Chapter 2
Adora Mitchell
Six and a half weeks later
It’s Tuesday, and no matter how I feel, my babies expect some form of Mexican food on Tuesdays.
I’m keeping it simple tonight though, cheese quesadillas—with salsa for Averi and sour cream for Romi— smashed black beans, and yellow rice.
While I usually have to make at least two different quesadillas, tonight, they both requested cheese and I’m grateful.
Between my eight-hour shift at the office and my hour lunch break spent on the phone with the insurance company, I was too drained to cook much more than that.
“Are we talking to daddy tonight?” Averi, my six-year-old, asks and I turn to keep her from seeing me roll my eyes.
“Yes, baby. Get your iPad while I fix your trays.”
Averi darts off toward their room to grab the iPad.
Although they have their own rooms now that we are in my mom’s house, Averi and Romi refuse to sleep in separate rooms. The third bedroom still contains all of my mom’s things I don’t have the emotional strength to go through.
It’s been forty-seven days and it still feels like we’d lost her yesterday.
“Can I help, Mommie?” my little four-year old helper, Romi, asks. Her little heart is bigger than her body and she likes to assist with every little thing.
“You can grab two juices out of the refrigerator for you and your sister.”
“You not thirsty?” she asks.
I’m definitely thirsty, just not for that. “Mommie is going to have her juice for dinner.” It’s strong and requires a tall glass.
In the bottom of the fridge, in the veggie crisper, I keep their juice boxes, little mini milk cartons, and squeezable yogurts. It allows easy access for them.
We all meet at the kitchen table. I have their filled food trays, pink for Romi and yellow for Averi. Averi has her iPad and Romi has two juice boxes. Averi climbs into her chair and I help Romi into hers then open their juices and prop up the iPad.
Rush, their selfish ass father, should be calling in a few minutes with a video visit.
He’s in maximum security at Diamond Falls Correctional Facility, doing a twelve-year sentence for aggravated burglary.
He got locked up when I was pregnant with Romi.
She’s yet to see him in person because I promised him when he decided to do dumb shit that I would never bring my babies to visit him inside.
I refuse to subject my daughters to anything associated with prison.
They don’t need to go through that, so every Tuesday and Sunday, I schedule video visits.
I grew up without knowing who my father was so I’m trying to give my girls some semblance of a relationship with theirs.
It’s getting harder and harder to do that though because I honestly feel like I’m the only one pushing the relationship.
Two years ago, when my separate video visits stopped and I stopped hitting the road every other weekend for face-to-face visits, his desire to be consistent with the girls’ video visits seemed to diminish as well.
“Let’s say our grace so we can eat,” I say and they bow their heads and press their hands together, placing them in front of their faces then closing their eyes.
“Romi, you can say it,” Averi says, knowing her little sister likes doing so.
“Okay. Thank you, God, for food and prayer. And teach us how to love and share. Amen,” my baby says, reciting our normal dinner prayer.
“Amen.”
As they start to eat, I walk back to the kitchen island and prepare my plate.
I like jalapenos, salsa, and sour cream with my quesadilla.
After I chop up a whole pickled jalapeno, I open my bottle of Black Ops Specialty Bourbon Lemon Drop and pour a much-needed glass.
With it in hand, I walk back to the girls and open the visitor app on the iPad.
Rush should be logging on in a few minutes.
While I’m testing the camera and volume, his face fills the screen and I try to step back.
I don’t even want him to see me. Two years ago, when I finally woke up and realized just how selfish and verbally abusive he was, I was done.
Our eight-year tumultuous relationship ended for me and the once handsome man with the head full of beautiful locs became hideous to me.
His ugly ways and attitude overshadowed any good looks he possessed.
I was able to see past his manipulation and facade and saw the real Rushmore Roberts.
I saw the man who refused to hold a steady job, the man who was cool with watching the mother of his one-year-old work all day while he stayed at home doing God knows what.
I saw the same man who decided stealing from hard working people was better than earning his own.
I saw the man I should have never given my heart, body, and mind to.
“Adora, you not gon’ speak?” he says as soon as his face appears on the screen.
“Hello, Rushmore,” I say, smirking before I walk back into the kitchen. He hates his government name.
