Chapter 33 #2
“I should’ve known,” I grumbled under my breath, bracing myself for yet another encounter that would drag me back into the memories I’d left behind.
My sister, Renee, strutted inside with all the confidence of someone who believed her name was etched on the deed to the house, claiming ownership not just of the property but the very ground beneath it.
She swung a large purse—a gaudy thing that I was certain was off-brand— as if it contained not just essentials but also hidden snacks, juicy secrets, and overdue bills waiting for attention.
She was all hips and all hoops. And that walk?
It practically shouted, “ Talk about me if you want, but just make sure you spell my name right .” I already sensed our usual verbal sparring was on the horizon, a ritual that never seemed to fail.
“Happy birthday, Ma!” Renee exclaimed, her voice echoing in the air as she planted a loud kiss on our mother’s cheek, the kind that left a trace of her lipstick behind.
With a dramatic roll of her eyes and a loud suck of her teeth, Renee turned her attention to me. The heifer didn’t even bother to take a seat before she fired her first shot.
“Oh. Well, hello, sister . Or do you prefer the title… Madame CEO ? You didn’t melt coming back to your old neck of the woods, did you? Did your heels need a passport to step on the porch this time?”
“Renee,” I replied dryly, barely glancing her way as I tried to maintain my composure.
“I saw your spaceship parked out front,” she continued, plopping herself into the nearest chair with an exaggerated flair. “You always have to announce your arrival like the Queen of Manhattan just touched down. Can’t you just blend in for once?”
I finally faced her, lifting an unimpressed brow. “Why must you do this every time we see each other?”
“Why must you always show up over here flashing your newest purse, your latest car, and that ‘I’m-better-than-y’all’ energy? Then the second you leave, you act like we’re stray dogs you tossed a leftover biscuit at!”
I didn’t answer.
Renee huffed. “Of course you have nothing to say in response to that—‘cause you know it’s the truth! So what did my rich little sister get the woman who doesn’t need anything ? ”
I happily gestured toward the pile of designer boxes.
“That would be me. I got her everything she won’t get herself… top-shelf everything,” I bragged.
Renee sniggered. “Mm-hmm. Except, you can never give her the one thing she actually wants.”
“Oh, and what’s that? A new casserole dish? Do you need one, Mother?”
“No, she doesn’t need a damn casserole dish!” Renee fired back. “What she needs from you is time, conversation, and presence! But I guess those ain’t got brand names on 'em, huh?”
I stood up, arms crossed tight over my chest and went back to Gigi from the Gardens —just for a second.
“Renee, just because I left this raggedy-ass block doesn’t mean I’m wrong for leveling up!”
She smirked, unmoved. “ No , but you’re wrong for acting like the block that raised you is like a stain you can’t wait to bleach out!”
I didn’t have a comeback, so I turned toward the couch where mother sat.
“Mother, y-you’re not going to say anything?!”
She didn’t even look up; she just kept crocheting, treating our argument like a passing breeze—felt, but not worth reacting to.
“ Mother? ” Renee repeated, dragging the word like it offended her ears. “Girl, you sound just like them white folks you eat brunch with. We say Mama or Ma around here.”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s called growth. You should try it.”
“Oh, I’ve grown plenty; I just didn’t grow out of my damn roots,” she shot back. “You remember when we used to split a twin bed? Huh? Or what about when we ate peanut butter off spoons ‘cause there wasn’t any bread?”
“I do remember… which is exactly why I married wealthy so I’d never have to live like that again! So excuse me for choosing progress over poverty!” I argued.
“You didn’t choose progress , Giselle; you chose distance and forgetting .”
“Oh please!” I scoffed with a dismissive wave.
“Just because I don’t glorify struggle doesn’t mean I forgot!
I remember plenty! Like how you used to steal my clothes and lie about it!
And… how you ran off and left Mother to deal with everything while you played street nurse to every man with a broken mixtape! ”
Renee’s face twisted. “ Now who’s throwing low blows?”
“You started it!” I shot back, childishly.
“You damn sure gon’ wish I ended it,” Renee slightly threatened me.
“Enough!” Mother shouted, sharp and loud, not even lifting her head from her yarn.
Both of us froze mid-breath.
“This is my birthday, not y’all’s battleground!”
Mother’s hands never stopped moving. She was calm and composed. But her tone? Ice.
“If y’all wanna fight, go in the backyard with the rest of the fools in this world! But you ain’t gon’ do it in my damn living room!”
I stood and adjusted my blouse.
“I’ma just go. I have somewhere else to be anyway. You know… nail appointments, a business lunch at the Four Seasons, a quick fitting for a charity gala, maybe a last-minute trip to the Hamptons… a privileged life,” I tossed in Renee’s face, sweet as syrup but sharp as a tack.
Renee narrowed her eyes. “Always running and finding something shiny to hide behind. Giselle, money changes your clothes, not your bloodline. Remember that .” Renee shook her head then stood. “But yeah, I gotta get going too. I just came to tell Ma happy birthday.”
