. Mama’s career as an LPN was starting to take off, which kept her out all hours of the day and night. This gave her little to no time to focus on Isa and her wild lifestyle.

My sister is truly a “go getter”. She’s still in school at Chicago State, and doing well the last time I checked, yet she was still out there socially. She’s had 3 abortions and a 2-year-old by age 23, but no baby’s daddy or male role model in either situation. She aspires to become the next Diana Ross or someone of that stature, but totally lacks the class. Case in point, she’s on stage at a wedding reception, allegedly singing a love ballad, in front of our entire family. She’s singing in the most seductive tone and grinding like she was producing a baby making record and wants everyone in the audience to make a baby too! She sounds and looks good on stage, but her lyrics are so sexually forward and vulgar that it’s hideous; she should’ve sung this joint at the bachelorette party.

Isa is a talented writer but refuses to allow me to find her a writer to help express her vulgarity in a classier manner. Better yet, find a production team, to help take her to where I know she can go, which is the top. She assumes because I work for a major record label, it’s my job to “put her on”, but she makes it too difficult. No one in the industry wants an artist that won’t listen or doesn’t know how to take constructive criticism. Isa doesn’t take too kindly to advice, good or bad. I swear we fight like cats and dogs.  

“Child what chu’ daydreaming about?”

His country accent and tone startled me for a second. I nearly felt numb to the sound of his familiar yet distant voice. Realizing it was my sorry excuse for a father, I immediately put guards up and gave a soft nod to reply, while still bouncing Izzy on my hip.

“Oh, nothing much, just listening to baby sis get down up there on that stage. How are you Smitty?”

“Yeah, she sounds mighty nice, but something just ain’t there. I know she bes’ stay her behind in college, cuz’ you know, not all dreams come true.”

Here he goes, being the old, callus bastard of a man he’s always been. He had some nerve saying some of the things he said. With him being a pimp, my mother being his main whore, along with the things we’ve endured in the past, he has no right to judge, or poke fun at Isa’s dream. I went from being happy, and somewhat annoyed at my sister, to ready to blow a gasket, just at the sight of his face and attempt at a conversation.

My memories of my father are all bad.

In my eyes, he was just a man that had my mother working the streets all hours of the night. My sister and I stayed in a cold apartment, alone, hungry, and waiting on the so-called pizza man to ring our bell.

Pizza that never came. Ever.

Nodding in agreement about Isa staying in school, I tried shifting positions turning my back toward him, hoping he would get the hint and go away. Of course, he doesn’t. He instead decides to ask in the most broken version of English possible,

“So, how’s dat music career of yours going, is you rolling round in dem’ big ol’ dollars yet gurl?”

“It’s going, you know what they say, another day, another dollar I guess.”

Being that I’m not too satisfied with where I am in my career, I wasn’t open to conversation about it, especially with him. I was hoping by the tone and the nature of my response, my father would understand that. Although I’m not surprised, he continues to babble.

“N’other day, N’other dollar my ass, I seen that new ride you dun pulled up here in child. Who you think you fooling?”

Little to his knowledge, my car is the same age as his grandson which he barely even knows.

“Smitty, the car is over 2 years old, along with your grandson right here who you seem to be totally oblivious to.”

“Why? What? Is that yo’ baby Edily?”

I was beyond heated by now. Was he being serious, or just totally ignorant to what was going on with his daughters? It was funny at first, how clueless he was, but this…was sad.

I chuckled disapprovingly, and in as snotty a tone as I could muster,

“No genius, this is Isa’s baby Isaiah and no he is not a Graham. You need to ask yourself where the hell you’ve been all this time. This conversation is sad and should be embarrassing on your part.”

I could see Isiah not having the family name, along with my tone, and choice of words had struck a nerve. Graham had been our father’s last name, so Isa and I felt as though our children didn’t deserve the memories. Therefore, Smitty Joe Graham didn’t deserve the honor. We both agreed, with our mother’s approval, to name our children with the last name of Ross. Mama’s maiden name.

“He ain’t no Graham? What the hell you mean he ain’t a Graham? If that’s Isa’s baby boy, then he damn near better be the only mother fucker in here named Graham! Ha! Well look at what I got here, my oldest daughter dun got a little money, a halfway decent job, and bought herself a slick ass mouth! While my youngest, got a 2-year-old boy without my last name, but got her ass on stage, hoeing, at a fucking family wedding! Yeah Edily, where the hell have, I been?”

I was nearly mortified by his words, and if it weren’t for me trying to balance Izzy on my hip, and my drink in my free hand, I may have fallen over.

I can’t stand Smitty and have zero respect for him. I couldn’t help but to shoot back.

“Well, we did have a pimp for a daddy. So, what did you expect to get, Charlie’s fucking Angels?"

“Well, you got a hoe for a mother too! A wise one at that, so you best re-adjust dat’ smart ass mouth, before I show out at this here trumped-up wedding.

” I could feel myself turning visibly red by now, flustered to a point where I knew Smitty could see as well. Never backing down, he continues rambling.

“Now hand me my grandson so you can go fix that heap of foundation on your face.”

With the look of total confusion, I almost yelled,

“Excuse me? I don’t wear make-up!”

“Well, you should. I can see all that pitiful anger right behind what you think is beauty.”

By then, I was done. My feelings were hurt, I felt insulted and injured like I was 14 all over again. Left with nothing more to say, I did exactly what he requested. I handed Izzy off, despite my better judgment, and made a b-line toward the restrooms.

I hit the door and immediately found myself face over the sink, drowning in crocodile tears. I

can’t believe I’ve allowed myself to get so worked up by my so-called father. However, unlike him, I was far more sensitive and delicate like my mother JoAnne Rey Graham.

Mama is a petite, Creole cultured woman, from The French Quarters of Louisiana. Her skin and features are almost those of a suntanned Arabic woman. Her hair was long, black, and straight that she rocks now in a bob cut. Her eyes are big, round, and sparkle. She has a naturally giving and loyal attitude; simply beautiful. I admired my mother’s inner beauty and strength because our past was so saddening. I recall hearing Mama getting her ass whipped by my daddy in the middle of the night. Mainly because she didn’t want to go out on the track and make money. I can still hear him telling my mom,

“Real bitches” didn’t cry; yet the more she cried, the more he would beat her. Some nights I cried for her because I knew she was holding back her tears.

