Chapter 39 #3
“Here’s the plot twist—you failed. You wanted to turn tonight into a show, but this isn’t your stage. And whatever play you were directing… it flopped. And now you’re sitting in the aftermath, wondering why it stank. Bullshit always does!”
I clutched my chest dramatically, and my lips twitched into a grin.
“ You manipulative mouthpiece for misery!”
Giselle’s face cracked in places she probably didn’t know could break. Her expression was crushed, and her lips twitched like they wanted to curl into something dignified but couldn’t find the strength. She blinked fast, like that might even keep the humiliation from setting in.
Renee finally jumped back in. I was wondering when she’d put her two cents in on that subject. She seemed like the type who never missed an opportunity to call Giselle out on her bullshit.
“You done flew these folks in like you was booking a concert. You thought you was gon’ get a standing ovation and ended up with a silent damn prayer.”
Mama Rose scoffed quietly, shaking her head.
“Giselle… I done seen petty in my day, but this? This is someone trying to play God with somebody else's trauma. It ain’t just out of line… It’s out of character—for the woman I hoped you’d grow into.
I expected better from you… tonight at least. Not to mention, I raised you better than this!
And I say that with a heavy heart. You don’t bring someone’s pain to the table dressed up like a gift.
This girl has been through hell and finally found some peace, and you tried to shatter it in one night. For what?”
Mama Rose exhaled, voice lower now.
“This child nor her family deserved this, and you know it. If you really cared about healing, you’d start by learning how to stop hurting people in the name of love!”
Giselle stood there, rendered speechless. Her wine glass lowered slowly, like even it no longer wanted to be in her hand.
“What Grandma said,” Imanio said. “Now, the fact that me and my wife have been fasting for this damn dinner, and I don’t want Pop’s money to go to waste,” he paused, cutting a look at Giselle, “since I’m sure he paid for all of this?—”
His father smirked but said nothing.
“—We’re going to sit down and eat like a not-so-happy family . Then we can all go our separate ways. Because after today?” He looked Giselle dead in the face and with an expression etched with sincerity. “I’m done with you.”
That "I’m done with you" carried more weight than anything I’d ever seen him lift—and he wasn’t even aiming at me.
Silence swept through the room like a final verdict.
Giselle didn’t say a damn thing. She lowered herself back into her seat—no sass, no spin, just quiet defeat wrapped in designer fabric.
Chi glanced around the table with his eyebrows raised.
“I just wanna know one thing—did all that drama come with sides? 'Cause I’m still waiting on my plate.”
The food was brought out shortly after—fried catfish, fried chicken, smothered baked chicken, oxtails, cabbage, rice, corn on the cob, black eyed peas, green beans, mac and cheese, yams, and cornbread so fluffy it looked like it prayed before it rose.
Giselle, still clinging to the edge of dignity, dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin and tried to save face by saying, “I hope everyone has enough to eat. If not, there’s plenty more where this came from.”
Renee's voice sliced in. “Giselle…” she said slowly. “Now you can cook—I’ll give you that. At least, you could back in the day. But I know damn well you ain’t been near no stove… not unless you was posing for a picture with one.”
Chi coughed, Mama Rose covered her mouth to stifle a laugh and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from spitting sweet tea.
Renee kept going, undeterred. “I mean, this food got seasoning. This is soul food; not steamed sadness and quinoa with a sprig of regret. This got somebody great-great grandma’s elbow grease in it.”
“I had some of our people cater,” Giselle replied primly, like she was doing the Lord’s work.
The whole table paused—then broke into scattered scoffs and snickers.
Robert shook his head slowly, his fingers gripping the linen napkin tightly as though he wished he could vanish behind it. Imanio inhaled deeply through his nose, his jaw clenched tight, as if he were grinding his teeth to hold back the words threatening to spill out.
Renee rolled her eyes dramatically at the looming confrontation.
“Here she goes again,” she muttered under her breath, reaching for her glass of lemonade like it was a shot of tequila, seeking some relief before the storm broke.
Dessign's face twisted in cute distaste as she repeated, “ Our people, Ma? Really?”
Her expression was a mix of disbelief and annoyance, drawing attention to the weight of the conversation they were about to have.