“Man, hold that shit down,” he scoffs.
“Daddy, that’s a bad word,” Averi says before I can check him.
“Daddies can say that word,” he fires back with too much damn sternness.
“Not to their four- and six-year-old little girls,” I huff.
“This icing me out has gone too far. I need you to add your number back on my list or come see me. We need to talk, A.”
“My name is Adora and you need to talk to your daughters, not me. This is only a twenty-minute visit. Make these remaining seventeen minutes and forty-eight seconds count for them. Averi, tell your daddy about the Black History Month showcase.”
“Oh yeah. I gonna be Rosa Parks,” she says proudly.
Thankfully, he has sense enough to engage her and forget about me at least for a moment. “That’s good,” he says.
“Do you know who she is?” Averi asks.
“I do,” Romi interrupts before Rush can answer.
“Tell Daddy then,” Averi challenges.
Since their conversation seems to be flowing, I sit down at the island and try to enjoy my dinner and lemon drop away from their time with their daddy.
As I eat, my eyes scan the large entire kitchen.
It’s twice the size of my tiny kitchen in our old, two-bedroom, one bath Blue Pointe apartment.
Actually, my old apartment could fit in this house twice and still leave space.
When my mom first bought this house last March, I didn’t understand why a single woman needed a three-bedroom, two and a half bath home in Crescent Pointe.
The mortgage was kind of steep, and on her salary as a housekeeper at the Blue Mountain Resort, it was a stretch.
However, she didn’t care; she was adamant about this house.
She said it was her dream for me and my girls.
I didn’t understand that then, but sadly, I do now.
“Mommie! Mom-mie!” Romi and Averi yell in unison as they often do, temporarily pulling me from thoughts of my own mother. I miss her so damn much.
“Yes,” I answer while looking over my shoulder.
“It’s almost over and Daddy wants you,” Averi says.
Reluctantly, I slide out of the high back stool and walk back over to them.
I truly dislike Rush but I never want that fact known to my girls.
He’s their father and I don’t want to sway their opinion of him while they are so young.
Any opinion they have will be formed as they get older and really get to know him over time.
“Eat your beans, Romi,” I say before snatching up the iPad.
I immediately press mute before walking toward my bedroom.
I know Rush and his mouth is too disrespectful when it comes to me and they don’t need to hear him and my just-as-reckless mouth in response.
When I’m in my room and my door is closed, I unmute him ,and like I knew he would be, he’s talking shit.
“…know you fucking hear me, A. I only got three min—”
I interrupt his rant. “Then say what you want to say.”
He smirks. “You really got me fucked up with this new slick shit you got going on. Out of respect for Miss Beverly and everything, I’m gonna let you make it.”
“Leave my momma out of it. She wasn’t your biggest fan anyway. What…do...you…want, Rushmore?” I ask, annoyed as fuck.
“I need some money,” he says.
“Me too,” I counter.
“Man, quit the bullshitting. You got your momma house now. You ain’t got rent next month. You got it and I need it. There’s something I need to get in on that could be something,” he says, being vague because video visits are monitored.
“I still got school tuition, food, lights, gas, water, and Wi-Fi so our daughters can talk to you. I do not have it, and even if I did, I wouldn’t give you a penny. Call your brother or your cousin Mekhi.”
“Kat’s still fucking with Deuce about his kids and Mekhi has some shit with MJ,” he says and I fall out laughing.
“All these deadbeat dads in your family suddenly have commitments. Yeah right,” I huff. “Deuce don’t do shit for Kat and the boys and the whole town knows Monae’s husband adopted MJ. Mekhi ain’t shit, so please try again.”
The scowl on his face is priceless. The tables have surely turned in our dynamic and he has no control over me anymore.
I’m no longer his verbal punching bag. He can’t control where I go, what I do, or what I say.
His words no longer dictate my actions. I missed so much fucking with him and that shit is over.
He starts to say something else but the screen flashes with the thirty-second warning. “Fuck,” he grits. “Schedule another visit before Sunday,” he demands and I just laugh loud as hell then end the visit.
“This goofy,” I utter to myself then take a deep breath to push our entire conversation out of my mind. When I return back into the kitchen, Romi and Averi are both done eating.
