Page 137 of Rhet

“Oh, it’s Sunday. So I will just chill.”

She bites her lips like she’s considering something. “Okay, great.”

I know she has to go to church today. “Want me to drop you at church?”

She widens her eyes. “Would you, um, like to come?”

“The holy water will bubble by the doors and darkness will take over.” I smirk at her.

“You think too highly of yourself. Besides the holy water is in front not the back.” She comments.

“Is it normally packed on Sunday?”

“Um, yes and no it depends.” She fluffs the pillow and lies back down.

“How long is it and who else is going?” I don’t want to go to darn church but for my girl, sure. My girl, I like the way that sounds.

“Mom, Penny, Ms. Helen, me. It starts at 10 a.m. finishing at noon um and depending on the message sometimes later.” The way she bites her bottom lip I know she’s wondering if I can make it.

“What about your brother?” I’ve never seen him.

“He’s not interested in church.” Her features sadden as she looks away.

“Sure, why not? We can take the Rover. I need God like any other human I guess,” I groan.

She jumps over my chest to kiss me.

As she tries to pull away, I pull her back into my arms. “Because I’m going to church, I want to create some sins I have to be forgiven for.”

“Rhet.” That is the last thing she gets to say before I make her happy for another two hours.

ZEETA

We hustle up the church steps. We’re late. Between Penny and Rhet talking about business acquisitions in the living room and me trying to get Mom ready, I knew we would be where we are now.

We’re walking down the aisle as the bishop talks and everyone stares at our asses murmuring about us. I can feel their little judgy eyes on our backs as we walk.

I never get why the ushers always put late people in the front, like I want the whole world to know that I’m late. We all slide in on the wooden pew and sit.

I hope mom won’t have an episode where she screams out. Bishop Bartholomew speaks to the congregation. “Honesty, marriage and relationships are the best forms of love and growth.”

Really Father, that’s how you’re going to play me today?

“Alphonso, you hear that, baby?” my mom says, looking beside her, seeming to realize dad’s not there.

My brain screams.Mom no. Please don’t have an episode.

Before I could react. Rhet gets up and sits on the other side of her.

She smiles brightly when she sees him, even blushes and continues to listen to the sermon on relationships and love.

Three hours pass by. Rhet’s foot has been shaking since the second hour. He has sent me at least six texts asking when it is going to be over. However, we make it. As the church says amen, we all turn and begin to greet each other.

Rhet, Mom, and I walk toward the front door. We’re almost there when we’re about to be stopped by the CNN of the congregation.

“Why Annie Mae, look it’s young Mitchell,” Ms. Hattie Mae Jackson, walks across the pews as quickly her little geriatric legs can carry her.

Ms. Hattie places herself right in front of Rhet. She refuses to be missed, especially in her solid red short jacket over her red and black dress. Let’s not forget the red twill hat with its rhinestone details.

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