I don’t understand or see how she put up with his drug addicted abuse for so long; it wasn’t until Smitty ‘Trigger Finger’ Joe put a pistol in my mother’s mouth. He told her he would kill her, us, and himself if she didn’t go out there and make enough money for his ‘fix’ when she finally got the courage to leave.

I recall Mama begging for him to let her up so she could go make the money promising to be back in a couple hours. Mama came over to Isa and me when Isa was just about 12 at the time. I would remember her exact words to this very moment,

“Edily, you keep an eye out one last time, and I promise I will be back in 2 hours and in about 3 this will all be over for good; Edily, Isa I promise, this is no more.”

I swear Isa and I watched that clock and prayed that it would really finally be over.

I remember us talking about what we would finally be able to enjoy once we were away from him. Warm meals, filled bellies, Mama smiling again, no more beatings for either of us.

We sat and prayed and waited until Mama seemed to walk in the door on cue exactly 2 hours later.

Smitty jumped up, snatched the money out of Mama’s hand and was out that door so fast he had forgot his jacket.

Within that instant, Mama locked the door behind him and quietly told Isa and I to pack a bag of what was important to us while she began to do the same. Anything that we couldn’t fit we were told to not worry about it; Mama promised it would all be replaced.

While we packed, Mama described how she needed us to handle ourselves accordingly once he returned. We were to play the role. Mama explained that we were getting ready to leave and were never coming back. However, in order for us to leave and for this to work we had to move fast, be smart, pay attention and play along.

Isa and I were both ready for this nightmare to be over, so we played close attention to Mama’s game plan and did as we were instructed.

Mama directed us to put on our warmest and heaviest pajamas, put our bags in the never used front closet, and had me and Isa go into the room as if we were in bed for the night. We weren’t allowed to get up, not even to go pee until she came to get us.

I remember cuddling up in the bed next to Isa and singing my own song, something to the tune of “were getting out and it’s finally over”.

I had a passion for writing music for as long as I could remember, and tonight was no exception. Isa sang along and added her own lyrics while we patiently yet nervously waited on this nightmare to finally be over. I can recall us repeating the lyrics to the song over and over until we heard Smitty come back in. We could hear him stumble his way through the house, tripping and knocking things over in his path. We listened while Mama let daddy get high and make love to her for one last time. I remember feeling most excited about those parts of our nights finally about to be over.

The level of sexual abuse was immoral.

There were so many countless nights we’ve had to sit and listen to our parents have sex. Our mother fulfilled Smitty’s drug induced fantasies with orgies, weird games of sorts and sexual noises that went on until the early morning hours.

This time however, Mama kept her promise by coming in the room to get us. We followed Mama to her bedroom, waiting anxiously by the door, we watched as she first went to the nightstand on her side of the bed. Opening the tiny cabinet door, she grabbed a small purple bag filling it with what seems like tons of money and jewelry. Next, she put a hoody on and signaled for us to head toward the front door. We grabbed our bags out the closet; reminding us to keep quiet, she made us hold our shoes until we were completely out the apartment building, we lived in.

We were in a cab on our way to the train station headed to Chicago. We never went back to Louisiana and hadn’t seen Smitty again for over 10 years. Chicago had become home and the 3 of us were as a final point, our own team.

My emotions were rapidly running, and my head was spinning at least what seemed to be 90 mph. I shuffled through my bought off the street Prada clutch for some type of pain killers, found some Excedrin and popped a couple. 

I fingered through my hair a bit still trying to stop the tears, put on some lip gloss, making some sort of an attempt to pull myself together. I finally decided to head back to the reception; I was long overdue for another drink.

Thinking I was letting go of what just transpired between Smitty and me, I was stopped in my tracks by commotion taking place in the banquet room lobby. I listened for familiar voices and noticed Isa’s screeching voice over everyone. It appeared she was telling Smitty to put Isaiah down and Smitty being Smitty, was refusing. Isa is going off on Smitty telling him how much of a father or grandfather he hasn’t been while Mama is playing back up chiming in whenever Isa would let her. Smitty on the other hand was taking all the verbal knives and daggers being thrown at him left and right by the duo. Still refusing to put Izzy down he shouts with his usual callus response to an altercation with our mother or me, this time however, Isa was the one on the insulted end.

“Oh, shut up bitch! I-made-you and this here I’m holding is me! That’s how y’all do me?

I fly all the way up here to play family man at this snobby shit ass wedding. Trying to make right while y’all pretending and acting like rich folk, looking down on me and such! This how y’all do me? Me? I-made-you-bitches, all you bitches!”

Not being able to take anymore, I wiped the last of my falling tears and stormed into the lobby area with the drama. Before I could get a word in Mama was speaking her peace.

“Yeah, you made us, and you did what with it Joe? Turned us all into some evil, selfless, angry, bitches, or better yet some gold-digging ass whores that left your tired ass hanging?"

Not again Joe, I refuse to let your black ass come in here and ruin another memorable moment in my family’s life. Not today Joe, your black ass will not have the glory, not today!”

Mama had spoken with so much venom and passion you would’ve thought she was spitting poison behind her words.

However, words were nothing but a mere challenge to Smitty. Never being able to just let things go when he knows he’s wrong Smitty shoots back almost dropping Izzy,

“Fuck you mean ruin another moment? Bitch you chose to make me a moment in your world hoe not me!”

Mama was snickering, my father had become a joke.

“Oh, now wait a minute Joe, I thought you chose me. Why isn’t that how pimping in the south go honey? Sounds like you contradicting yourself now.”

We all laughed at Mama’s humor. Everyone except Smitty. Uncle Ross interrupted the humiliation noticing Smitty found nothing about this situation amusing.

“Hey Joe lets break this mess up, I’m a need for you to leave my daughter’s wedding. This is supposed to be the happiest day of her life and well my sister was right, you are ruining the moment.”