“Can I take my other one to school for lunch?” Averi asks, referring to her non-eaten half of her quesadilla.
“Me too, Mommie?” Romi asks but both of her halves are full of small bites.
“You can but I think y’all are going to like what I’m packing instead. Let’s clean this up then pack your lunches. It’s almost time for bed anyway.”
“Yes ma’am,” they say. If they weren’t twenty-two months apart, people would swear they are twins because they talk in unison a lot and complete each other’s thoughts and sentences.
They also have the same faces: Rush’s caramel skin but my entire round face, including my dark eyes, long eyelashes, and button nose.
I grab the trays and they follow me into the kitchen.
As I place their leftover quesadillas in foil and clean their trays, they grab their little cleaning supplies from under the sink.
Because they like to help, I only use all-natural cleaning products.
Averi grabs the disinfectant spray and Romi the wipes then they go clean off the table.
When they return to the kitchen, they wash their hands then grab yogurts, Cuties, bottles of water, and juices from the fridge.
After I grab their lunch kits and clean them out, I add a mini chicken salad croissant sandwich, one of their favorites, along with the items they retrieved from the fridge.
Once their lunch kits are in the fridge, we walk to their room and they climb into their twin beds.
“Mommie, can we put our Little Mermaid stuff up after school tomorrow?” Averi asks.
Their new comforters, curtains, rugs, and Little Mermaid vanities arrived Tuesday and she has been itching to set their room up. The bathroom items arrived last week and it’s all set; we just need to do the room.
“What day is tomorrow?” I ask.
“Wednesday,” she answers.
“And what day did I say we would do the room?”
“Saturday,” she says with a pout and my smile drops.
The past forty-seven days have been hell on them too. They have cried more than I have ever wanted for them and I don’t want to see either of them sad anymore. After leaning in and kissing her forehead, I say, “We can do it tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay,” she gushes before turning onto her side. “Good night, Mommie.”
“Good night, sweetheart.”
I step over to Romi and her little eyes are already closed. I swear she drops off to sleep as soon as her body slides into her bed. I pull her comforter over her then kiss her cheek.
“Good night, baby,” I whisper.
Before walking out of their room, I grab the remote, power on their silent rotating mermaid night light, and set the timer.
When the colorful soft-light images of mermaids start dancing on the ceiling and walls, I turn off the main light, walk out, and leave their door cracked.
Then I journey back into the kitchen, pour myself another glass of lemon drop, grab the insurance papers and my cell, then plant myself in my momma’s recliner.
After elevating my legs, I dial her number and leave her another voice message that she’ll never hear.
I talked to her every day when she was alive and I’m not ready to stop.
I don’t know if or when I’ll be ready, so for now, I keep her cell phone on.
It was never recovered from the accident and I’m actually hoping somebody might… I don’t know…find it and return it.
She actually had a tiny red note taped on the back of her cell phone case with directions written on it: If found, return to 1424 Crescent Pointe Drive. I teased her about that note all the time because no one wanted that flip phone. With no apps or photos, it was so basic.
I smile through my tears as I think about her then press her contact.
As always, my words flow out as soon as the voicemail beeps.
“God, I miss you, Momma,” I utter as I stifle my tears.
“I’m meeting with the insurance company on Wednesday.
They are disputing your policy, claiming it was intentional.
They are wrong, right? ’Cause you wouldn’t do that, right?
” I begin then sigh. This whole mess with the insurance company is another unneeded stress, especially because I don’t believe what they are alleging.
“Why didn’t you tell me your cancer came back? You could have beat it again.”
“Ugh, Momma. You should have told me. The girls and I would have been by your side every day and you know that. We did it before and would have done it again. God, this shit hurts. It really hurts and I’m trying to stay strong for them but it’s hard.
They miss you so much and I don’t know how to be you for them.
Romi asked me to make her cinnamon toast yesterday.
I did and she wouldn’t even eat it because it didn’t taste like yours.
I can’t even make your damn toast. You left without telling me your secret ingredient.
” I inhale and exhale loudly again. “God, I’d give anything to hear you snap and say, Adora, stop calling so much.
Just once. I miss you so much,” I say, then end the call.