Page 150 of Call Me Mrs. Taylor

“Okay. Go ahead.”

“Raya showed me the texts.”

She’s quiet for a while. “What texts?”

“The texts you sent.”

“To who?”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “You really gonna act like you don’t know what I’m talking about?”

“Honey, I truly have no clue.”

I don’t feel like arguing. I know why I called, and what I have to do.

“The White House thing…that’s off.”

“They canceled it?”

“You’re not invited anymore.”

She’s silent for a while. “I’m confused,” she says. “And what does your little girlfriend have to do with anything?”

“Mama…” I can’t tell the woman who raised me not to piss me off, so I take a few deep breaths instead. “Don’t deny it. I read every word you said. That she ain’t good enough. That I’ve dated doctors, lawyers, women who fit into the family.”

“That’s all true, sweetheart. But I don’t know anything about any text messages.”

I close my eyes, letting my head fall back onto my seat. The denial isn’t even vehement. Whether she did it or not, she should be more invested in the outcome.

Per usual, she just doesn’t give a fuck.

“I’m gonna go.”

She sighs dramatically. “You know, I’ve always thought this. I told your daddy all the time, but I never told you. Boy, you aresobook smart, but you don’t have a lick of common sense.”

I shake my head. “You’ve told me that many times.”

“Well, good,” she says. “Obviously I didn’t say it enough.”

“Whatever.”

“Oh, you got an attitude?”

I blow out a breath. “My bad.”

“Yes it is.” She pauses, presumably to take a sip. “It pains me to watch this, I tell you that much. No…nopussyis worth all this,” she says like she’s spitting the word out.

My prim and proper mother sounded so absurd, I burst out laughing. She doesn’t laugh with me, though. It sounds like she slams her glass on the table.

“You think this is funny?”

I let out a breath, my amusement dying fast. “I think it’s crazy that you’re talking to me like this.”

She clicks her tongue. “I’m your mother, Ace. I don’t have to sugarcoat things for you. I see what’s happening, and I refuse to sit back and act like it’s normal.”

I rub a hand down my face. “You can’t stand to see my happy, can you?”

“Happy?” This time, she laughs. “You aren’t happy. You’re blind.”

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