chapter 15
Albany
Failure is for everyone else, not you.
The first time Allison said that to me, I’d lost the local spelling bee.
I was six years old. Those words had been drilled into me for so long, I thought that giving up made me weak.
Hence my penchant for remaining in unhealthy situations for far too long.
That doubt, the nagging feeling that I wasn’t good enough had nearly crippled me.
I’d avoided my parents purposely because my life was better without them. I was healthier without their lofty expectations. I didn’t want to talk, and I damn sure wouldn’t explain any of the decisions I’d made.
The waitress hurried over to the table and set our food down.
We’d been at Grandma’s favorite hometown restaurant for a good thirty minutes.
The scene in the parking lot at the church was cut short by the arrival of my brother.
And my grandmother when she’d nearly fainted because she hadn’t eaten anything.
“We could’ve stopped at Burger King, Grandma,” Moses suggested, breaking the long silence.
Grandma happily ate her pancakes. “No, boy. You know the Bomber is my go-to place when I come to Ypsi.”
At least, she didn’t take us on the same tour of Ypsilanti we’d been on several times already, visiting her old hood.
I loved to listen to Grandma’s stories. Typically, we would start at Depot Town, a shopping district within the town.
While there, we would visit the Farmer’s Market, take pictures at the Ypsilanti Freighthouse, and shop at the many businesses lining Cross Street.
The antique store was Grandma’s favorite.
Except she never bought anything, just perused.
Finally, we would pay our respects to my great-grandparents who were buried at the Highland Cemetery.
Today, though, we’d skipped the tour and just stopped to eat. The restaurant was a staple in town and often had a long wait to be seated. But the owners knew Grandma and always ensured we’d have a space, even when we arrived just before their early closing time.
“Aren’t you going to eat, Albany?” Granny Joyce asked. “It looks delicious.”
Granny’s presence here was the reason my parents were on their best behavior.
Probably because the last time they’d acted a fool in her presence, she’d threatened to absorb my father’s company by hostile takeover.
All because Allison had questioned her ability to run a business at her age.
Grandma had told me the story through a fit of giggles.
I stared at my plate of homemade corned beef hash and eggs. It looked good enough, and I would’ve devoured the food any other day, but I had no appetite. Especially since Allison was staring at me the entire time.
Pushing my food away, I shrugged. “Not really hungry.”
“You seem distracted, Pooh,” Grandma said.
“Just thinking about all the things I have to do.” Like dawdle, watch Netflix, file my nails … anything but this.
Grandma smirked. “Oh? Do you have a date?”
Allison snickered. “Is the ink even dry on the court order yet?”
Ignoring my stepmother, I mumbled, “No date, Grandma.”
My grandmother knew me. She knew I didn’t want my parents to know anything about my personal life. She also knew that a date was the last thing on my mind. And she knew that I was a homebody. I preferred my own company to crowds any day of the week.
Granny Joyce cut into her waffle. “What about you, Moses?”
My brother waved the waitress over. “I already ate.” He asked her to top his coffee off. “I don’t really eat greasy food.”
I eyed Moses skeptically. “Really?” The last time I’d seen him, he had a plate full of bacon. However, I did notice that he was more bulky than lean. Like a chocolate Jason Momoa with long locs pulled into a ponytail and a confident swagger.
He bumped my arm with his elbow. “Sure.”
I smiled inwardly, convinced he was lying because he simply didn’t want to talk about his reasons for not being comfortable around our father and his wife. If we weren’t here, I would’ve been grilling him about his life, asking him why he’d never texted me back when I told him I needed to talk.
Grandma mused about the latest construction project on Michigan Avenue while I busied myself checking emails, and rereading the texts Wes sent, multiple times.
Wes: I’ll be here when you’re ready.
Wes: You should know … I can’t walk away from you. From us.
After our emotional conversation early this morning, I’d contemplated saying anything to him. My body was still on fire, still steaming with the remnants of desire. He’d loved me thoroughly, bringing me to new heights with every touch, every kiss.
Despite my best intention to appear unaffected, but sure of what I wanted, I was swimming in indecisiveness. I didn’t want to be with him, but I did. I was up and down, sure but then unsure. Simultaneously free yet bound. I hated feeling so out of control. I also loved it.