Back in his pimping, callus, country accent, Smitty continued to rant about his place in this family and who he’s made and shaped. He knew how to create tension and fired back, leaving us all muddled.

Smitty decided to mention that Faith was lucky she was his niece and how she should be happy he came to the wedding. Faith knew good and well the situation could’ve been a lot worse. His cowardly demand for Faith to tell us how many times she’s been to New Orleans within the past 2 years perplexed us.

The fear in Faiths eyes read a story awaiting to be told.

I didn’t know or understand what Smitty words had meant but at this point, I. in good conscience, didn’t care to find out. Just like everyone else, I wanted Smitty to be gone.

I also knew my Uncle Ross. The fact he didn’t dwell on what Smitty had just said shuddered me even more.

Uncle Ross calmly continued to ask him to leave before he got removed.

“Smitty I’m going to tell you 1 last time to leave before it be a hell of a lot more than just your trigger finger missing.”

Challenging Uncle Ross would be a death sentence for any fool however Smitty was a different type of fool. Ruthless and insensitive were understatements for my father. At the rate he was going, I could tell Smitty was up for more than just a challenge.

Uncle Ross is my mother’s only brother, yet I have about 7 Uncles, that’s kept Smitty Joe and all other drama and mishaps as far away from Mama, Isa, and Me as humanly possible.

Uncle Ross and his guys ran the south side of Chicago, all of it. They labeled Faith a street princess and of course Ross Street King. My Uncle Ross, my favorite cousin Faith, and Aunt Aida were pure street royalty, no one messed with them or their family.

It took about 6 years of hell before Ross accepted Faith’s dating her now husband Brice. He too, was a street lord that’s been working for Uncle Ross for about 8 of those 6 years.

Brice was even forced to change his last name to Ross instead of Faith changing hers which I’m sure he didn’t mind. This further proved Uncle Ross played no games.

“Fuck you young blood! I ain’t gotta go nowhere. Jus’ cuz my trigger finger don’t work, don’t mean this here pistol won’t!”

With that being said, Smitty did what he normally does on the losing end of a dispute, draw his pistol.

We all moved backed while the room fell to silence.

I couldn’t believe some of the stunts this man would pull at this day in age. Who draws a gun at a wedding and you’re not the jealous ex-lover?

Mama spoke out unmoved by the weapon,

“So, you going to kill my brother at his daughter’s wedding? Why, because you’re not wanted Joe? Anyway, I thought you stop using guns ever since you shot your trigger finger off? What type of nonsense you got dancing around in your head now Joe? Are you trying to blow off your entire hand nowadays?”

We laughed uneasily at Mama’s continued humor.

Smitty changed positions now pointing the gun towards Mama,

“Look here bitch don’t act like you ain’t ever had no pistol put to face.”

“Yep, and that same coward that pulled that gun on me putting the barrel in my throat is the same coward still standing here. Who by the way still ain’t got the heart to pull the trigger? Your gun didn’t scare me then and it doesn’t scare me now, you’re all talk and no aim. I am free from you Joe and so are my daughters.

We have been for a long time.

Ironic you haven’t learned the more you try to hurt me the more you hurt. The more you resent, the more you weep in pity? Now I’m asking you for my niece, my brother, and my sister-in-law for you to leave. This is not your family Joe; we are not your family.”

Seeing the blood boil over in Smitty’s head, knowing his next move was to shoot, I yelled out and reminded him that pimping was dead in the south. Ruling with an iron fist doesn’t work around these parts. I knew telling him that would take his focus from Mama.

Pimping in the south was a sensitive subject to Smitty as he sees it as a form of art and employment.

Smitty turned that long-barreled pistol toward me and before I knew it, 3 shots were fired; natural instincts kicked in to hit the ground.

I couldn’t believe what was happening. I laid there for a moment nearly stuck trying to come to gather a thought to think; my mind continued to draw a blank.

This was the definition of shock.

Looking and feeling over myself, realizing I hadn’t been harmed, my mind raced as I thought about who was standing next to me when Smitty fired, Isa and Izzy.

No longer caring about my safety I jumped up to check on my nephew and little sister. My world would end right now if something had happened to them especially on the count of Smitty’s doing.

Once grounded and out of panic mode I noticed Smitty Joe lying in a growing pool of blood

and Mama standing there with a gun shaking uncontrollably.

My steps toward her were slowed out of misperception on the last 30 seconds of my life.

I wasn’t sure what had just happened.

I knew everyone I loved and cared about were unharmed and Smitty ‘Trigger Finger’ Joe Graham was the one down.

“Oh my God Mama you alright, say something to me?”

Mama was shaking and sweating, the still yet satisfying look in her eyes made me even more nervous at this point.

“JoAnne, give me the gun.”

This moment seemed so surreal.

My mother had just shot and killed my father while he was trying to shoot me.

Mama began to laugh and shout while still aiming the gun at Smitty in what sounded like a native chant,

“NO FUCK YOU SMITTY JOE, MAY YOU BURN, BURN, BURN, BURN, BURRRRRN IN HELL. LET THE GATES OF FIRE OPEN UP AND RECEIVE YOU….BURN SMITTY JOE GRAHAM, BURN!!!

Mama laughed while breaking into tears.

I hadn’t heard Mama speak like that in years. I believe we were all mixed up about Mama’s tears. The uncanny added laughter is what I believe did it.

Uncle Ross took the gun from Mama as she broke from her trance and went to embraced both Isa and Me in her arms.

She hugged us both, insisting we were free for good and no longer had the burden of Joe in our lives.

“I may go to jail but at least my girls can live in peace now.”

“Mama you’re not going to jail, you can simply tell the officers the truth, he tried to shoot me first and you were defending my life.”

Mama went into apologizing for the memories, moments, and the time she lost with the two us.

“Oh, my beautiful girls, despite the past you all have grown so much, so mature, I’m so proud and sorry at the same time.

”Right now, Mama was feeling guilt, anger, and joy all at once; her mind was tired.

I nodded my head over at Isa, and she smiled back a sense of relief, but I could see the hurt in her eyes.

This wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t handed Izzy over to Smitty. It was my fault our father was dead. Even though I felt partial blame, I needed to break this moment before Mama had a mental break down right before us.

“Mama its ok, you did what was right for your family and what was right for the situation at the time. We can’t dwell on the past right now Mama. Right now, we need to figure this mess out before the police arrive.”

Both Mama and Isa agreed. Mama complimented me on my maturity and began to call the police while Uncle Ross went to cover Smitty’s body with a tablecloth.

After calming Mama for some time, I went to see how Faith was holding up after all the madness.

When I went into the dressing room, surprisingly I found Faith in the mirror dancing and singing, barely fixing her hair and make-up.

I spoke up trying not to frighten her,

“Hey cuz, sorry my pops and our family drama ruined your wedding.”

Still giddy, doing her own little dance Faith replied,

“Ruined my wedding? Girl y’all made it epic! More of a blast than what it already was.”

I looked at her with confusion,

“I’m saying Edily check this out from my point of view; in one day, I’ve gotten the royalty treatment, gotten extra pretty and glamorous in this wedding dress. I took pictures that were all about me, enjoyed my current family while joining another, witnessed a murder, and got married to the father of my children! Which is by the way a good man that’s willing to commit to me forever.I got two weeks paid vacation from work, I leave for Paris in less than 8 hours, what more could a girl ask for? Edily I’m rolling in joy; you might as well call me Princess Faith because I’m royalty today honey!”

I was so pleased to see Faith in the frame of mind she was in; I thought I was going to come in here, have to wipe some tears, and do some serious damage control.

Since no one else seemed to be worried about Smitty, not my mother; his killer, not even the bride, why should I? Besides, I’ve never felt a real connection to Smitty anyhow.

Faith and I chatted about the good street running days together up until now, and how we got to this point of our lives while waiting on the police. I was still trying to wrap my feelings around my pimp for a father being killed by his main whore who’s claimed to be his only love, my mother. I knew our lives were getting ready to take a thought-provoking turn.

Faith and I were singing ‘The Mary Jane Girls’ song “All Night Long” one of our favorites when out of know where Faith asked in a very peculiar tone,

“I wonder who the heck gonna bury Uncle Joe old fool behind?”

That was a very worthy question. I hadn’t even thought about it up until Faith’s mentioning. I replied, my answer not really compassionate.

“Who care’s Fai?”

The amount of alcohol I’ve consumed along with the raw emotion of Smitty’s death had me unable to truly focus on the subject, none the less care.

“Nobody liked Smitty callous behind, so if anybody would bury his ass it would probably be the state. Or one of his modern-day whores."

I was laughing, almost belligerent at this point, Faith had chimed in almost in celebration,

“Girl yes, Uncle Joe was a foul ass man, I’m just glad he’s gone, the drama he kept bringing every time we all got together had finally gone too far. Dad was not feeling that pimp mess on my wedding day, hell, neither was Auntie Anne! Auntie was all revenge of the whores and shit! I loves’ the way she handled herself tonight Cuz!”

I totally agreed with Faith on all aspects, minus her ghetto outlook of my mom.

We went back to singing and performing in the mirror like we used to. I couldn’t help but to think about the things that lead to this point.

Faith and I were continuing to laugh and almost celebrate the death of my father and not an inch of my soul cared.

The knock on the door startled me at first. I answered the door knowing Faith wasn’t going to budge.

“Good evening officers.”

I spoke in my academy tone attempting to level out my alcohol and prepare myself for what they were getting ready to ask. They each spoke with a nod, while I stepped back to let the 2 officers’ in.

“Let me start by getting your names and role in this wedding. I assume you must be the bride Faith correct?”

That was the short Caucasian officer speaking. He had a scrawny little build, seemed older than most officers and had a voice like a tiny old man that smoked all his life. His lungs being on the verge of giving out, he seemed to a bit cynical.

Faith's reply was short, and in a bit of an aggravated tone. You could tell she didn’t want to be asked many questions,

“Yes, that’s me and I really don’t want to have time for this mess. My wedding is ruined all because of my evil Uncle Joe. I’m not in the mood for my day to turn into his day. I swear that man ruins everything! Can we hurry up and get on with this process please? We haven’t even eaten yet and my Daddy spent a lot of money on this custom seafood menu. We better at least get to eat and finish this top shelf open bar off.”

Faith was nearly whining while I chimed in,

“Yes, officers and I’m Edily Graham, Joe was my father.”

I made sure to say it in the most relieved, but victimized tone.

“Joe wasn’t invited, he just showed up, and since it was Faith’s wedding everyone agreed to let him stay as long as he didn’t cause any problems. As you can see officers, that dream was short lived.”

The tall Black cop seemed intrigued, I offered him a seat on the small couch while both Faith and I sat down next to him. We allowed him to continue to ask a series of questions that lead to my fathers’ death. He took control of the questioning while Mr. Scrawny cop took notes and combed over the room.

Faith and I both made sure we gave as much damaging details about Joes’ character as possible; ensuring that Mama’s actions tonight were justifiable and in self-defense.

Despite everything that was going on and being asked, I couldn’t help but to be fascinated by the officer questioning us. He was the typical, tall, dark, and handsome. However, he had a very deep voice that almost sounded like a growl when he spoke. His hands and nails were clean, his teeth pearl white and polished to perfection. His hair was cut low, lining chiseled to a T, while his demeanor wreaked of arrogance. He was well over 30, and more than just an average detective on the force. I glanced down noticed there was no wedding ring, yet a platinum ring on his left pinky finger. His shoes were expensive and although he was out of uniform, his attire appeared expensive as well. I could also smell his cologne when he entered the room which also smelled expensive, that’s what initially caught my attention. Along with the barely noticeable Rolex watch on his right wrist, platinum bracelet on the other, I was in awe and no longer focused on this interview.

“So, you would say your father was callus and unnecessarily abusive correct Ms. Edily?” asked Officer Scrawny.

“He was. Now can we be done with this interview please officers? My cousin already feels like her day was ruined by my father. My family is beyond tired from all the years of stress he’s caused, plus the Bride is starving!”

