Page 12 of Ms. V's Hot Girl Summer

The diplomat of the family.

A rush of air left my chest cavity as soon as the twins went to their rooms. Their empty plates and my half-eaten one lay there. Ignoring the pull to clear everything myself, I navigated my way to the living room where my laptop sat with several emails and deliverables waiting to be answered. The magic of working for myself meant I set my own schedule. The sucky part of working for myself was that I seldom set boundaries around when not to work.

Getting lost in emails, I barely reacted when my boys returned, both showered and clearly in a different state of mind. The china and stainless steel clanking against the sink soothed me while I typed away answer after answer for my upcoming event.

“So, Mom, Coach told us she signed us up for an additional competition.”

“Really?” This vendor should have already sent me a full quote to present to my client. I had been chasing this particular transportation company for days. I hated when I worked with unprofessional partners because, in turn, they made me seem to be unprofessional.

“Yeah, so I wanted to see if you went with us. It’s a weekend, so that’s pretty dope,” Brian said.

“But it’s the same weekend as your thing, with that old man… Milton,” Brandon said, disdain dripping from every word.

“Excuse me? Milton is not old. He’s about ten years older than me, and for my age, that is not old…” The clank of dishes and the water faucet stopped, and we all stared at each other.

“Ma, for real? With all due respect.” No sentence that started with all due respect ended well. “That dude is lame; he ain’t for you. He doesn’t have the same vibes as you. Yes, you work hard and shit, but you don’t make your entire personality your job,” Brandon explained.

I was gifted with many, many words by my boys. Just not the words I wanted to hear from them.

“He’s not for you, Ma; he don’t show appreciation for you the way he should. Men should shower their women with love, affection, and gifts and always make her feel like number one. At least that is what Orlando says, and I can see he is a stand-up dude, so it must be correct. Real men don’t play games about what we want; we make what we want to happen. Milton ain’t try to call you his girlfriend all this time; we can hear your convos with Auntie Miranda,” Brian said.

Words dissolved from my lips. Every response I wanted to give faded to nothing as I gaped at my two boys who came for me and my life choices. When you give birth to Black children, you hope you gave them strength and audacity to live in a world that is so against us, but when that audacity is used against you…you start reflecting on your life choices. Running my nails over my keyboard, I hoped the ASMR could calm me enough not to end up in the evening news: my mug shot with the caption “Mother of two snaps.”

“Orlando is a child; he doesn’t know how things change as you continue to grow up.” Why in the world would I decide to say that first? I’d never know. But the fact that the twins felt Orlando was a better example than Milton didn’t sit right with me. Not if I was trying to make Milton a fixture in my life.

“Ma, Orlando is a grown-ass man. He is ten years older than us, not our contemporary; stop calling him a child. He supports his entire family and has been teaching us a lot of things.” Brian turned around, drying the last plate and placing it on the correct shelf. The boys never put things in their right place, but they had started paying more attention—since Orlando.

My chest caved like an empty helium balloon; the boys very rarely asked for me to go on their cheerleading trips with them. They never bothered asking their dad because, well, homophobia. When their father and I realized Brandon might be gay when he was about ten years old, we did the best thing we could have done as parents. We took it in stride and never required him to come out of the closet. One day, I asked him if the boy he kept mentioning over and over was his crush, and Brandon froze; then I remember my little boy nodding, and when I smiled at him, he smiled right back.

And that was that.

Their father, taking in all the good things he’d learned in his life in New York and not the unfortunate homophobia from our Caribbean heritage, decided not to ostracize his ten-year-old.

Instead, he made sure his gay son would be the most manly gay man in the world. Cheerleading did not fit in that definition. So, their father didn’t bother supporting any of the related activities.

I really wanted to go with Milton, but the boys seldom asked for my company. They were too grown for their mom to tag along. This invitation was a big opportunity to spend some quality time with them. Milton would understand. And who knew? Maybe instead of going to the Poconos, Milton could come with me. He’d said the trip was optional, so missing it wouldn’t hurt him. This would be a perfect opportunity to show the boys that Milton cared, that he was about them and me…and maybe Milton could convince me too.

“Alright, boys, I will go with you.”

SIX

Orlando

Time accelerated without my permission these past two weeks. Work had been nonstop. The letter of acceptance for law school loomed on the top shelf of my bookcase with all my anime DVDs and fantasy books, luring me to check it again and ensure time hadn’t run out on my response. My brothers acted like fools the whole two weeks, worrying me if they’d do a good job of taking care of Mom while I was gone. But Camilo had dutifully showed up this afternoon with a small bag, ready to stay for the weekend. Meanwhile my social life stalled as I focused on home, work, and the mentorship program. My brain had little capacity for else.

Staring at my packed suitcase, I sifted through my mental list. Forgetting something meant I’d potentially be on the first flight tomorrow to Ofele Town without my boxers or condoms. That shit couldn’t happen, so I ran through the list one last time. The condoms might seem premature as I wasn’t going down there searching for a fling, but if a fling searched for me, I wouldn’t be opposed to a ride or two. And I don’t want to be caught lacking if something were to pop off.

The sea breeze had been calling my name for days, infiltrating my neat room, bringing an airiness I seldom felt in my home. My friends would all meet me there a couple of days later, but I’d wanted to arrive first, settle in the house rental, and start my search for my baby’s mother and my daughter.

My child.Shit! Whirling around, I found the pink paper bag lying on my desk, waiting to be noticed.

My palms grew moist as I refolded a little dress over my gray duvet. Would my daughter like it? The white-and-purple dress was big enough for a five-year-old. At least that’s what the lady said at the boutique close to my office. I didn’t want to show up empty-handed to our meeting, knowing I hadn’t been part of her life for years.

Would it be enough to erase my absence? No piece of fabric could be enough; gifts were just empty gestures when replacing true affection. My mother had taught me that every time she went overboard with birthday and Christmas presents to compensate for the free parenting she got out of me.

Would my daughter even understand what was happening? I sure as hell barely understood myself, so I couldn’t expect much from a barely grown toddler with their frontal lobe still in development. Shit, mine had only stopped developing a few years ago.

Closing the suitcase, I left all the insidious thoughts inside. Walking toward my large whiteboard with all my scribbles and plans, I picked up a marker, letting the quiet satisfaction seep into my taste buds so sweet I could taste it. There was nothing better to chase my anxiety away than checking things off my home to-do list.

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