Maybe I’m just going crazy?
I knew it wasn’t a good idea, but I tapped out my text, smiling to myself: Again?
Wes: I deserve that.
Me: You definitely do. But why?
He questioned my last message, then said: Why, what?
Sighing, I responded but I couldn’t bring myself to hit send.
I cursed myself because I shouldn’t have opened the door to more honesty, because his honesty was like catnip to me.
I was so drawn to him because he’d always been truthful with me.
Until he wasn’t. My thumb hovered over the message, warring with myself on whether I wanted to ask the question.
In the end, I left him on read and set my phone down.
“You look sloppy, Albany,” Allison said. “Your skirt is too tight, and that hair …”
My eyes flashed to her, then cut to the rest of the table. Grandma and Granny Joyce had excused themselves and were currently talking to someone familiar on the other side of the dining room. Moses was gone, too.
I couldn’t remember exactly, but I had to have been around seven years old when I overheard a heated discussion between my parents.
The subject? Me. And my refusal to participate in the Miss Michigan Pageant.
At that youthful age, I had listened intently as Allison berated my father for defending my right to have autonomy over my own body, to have my own schedule and my own desires.
During that conversation, she’d called me his illegitimate spawn, an ugly reminder of his indiscretions.
I knew then that I’d never belong to her, that I was her daughter in name only.
Our relationship never recovered. The part of me that wanted her approval, the piece that wanted a mother’s love, had been destroyed.
“Where’s Moses?” I asked.
I listened as Allison picked apart my appearance. My hair was too short and the color was dull. The shoes I wore were from two seasons ago and not nearly feminine enough. My clothes … Well, apparently my sloppy attire looked cheap.
“Why do you insist on walking around here looking like a tack head?” Allison continued. The insult was her way of belittling me, calling me both stupid and tacky at the same time.
“Allison, keep your voice down,” my father grumbled.
“Seriously.” She crossed her arms over her brand-new breasts, her blue eyes piercing. I wasn’t sure until now, but it was clear, she’d finally received the enhancement she’d wanted after all. She flipped her blond extensions from her shoulders, sat up straight. “I can’t believe you.”
I frowned. “Believe, what?”
My father leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Imagine our surprise when I received a call from Darrell asking me where his wife was.”
“Ex-wife,” I corrected curtly, just at Moses reappeared. “And what did you tell him?”
I felt my brother’s eyes on me as he slid back into the booth, but I didn’t dare look at him. I loved Moses, but we operated on a strictly need-to-know basis. Once I needed him to show up, that’s when he needed to know my business. Other than that, we barely talked about relationships.
“We told him we didn’t know,” my father explained. “I also mentioned that if I got in touch with you, I’d send you home.”
“That’s unfortunate, Dad. Even if you had the power to send me anywhere, there is no home to go back to. Your precious son-in-law gambled away—or smoked—our savings, took the mortgage money to do other shit, and the bank foreclosed.”
Moses glanced at me again. “What?”
“Need to know,” I reminded him.
Allison shook her head, disgust on her face. “How dare you embarrass us like this? To find out that our daughter had divorced her husband—the senator’s son—from someone else? Foreclosures? You’re ridiculous. You’ve always—”
“Wait,” Moses interrupted, “what the hell is wrong with you, Allison? Do you really think I’m going to let you talk to her like that?”
“I’m not talking to you,” Allison retorted. “Stay out of it.”
My brother never got along with my father, and he couldn’t stand Allison. Unlike me, he had never fallen prey to her machinations because he’d never been forced to live with us. Even though his mother wasn’t present, she had a large extended family. He was able to move in with an uncle.
“It’s fine.” I placed my hand on his arm before I shifted my gaze back to them.
“I don’t have to clear my activities with you.
I’m a grown-ass woman. You should be glad I left that muthafucka.
He stole from me and cheated on me with every available woman he could find, and here you are … blaming me for finally leaving him?”
“What you should’ve done was be a good wife,” Allison continued.
“Instead, you were too busy working when you should’ve been making a home.
I told you a long time ago that your job was to serve your husband, but no …
You chose to go everywhere except where you were supposed to be.
Now, you’re divorced. Who’s going to want you now?
Your best bet is to talk to the senator and beg for their forgiveness. ”