Irritated that he’d snapped me out of an obvious trance, I stood to let the officers out ending the interview myself.

The tall, handsome, cop nodded in empathy, passed me his card, and in the sincerest tone, advised,

“Give me a call Ms. Edily if you have any questions, or can think of anything else to help shed light on this situation.”

I took the card and let both officers out to continue to ask others what they had known.

An hour or so later Smitty ‘Trigger Finger’ Joe Graham was in someone’s freezer, and we were all sitting down enjoying top notch seafood that Faith made sure to customize herself. She took us all back to the south and put a Creole touch on the menu. We had lobster both steamed and fried, crab legs, jumbo shrimp cooked to order, fried alligator, tilapia, sushi rolls, all served with fresh steamed or sautéed vegetables. I tell you if it came from down under, Faith and Uncle Ross made sure it was on the menu for this occasion. Mama even made up a special batch of her famous seafood gumbo as the starter soup for guests.

Topping the menu off, if you were allergic to seafood or just wasn’t feeling it, they had steak or chicken, with baked, mashed, or twice baked potatoes.

I couldn’t wait to have my time to shine so I could put out a spread like this.

Faith even went so exotic to serve stuffed rainbow trout which smelled like passion fruit while lit on fire, for both her and her groom. I was captivated!

We laughed, we danced, made a soul train line, did a little family karaoke. Jon B. sang again this time with Isa singing Tamia’s part to Eric Benets' ‘Spend My Life’. They sounded so beautiful together they had us all holding back tears.

We bonded as a family while guest slowly began to leave.

We polished off the open top shelf bar, and as the Ross family, with all other nay sayers and onlookers gone, opened up the last 2 bottles of champagne: toasting to new beginnings.

                                                  *****************

Relieved to finally be home, I got into my small house a little after 2 a.m. Kicking my shoes off at the door, I was out of my lilac purple, satin dress literally before I got to my bedroom.

This was a definite sign of my intoxication. Sober I wouldn’t dare leave a satin dress that I had to pay $800 bucks to have made on the floor; tonight, however was a different story.

I climbed into my king size bed and let the darkness and alcohol put me to sleep.

It seemed like I had just got into a good nod when I heard my cell phone ring from across the room. It was that damn ring tone that I dreaded to hear yet I lacked the strength to block the number,

‘I don’t wanna; love you, don’t wanna need you, just wanna, leave you, I swear, I just want it to be over…’

I was not in the disposition however I knew if I didn’t answer he was just going to blow my phone up. I waited on the house phone to ring, too lazy to get up and look for my cell, I picked up the receiver just after the first ring,

“What Maleek, it’s like 4 a.m. have you no tact?”

In his New Yorkers accent and slang,

“Yo, I know it’s late Edily. I been calling you all day, ain’t been getting no answer. So, I figure the hell wit’ it, I’ll wait till she good and sleep to call. That way I’ll know you’re home and at least I’d get an answer. You know I know you girl; you always answer for ya’ boy out ya’ sleep.”

Amused by his method of reasoning, I asked him what he wanted stressing the irritation in my voice.

“Yo Ed, me and Brianna need some place to sleep tonight. It’s been a rough couple days for us, we will be gone before you come home from work tomorrow.”

I couldn’t believe what he was asking of me.My ex of about 5 months now was further out of his mind than I thought; the nerve of some men.

“Excuse me? First of all, Maleek it’s fucking 4 a.m., why the hell are you and your child out at this time of night? Secondly, I’m off tomorrow so the answer to your question is hell no! Try a Motel 6, they’re sure to leave the light on for you!”

Not giving him a chance to respond I hung up the receiver. I hated shutting Maleek down like that but at some point, of my life I had to.

Maleek was the heartbreaker of all heartbreakers in my world.

It’s not that I didn’t care about leaving Maleek and his now 3-year-old daughter to sleep in a hotel, but Maleek’s disordered and selfish lifestyle deserved my cold shoulder treatment.

He called my phone again back-to-back. I didn’t answer, knowing I would eventually fall for Maleeks old tricks.

When it came to Maleek I was a fool, more like a dumb ass.

We were together for over 4 years until he introduced me to his 2-year-old daughter about 8 months ago. He claimed to be tired of hiding his other life behind my back. It was then time for him to step up and be a better father to his daughter, a better man to her mother; his wife, and a more truthful man to me. When he broke that news to me, I was completely distraught.

The man whom I’d given my heart to have a wife, a kid, the dog, a picket fence, the whole nine, all while living a perfectly normal relationship with me.

He spent nights, sometimes weeks at my house here in Chicago. Before all the drama went down, Maleek and I were going half on rent; had joint bank accounts, and spent most birthdays and, holidays together. I’m not talking side chick holidays, I had Christmas, New Years and day, 4th of July, family barbeques, you name it. When Maleek wasn’t working he was with me and I had loved him whole heartedly. Granted, he was from and lived in New York, but we both had business in each other’s state and were nearly inseparable. It wasn’t like I barely saw or spoke to him. To be honest, I don’t know how he was able to live a double life for so long.

I had been to NY to meet his parents back when we first started dating. Often times when I was in NY on business and Maleek when wasn’t there I would stay at his parent’s house in his old bedroom. I had become family. His mother, Mrs. Smith, would serve up the biggest breakfast and have her famed hot chocolate brewing for me before I headed out for work for the day.

I had seen his family in my mind become my family. I had met sisters, brothers, best friends, aunts, uncles, even his grandmother! Hell, his grandmother sent me fresh lemons from her tree every spring with a new kettle to attempt to make her legendary lemonade for myself. Of course, she had sent me the recipe and told me she only passes it down to whom she considered family.

Not to mention when he was in New York, I would stay with him. At his house, the house I called my New York home; the home I helped decorate, that had all my touches and photos up. Even up until this very moment, my mind couldn't grasp how Maleek played the character for so long. I believe I was more hurt at how everyone in his world knew what was going on except for me; I had felt played by his entire family.