I wanted to say, Oh please, you’re probably just on your way to some man’s house who still wears cologne from the gas station and thinks a Bluetooth earpiece is sexy, but I kept my mouth shut.
I didn’t do so just out of respect for our mother, but because Renee could fight.
And I was far too pretty to be nursing bruises for the rest of the week.
Renee paused at the door, her hand on the knob. She didn’t look back at first, but her voice came low, almost tired.
“We were supposed to be rich together , sister. Remember? ”
She turned her head just slightly, enough for me to catch the edge of that old hurt in her eyes.
“You didn’t just leave the hood… you left me in it.”
Renee turned fully toward Mother, softening her tone.
“Happy birthday again, Ma. I’ll call you later.”
And with that, she walked out.
The screen door creaked behind her, then slammed shut like punctuation on a sentence I wasn’t ready to unpack.
I grabbed my keys, already halfway to the door, when Mother’s voice cut through—soft, but heavy enough to stop time.
“Don’t forget your gifts.”
I halted in my steps.
For a moment, I thought she might’ve finally come around and accepted the gifts… but no. That wasn’t the first time she sent back a piece of me and probably wouldn’t be the last.
My pride was louder than my footsteps as I snatched the bags up.
“You could’ve at least said thank you for the effort!”
“Giselle, sit yo’ behind down right now!” she chastised in that motherly tone that still made my fifty-three-year-old tail flinch.
I turned slowly, keys clenched tight enough to leave marks.
“You came all this way to drop off some fancy clothes you know I’d never wear. And now you think being mad makes you right? That ain’t love, baby; that’s ego wrapped in a gift bag.”
“I’m trying to do something for you,” I deflected.
“No, baby, you’re trying to do something that looks like something. What I need can’t be swiped on a card.”
I sighed and sat, carefully adjusting my pants so they didn’t wrinkle.
“Giselle, I raised you better than this.”
“Mother—”
“Let me talk,” she cut in softly as she scrolled over and sat beside me. “Giselle, you know how many women I know who chased money and still died lonely? Or got everything they ever prayed for only to find out God didn’t approve of any of it?”
I looked down at my designer handbag, guilt prickling at my chest like a thousand tiny pins.
She wasn’t yelling—she didn’t have to.
The truth doesn’t shout; it just lands like a weighty stone. And her truth? It hit particularly hard.
“You think you’re better than this house? Better than the people that knew you when you didn’t have name-brand draws? Baby, the devil got plenty of daughters who look rich and feel empty. Don’t be one of them.”
“I just want you to have better. Is that a crime?”
“Giselle, what you’ve never failed to realize is that I already got the best . I have peace, faith, and a heart that ain’t bitter. Can you say the same?”
"I’m… I’m working on it,” I fibbed, my voice barely above a whisper, knowing deep down that it was only half the truth.
“You can’t buy your way into heaven, and you can’t shop your way out of karma, Giselle,” she continued, her tone firm yet compassionate. “The higher you climb, thinking you’re untouchable, the harder that fall will be when God humbles you.”
My eyes welled up with tears, but I refused to cry in front of her—not at this stage in my life.
I stood slowly, feeling her words settle in places I didn’t even know were tender and raw. If I sat there for even a moment longer, I feared I might break just off the strength of her truth alone.
"I… I have to go,” I finally said.
Surprisingly, Mother didn’t press me for more; she just gave me that knowing shake of her head, her lips pressed tight as if she were swallowing back a wave of unspoken emotions.
“You go on now… and take those bags back with you. You can’t dress up wisdom, baby… you just have to live it.”
Mother’s voice held a mix of love and sorrow, and her gaze pierced through the layers of my carefully constructed armor.
I managed a tight-lipped smile, leaned over, and embraced her, holding on for a moment that felt eternal.
“I love you, Mother,” I whispered, the words escaping like a prayer.
“I love you too, Giselle,” she murmured, holding me just a second longer, her warmth offering solace. “Just don’t forget where you come from… because that’s the only place that will remember you when the world acts like it never knew your name.”
That was the last thing she said to me before I left.
As I stepped outside, I slid on my sunglasses like a shield against the world.
My heels clicked sharply against the cement walkway, each step echoing like regret dressed in red-bottomed prestige.
I didn’t wave to the neighbor across the street or glance back; I simply opened the door of my car, loaded the untouched birthday gifts into the trunk, and sat behind the wheel—silent, grappling with the churning emotions swirling inside me.
Mother’s last chilling words?
“Just don’t forget where you come from… because that’s the only place that will remember you when the world acts like it never knew your name.”
That line clung to me like humidity in a silk blouse.
Will I always have this good life? Or is there something tragic waiting on the other side of my pride to humble me?
The thought made my chest tighten, but I brushed it off—fast.
I slammed my phone face-down on the passenger seat and yanked the gear into drive.
I heard what she said; I just wasn’t ready to listen.