But it was Mama Rose who shut the room down.
“She mean the people who still talk to her outta pity, ” she clarified, taking a bite of her green beans with the kind of grace that made the insult hit even harder.
Mama Rose calmly placed her fork down.
“Let me tell you something, Giselle,” she continued, folding her hands like a woman prepared to bless or bury someone.
“ Our people are the reason you sit in silk today.
Our people—me—raised your babies when you were busy being fabulous.
Our people still prayed for you when you were too proud to pray for yourself.
Our people kept your secrets, covered your mess, and still invited you to the table when you forgot where you came from.
Our people built this country… with no thank you, no paycheck, no freedom!
They were raped, beaten, sold, and buried nameless in the soil!
And you sit here sipping from your crystal goblet, bragging on folks who would've had us picking cotton barefoot if they had it their way!
You think that glass of wine in your hand just appeared?
No, that came from generations of survival.
And these white folks you love to praise?
The ones you smile extra hard at them country club luncheons, trying to blend in with?
Those are the same ones who wouldn’t have let your great- granddaddy through the front door!
They were the ones buying us, not freeing us!
And they damn sure weren’t praying with us either; they were preying on us!
So when you say our people, just remember, they’re not just the folks you cut checks to for a catered plate.
We’re the descendants of sharecroppers who built the South’s wealth with nothing but calloused hands and stolen time.
We’re the prayer warriors, Black mamas who breastfed babies that weren’t ours, men and women who sang through beatings, and granddaddies who got called ‘boy’ after working eighteen-hour shifts.
So don’t you ever twist your mouth to say ‘our’ people and invoke them for convenience when you’ve spent years trying to leave us behind! ”
The room went dead still.
I said checkmate in my head. Dessign was chewing and nodding as if she was thinking the same.
Imanio and his father just smirked—quiet and satisfied, like they’d been waiting on someone to finally say it in front of everyone.
If I didn’t know my history about slavery before then, I got a whole free lesson that day.
“And I say this with love… no offense to you, Robert. I love you dearly,” Mama Rose added sincerely, glancing his way.
Robert tossed both hands up. “None taken, Ma. Facts is facts.”
Even Renee looked impressed. “Well dang, Ma. You could’ve passed the collection plate after that sermon.”
I caught myself drumming my knuckles against the door—three solid knocks—before my mouth opened against my will.
“Please pass the salt—and a lawyer! She’s emotionally unarmed but spiritually dangerous!”
Robert cleared his throat—not just to shift attention away from me, but because something deeper was sitting heavy on his chest.
“Since we’re all getting things off our chests tonight, I, too, have something to say.”
The entire table turned toward him… even Giselle.
Calmly, he reached into his back pocket, pulled out a folded stack of papers, and slid them across the table to her.
“Giselle,” he spoke with clarity, “I’ve filed for divorce.”
The table fell silent—stiff and breathless—for a single second.
Me, Dessign, and Imanio sat stiffly, our expressions unchanged; we had anticipated that moment. Even Chi, who I assumed had already heard the news from Dessign, appeared unfazed.
But Renee?
Her mouth dropped open in shock, almost as if she was struggling to process what she had just heard.
Meanwhile, Mama Rose, ever the pragmatist, murmured under her breath, “About damn time.”
“Lord, bring the hot sauce! It's getting spicy now!” Renee exclaimed.
I fought to suppress a smile, aware that my reaction could spark a much bigger scene.
Giselle remained transfixed, her gaze locked onto the stack of papers as if they might transform before her eyes.
“You’re... you’re really asking for a divorce publicly ?” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper, brimming with disbelief and a hint of hurt.
“I wouldn’t say publicly. I mean, this is family .
It’s not like I’m broadcasting it to strangers.
But let’s cut the act, Giselle. You buried our marriage and yourself privately for years.
You, me, heck, everyone at this table is aware that we haven’t been happy for a long time now.
But I stayed out of habit… for the kids, out of fear of what the press would say, and because I thought eventually, the woman I married would come back.
Turns out, she left years ago and left her ego behind to fill her place. Somewhere between the status, the show, and the schemes—you became someone who hurts people to feel whole. We’ve grown into different people. And your treatment of others, particularly Naji tonight, was the final straw.”