I found myself angry and in tears all over again. I cut my ringers off and attempted to go back to sleep. I was once again good and dreaming until I was awakened by a loud banging at my door. Noticing the sun was just barely up, I glanced at my clock, 5:52. This couldn’t’ be anyone other than Maleek old fool ass. I prepared myself for the bullshit story I was about to receive.

I swung the front door to my residence open nearly naked wearing the pissed off face.

“Really Maleek, at 6a.m., you show up here at 6 a.m.?”

He cut me off before I could finish my rant,

“Look Edily, quit acting brand new and let us in! You really think I want to have her with me 24/7 and be here at your doorstep looking stupid? It’s cold, Brianna hasn’t really been sleep

and…”

No longer being able to take the sob story, I rudely interjected,

“Well, you should have planned better and gotten you and little Ms. Princess here a presidential suite at the Hyatt or something.”

“Stop it Edily! I didn’t want Brianna sleeping in another hotel for another night. We’ve been doing this for too many nights and well,”

The long pause almost made me shriek. Listening with the reads of sarcasm on my face, he went on,

“We really just needed someplace with real structure for the night. Now morning.”

I was blown, I couldn’t believe Maleek. He had this little girl out here with him living out of a suitcase like he often did; yet decides to come to me for structure.

Not believing a word, I attempted to end this unwanted visit,

“Look Maleek, you shouldn’t have a 3-year-old out living like she in a father/daughter rock band. Furthermore, you need to find another hotel because this isn’t it. Book your daughter and yourself the next flight out and take her home to her mother, your wife. Now if you would excuse me, I was trying to sleep in considering today is my day off.”

I slammed the door in both him and Brianna’s face. You would think that I was done until he decides to yell through the door adding on to the pity party,

“So, you just gon’ leave me and my shorty out here like this Edily? Out of everyone, I thought you would always understand and at least have a heart.

"Dammit Edily I’m desperate! I could see if it was just me, but I got Brianna!”

 He was angrily yelling at this point.

I swung the door open for a second time leaving enough space for them to get in,

“Gone by 9 Maleek. You know where the covers are, and please no bullshit.”

“Deal”

I went back into my room, made sure I locked the door behind myself, laid back down, and prayed that Maleek would let me sleep off this alcohol.

I was reawakened. This time, to the smell of breakfast; bacon and eggs to be exact. I saw that it was a quarter after 10 and found myself angry all over again.

I stormed out of my bedroom nearly blowing my top,

“What the hell Maleek? We had a deal and said NO BLUUSHIT! Remember gone by 9? I really didn’t want to see your tired ass face or deal with your shit when I woke up!”

Not really being moved by my actions, Maleek continued to scramble eggs at my stove and spoke to me in the calmest tone,

“Yo Ed, chill out with all that especially in front of my kid. You know you don’t wanna be a bitch to me right now, besides, you look like you could use some breakfast and hot tea. Long night?”

He was doing it again, changing the subject and running game. He knew me far too well, but I would never let him know or see it.

“Well considering some asshole called my phone at 4 and then played pop up with his rude ass kid at 6, and basically intruded on my morning, I guess you can say I've had a long night.

However, I don’t need your services. Please get you and your kid and leave Maleek. Know when you’re no longer wanted.”

Again, not really being moved, he continued to make the eggs and started on a pot of tea. I can admit I was stuck and intrigued by his disposition. This is what initially turned me on about

him; his ability to keep calm during a storm and rationally make important sometimes life changing decisions. That part of him had me fascinated.

“Look Edily quit trying to play me especially at a time like this.”

Still in bitch mode I cut him off,

“Stop taking such risks on my watch. Don’t make me have to have the law escort you and your kid the hell up out of here Maleek!”

In pure disbelief of my threats Maleek laughed, and shook his head at me,

“For real Edily? So, it’s like that, you would call the law to put me up out of here? You sure have gotten strong lately. Guess our breakup proved me the fool.”

I was so out done by his vernacular. I couldn’t even reply.

“Look Ed, I know you probably hate me for what I’ve done, but you must know, there is no other woman like you on this earth. I’m really here because Bri and I needed structure. We needed a level of understanding and empathy; you possess all those qualities. I swear I booked us a flight for 1:30 today, so just as soon as she’s done eating and I give her a bath I’ll be out your hair for good.”

My heart felt warm, but my mind wouldn’t let that battle be won,

“Maleek it all sounds good but right now you’re being totally irresponsible. You got your 3-year-old living on the road with you, living out of hotels, offering no structure whatsoever. Then you think it’s ok to intrude on my life like this because I supposedly offer stable attributes? Maleek she is a little girl she is supposed to be at home watching morning cartoons, eating cereal, and playing with her dolls. I’m disgusted with you right now.”

Finally getting some sort of emotion from him after all this time yet I wasn’t sure if it was the emotion I wanted. He blew up,

“Man look Edily, I’m trying to keep a cool head despite you being a bitch and all! With all of what my daughter and I have been through within the last 72 hours, the last thing I need is to be criticized right now! If you can just back the hell up a little!”

Wait; was he on serious, brain altering, drugs?

Perplexed I fired,

“Back the hell up? You have got some damn nerve! First, you call my phone at 4, show up unannounced at 6, don’t leave when you were told, eat my food, but I need to back the hell up? News flash fuck-tard, I have been more than accommodating to you and your shit! Yet you’re still in here acting as though I owe you something! I tell you what Maleek, you and your rude ass daughter hurry the hell up so you guys can make your got damn exit!”

He looked at me with a peculiar yet disgusted expression,

“Who the fuck you calling rude?”

Bingo. That comment must have struck a nerve because Maleek Smith rarely drops F bombs.

“Uh yes dear, rude! I’m talking about your child. She’s been here for hours, eating my food, in my t-shirt, and has yet to acknowledge my presence. She knows exactly who I am. How have you and your wife been raising this child?”

I was keen on kids having respect and discipline. Although Brianna wasn’t mine, she had stayed at my home several times while Maleek played producer in the Chicago streets. I’m not sure as to what he explained our relationship to have been; however, from my understanding I was where she stayed when she came to Chicago with her dad despite our breakup. I felt foolish for keeping him and his child that wasn’t biologically mine in my world but parts of me couldn’t seem to let go. I can’t stand an unscrupulous kid, neither could most adults. The problem is, no one really knows how to or have time to deal with today’s tikes.

I wasn’t about to be disrespected in my own house especially while she was eating my food. Not acknowledging my presence as she wouldn’t normally do was a sign that something has been said or done to imply otherwise. The poor child was eating her breakfast like she hadn’t eaten in weeks. The Brianna got the hint and spoke up in the softest tone,

“I’m sorry Ms. Ed but daddy said…”

Maleek cut her off,

“Look Edily; you’re taking this way too far, we just needed someplace cozy to sleep. When I called, I just got done doing a show at the House of Blues with one of my artist. She had been with a sitter all day, was cranky, tired. I too was tired. I don’t know why Ed, but we needed you, I needed you. That’s why I called, that’s why I just showed up, hell Ed that’s why I’m here.”

My eyes went soft for a moment.

Brianna was supposed to be our baby. She was supposed to be at home with me while he was out on the road. For him, for a family I would have gladly took to the office more, got out of marketing and promotions, and raised our daughter. I would have provided a structure for our family and not allowed for him to have her out with him all the time.

This was supposed to be my child, my man, my family.

I grew angry all over again trying to fight back the tears. I had worked so hard to build us up as a kingdom together.

Maleek Smith had so much potential in my eyes and to many others.

He was a chocolate 5’10, 210lbs handsome brother with a great career owning his own up and coming record label. He left Epic Records as an A&R a little over 6 years ago and since then pursued his dream. His label was doing extremely well the last time I did the books. Last year alone Maleek made over 3 million dollars just off local record sales and shows. He was a black man with a dream and was doing everything in his power to make his dream come true; for that I admired him.

We got along and understood each other so well because we were both dreamers, living our lives in the pursuit of happiness. On top of being business minded, Maleek had sex appeal and charm. His smile was perfect, he stayed at the barber shop keeping a fresh lining to go with those ocean waves. He kept a nice luxury car that was kept clean, he believed in the Lord, and the sex, the sex with Maleek was the absolute best. Any woman could understand why I was still hurting over this man and all of what I felt I had lost.

However, I knew we were done for good.

My heart agreed to let him and his daughter finish breakfast so I wouldn’t feel like a total asshole. Besides the man made me a plate and against my objections had brewed me some hot tea adding honey and lemon.

“Maleek you and Brianna just hurry up and finish please so I can try to enjoy my day off, deal?”

“Deal. I’m just sorry I no longer make your days enjoyable.”

I chuckled at his notion, finished part of my breakfast, took the tea, and headed to my bedroom to doze off for a third time.

When I woke up again the clock read 1:11. My bedroom door had been cracked open, an indication that Maleek and that daughter of his were gone. Hopefully Maleek was gone for good, and I didn’t have to move and get my number changed.

It was a sunny and warm day for early May in Chicago, so I decided to get up and open my floor to ceiling window. I loved this window because it allowed me to take everything around me in. The window was without curtains or a screen; it opened outwards and offered the most breathtaking view of the lake. Many nights I sat right at the base of the window to watch the sun rise. This window and the view it offered gave me peace. When I let the latch free, I took in the ambiance of everything, allowing my day to unfold how it wanted.

I had a tiny house, but I think I had the best view on the south side of the city. Leaving the window open to keep the smooth, warm, Chi-Town breeze flowing, I turned on my I-Pod dock and drew myself a nice hot bath. Something in my soul felt the mood to let go and attempt to put my past officially behind me. I put Billie Holiday and Lena Horne on the playlist, made myself a Cadillac Margarita, and did like the late Whitney Houston, exhaled.

I found myself vowing to let go of Maleek and to never allow him to return to my world in such a fashion. No more fancy trips and expensive dinners. Mr. and Mrs. Future in-laws were no more, Thanksgiving or holiday dinners, no more bringing the potato salad, or famous fried turkey to that huge New York dining room table that seats 12. The seats that once sat my mom, my sister, Maleek, myself and his entire family together were a vague memory. There would be no more saving for that trip to the motherland, guess Mama, Isa, and I will go together. No more 2k19 and French onion creole dip on game nights. No joint accounts, retirement plans, no more of us. No more the future Mrs. Smith, no more him.

I had invested so much time with this man, I had become broken to pieces for a final time. I must have filled a third of the tub with my tears alone. I knew I had to finally get it out. This was really the first time since he’s admitted his secret life to me that I’ve had the moment to really Crocodile Dundy cry. I swear I cried like a lost child in my tub. However, by the time ‘The Declaration’ by Ashanti had come into rotation, I was over the memories of Maleek like a bad habit.

I had thought about Mama and Joe; the fights, the long cold nights waiting on Mama to come in with enough money to get Smitty high and hopefully feed us. I recall Mama getting raped by another pimp and Smitty blackening Mama’s eye because she should have known the other man was a pimp and not a client.

I remember Isa and me running away from home, only to get caught because we decided to go to school, and Smitty beating the 3 of us because he felt betrayed. My childhood memories were the worst, I don’t think I’d ever fully get over it, but I’m a work in progress. Joe was dead now and for the life of me I could care less.

I was a little conflicted with myself because I don’t believe one tear in that tub was cried for the loss of Joe. I didn’t feel an ounce of pain, sorrow, or a sense of mourning for the man that’s known to be my father. My bubbles had diminished; the water was beginning to get cold as I turned into a human prune. I sat there at least another 10 minutes trying to figure out why I felt nothing for Smitty Joe Graham.

Once out the tub I decided to call Mama to see how things were going with her. I noticed I had a dozen missed calls from her, so I instantly got nervous. Only for her to answer on the first rang sounding like a 6-year-old high off sugar.

“Well good afternoon sleepy head! You weren’t playing when you said you were sleeping in on your day off! I been calling you all morning trying to have you get something together tonight so we can all go out and celebrate! Was your phone off the hook?”

My mother wasn’t acting like nor did she sound like she just killed her husband less than 24 hours ago. With obvious misunderstanding I answered her,

“No ma, I just cut the ringer off, Maleek called my phone last night and I wasn’t feeling it. Now help me please help me understand Ma, what exactly are we celebrating?”

“Honey, we are celebrating the death of the dead! And you know how I feel bout’ how that Mr. Smith jerk don’t you? I say we all go out and celebrate! You, me, I’ll call Aida, you call Zion, and we should all link up at the Park Ave! Maybe let Isa hang too for a change. That sorry fool is finally out of our lives for good, so I need to pour out a drink to that jerk! Wait, I take that back he ain’t worth the liquor! I’m gonna drink my drink and down it to that sucka!”

By the way she was shouting and slurring her words I could tell Mama had already started her own celebration party. However, for the first time in a long time masked behind her intoxication, Mama sounded sincerely happy.

“Mama, you shouldn’t say things like that out loud. The right person might get the wrong impression of what you’re saying, and you may find yourself in a world of dilemmas. By the way, what the detectives say when you spoke with them this morning?”

“For me to get a lawyer, so I’m going to need for you to work on that for me. Girl you should have seen the detective that interviewed me. He was fine as sin. Tall, dark, and fine! Just how you like them honey. I looked at him for me of course at first but considering my current marital situation I had to pass. Any who, since I’m older and most definitely not a flight risk, they really just asked me questions and told me to be back there first thing Tuesday morning.”

I was quite surprised.

“Oh, wow ma, you got off pretty easy. I thought they were going to have you in there all day today or hold you over the weekend. Did you get arrested and immediately bond out or something?”

“Child, by the time I had told those detectives my story, one of the female detectives told me it was a wonder I hadn’t killed him sooner. I just explained that he had a gun on my baby, at my nieces wedding. I spent most of the time giving the female cop my gumbo recipe because I had brought a bowl with me from the wedding and had all the officers licking their fingers while I told my story. They sent me home and told me to get some rest because I was getting ready to go on a ride, considering who your father was in the south and all.”

Mama must have still been joking when she said that part because in my eyes Smitty Joe wasn’t anyone in the south, north, or on earth to me but an old dried out pimp.

She continued not allowing me to get a word in because she was in her zone,

“You know honey with all these women Smitty was still into, they gon’ be coming out the woodwork trying to see what they can get. I just hope I don’t have any problems with these whores because I’m still legally obligated to the asshole. I know when I left there were 10 of us. When I checked back 2 years or so ago, he had over 30 girls. Young, old, white, black, all races, shapes, and sizes. Shame he’s got that house and all those women that live in it riding and depending on him to survive. Hah! It’s a mess how that cocaine addicted man had enough sense to make a halfway comfortable living off pussy. Child Joe was really something else.”

Now that I think about it, Mama was right. Smitty had been a pimp for over 40 years and was nearly running an empire of women so I could just imagine how many incomes were about to take a hit. Hopefully, these women would come up with the money to at least bury his ass because my mother and I weren’t.

“So, at this point Edily I’m doing what the officers told me to do, rest and celebrate, so how bout’ it for tonight?”

I was enthused by my mother’s level of calm on the whole situation. Even though she was talking a mile a minute and slurring over every other word, Mama was cool as a cucumber. She didn’t have any sense of worry or fear behind her voice even though I felt this rest and celebration was a deadly combo for Mama.

“Well, I don’t think they told you to celebrate Mama, but I’ll let that one slide, besides you deserve it. There’s a promo party tonight at the W hotel for several artist on the label, one in particular is my own so I have to be there and be on point.”

Mama quickly interjected; I could sense her frustration by the abrupt irritation in her voice.

“I thought you were off tonight. You and that dang on job of yours girl. Let me guess we can come but I have to be on my best behavior right?”

She knew me too well,

“Of course, ma you do. Besides, I love the promo parties; it isn’t really work for me. I get paid to walk around, schmooze, look pretty, and drink top notch liquor with the execs all night.”

“Yea but you never said party and let your hair down. I want to party tonight Edily and let my hair down for a change. Don’t you think both you and I deserve it? Plus, after that crazy wedding planning these last 10 months and how it all played out Aida could use a let-down too! Shit Edily why you always gotta work!”

It was official Mama was tipsy and entering the dark side, she began to whine like a child,

“I just want to hang out with my girls and cut a rug tonight. Not be all cooped up in what y’all young folks call VIP drinking nasty ass champagne and over-priced, watered down drinks. In VIP back in my day before I met Joe, we would dance, drink, and party all night. The perks of VIP were being able to do that with no drama and a cab if you couldn’t make it home on your own. Hell, you ain’t got no idea what VIP is chile! Sorry Edily but I’m a have to pass. I’m not in a mood to behave tonight.”

My feelings were practically hurt. I felt bad that I chose to work over taking my mom to a separate club and hanging out with her.

“Mama don’t do that to me. Deep down you know you want to come but are indifferent because I have to work. You know we need the money.”

“Bullshit Edily, you need the money not we! I’m fine but I understand your position and where you’re trying to go with your life and career. I’m just not in a mood for it tonight. Aida and me will probably hit up a local lounge or something and flirt with some of the old timers.”

Mama suddenly sounded depressed. I think it was the tone of her voice because I sparked a better idea,

“I tell you what Ma, I’m going to set up table at the W for you and Aunt Aida separate from the crowd, book you guys in a presidential suite, and keep the bottles of grey goose and separate ice buckets and chasers coming. That way I can work, you can let as much of your hair down as you like, and we can all still party and not worry about stuffy VIP. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds like my baby knows how to get me and like we have us a plan. So, what time I need to be ready?”

“I’ll send someone to get you and Aida from your place by 10, deal?”

“Deal”

We got off the phone ending it with our usual I love you. I was unexpectedly excited about hanging out with the girls. We haven’t all hung out, stress free in a while, so I was delighted with the idea of us all meeting up at the W. I made arrangements for a car to pick up Mama and Aunt Aida, called Zion to let her know the plan and ended up being on the phone with her for over an hour recalculating what happened at Faith’s wedding.

Zion too, wasn’t surprised that we were going to basically celebrate the death of my father; she too believed it was necessary.