The Interruption of Everything

by Terry McMillan

  “I don’t want you to learn how to do that.”

  “You can’t have it both ways, Leon. And right now, it’s not even your decision. Go pick up some barbells. Sweat. Steam. And then go to your party. And tomorrow morning, I hope you take your son and his girlfriend back to the airport without flirting with her, and on Monday you can make your exodus.”

  “What are you going to do while I’m gone?”

  “You’ll see when you get back.”

  “You will be here when I get back, I hope. Mother can’t be here alone. She needs you here.”

  “Don’t worry about Arthurine. She’ll be fine.”

  “I’m not worried. I’m just concerned. I won’t go if you’re not going to be here when I get back.”

  “I’ll be here,” I say, mostly just to shut him up.

  “Seriously. I can cancel this whole trip in a split second.”

  “No, don’t do that, Leon. I want you to go.”

  “You do?”

  “The more I’ve thought about it the more I realized that this trip might be the best thing that could happen to us. We could use some time apart. It may even help us get our perspective back. You said so yourself.”

  “I did, didn’t I.”

  “So go to the gym. Relax. Everything always turns out for the best.”

  “All right. And you’re sure you won’t change your mind about the party?”

  I cut my eyes at him while pulling the fat and gristle off the first chicken part and flinging it into the sink. This is what finally gets him out the door.

  It’s a little past noon. Paulette and Bunny are coming around two. Not to help me because neither of them can cook. And neither of them wants to learn. They like to watch me float around the kitchen, pulling out all the spices and gathering up all the ingredients while they run their mouths and keep me entertained. Sometimes they’ll get a bowl or a pot or pan out for me, but mostly, they just keep me company so that even though this meal will take at least three or four hours to prepare, it will probably only feel like one.

  Arthurine went to a matinee with her van buddies. I want to call Joy to see how she’s holding up, but it’s too soon and I don’t want her to feel like I’m spying. But I can’t help it if I’m worried. I dial the number with chicken fat on my hands. Joy answers on the second ring. She sounds clear. Alert.

  “Joy, it’s Marilyn, just calling to say hi and see how you’re doing and to let you know how much I appreciated our talk yesterday.”

  “I did, too. And I’m doing good. Still taking my medication, which I plan to keep taking. It works. Lovey is the same. The garage sale is going on right now. I already sold the treadmill and that bike so I’m getting Lovey’s car back this afternoon. Does that sound good enough for you?”

  “Yes, it does. Where are the kids?”

  “Watching the stuff. I just came in to go to the bathroom and check on Lovey. She didn’t wanna sit out there with us.”

  “Okay then. Tell the kids I said hi and kiss Lovey for me.”

  “I’ll do that. Tell Spencer we’ll see him this summer. No doubt. Call tomorrow if you want to. If we ain’t here, it just means I took the kids and Lovey to the park.”

  “The park?”

  “They long overdue. And if I can get Lovey to sit still, we might see a movie, too.”

  “Sounds good, Joy. I’m really proud of you.”

  “I am, too,” she says, chuckling, and hangs up.

  Spencer and Brianna stroll into the kitchen about one. “Well well well, decided to join the living, huh?” I greet them both.

  “Hi, Mom,” he says, kissing me on the cheek.

  “Hello Mrs. Grimes,” Brianna says and kisses me, too.

  “So, how’s that wrist?”

  “It’s better. It only hurts when I don’t keep it elevated or I turn too abruptly,” he says, pulling up his jeans that fall right back down to his hips.

  I think he’s worn those same pants every single day since he’s been here. I’m not saying a word. “Then you might want to cut back on so much activity.”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell him,” Brianna says. “But he doesn’t listen to me either.”

  “I think he hears you loud and clear,” I say. She looks adorable in those hip-hugging jeans and that hot pink T-shirt that has pink rhinestones in the shape of a heart on the front. I slide the bread pudding into the oven.

  “What’s that, Mom?”

  “Bread pudding.”

  “Are we having company over? What’s with all this food?”

  I put my hands on my hips and shift my weight to one leg. “I know you know I’m making this dinner for you and Brianna and any of your friends that are still here.”

  “Tonight?”

  “I told you this in Tahoe, Spencer. You guys are leaving in the morning and I haven’t sat down with you for more than ten minutes.”

  “I think that’s when he was on that pain medicine,” Brianna says.

  “Mom, I swear. I don’t remember your mentioning this.”

  “Why, is there a problem?”

  “Well, sorta, kinda.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, Antoine’s cousin plays for the Warriors and he got us free floor seats for the game tonight! They’re playing the Lakers, Mom. I’ll finally get to see Kobe up close, and we have to go or he’ll kill me.”

  “What time is this game?”

  “Seven or seven-thirty. But we’ll probably need to leave here about six-fifteen or so because of traffic.”

  “So what am I supposed to do with all this food, Spencer?”

  “We’ll be back about ten-thirty or eleven. Antoine said there was a little after-party. But don’t worry. You cook it. We can guarantee it will get eaten.”

  “But I wanted us to sit at the table and dine together. I was going to set the table. I haven’t even had a chance to talk to you or Brianna, Spencer.”

  “Mom, look, I’m sorry. But you know what, we can talk on the phone anytime you want to. I’m just glad to see you. You know that.”

  “Yeah, this makes me feel a whole lot better.”

  “We’ll be back in California before you know it, Mrs. Grimes. We’re out of school the middle of May. You’ll be sick of us.”

  “You’re planning to come back?”

  “Spencer invited me. We might sublet an apartment together for the summer. I’ve already got an internship in San Francisco.”

  “That’s great,” I say, not really caring enough about what she’s going to be doing to know any details. “What are you two about to do now?”

  “Well, we’re all packed. But Brianna wants to do a little shopping and since she hasn’t seen much of the Bay Area besides Oakland, I’m giving her a tour of San Francisco and Marin County. We might not even make it back here before the game. But I’ll call you. Is that cool, Mom?”

  “It’s cool.”

  “Where’s Dad?”

  “Beats me.”

  “Well, we’re gonna dash on out of here.”

  “But you haven’t even eaten breakfast.”

  “We’ll stop and get something.”

  “Then have fun,” I say. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Love you. Oh! Wait! Mom, do you have any extra cash lying around that I could borrow?”

  “Like how much?”

  “If you could spare a hundred that would be great.”

  “What’s wrong with your ATM card?”

  “It has a serious negative balance.”

  “What if I said no.”

  He suddenly looks lost and confused.

  “Look in my purse,” I say.

  He does just that. Now he’s happy. “Thanks, Mom.”

  “We’ll see you later, Mrs. Grimes.”

  As soon as I hear my truck back out of that driveway I pick up every single piece of chicken one by one and drop them inside the garbage disposal. I listen to each piece grind to nothing. I do the same thing to the collard greens.
After the last white stem disappears, I take handfuls of chopped-up sweet potatoes and push them down there, too. I grab both packages of scallops and prawns and the bag of mussels and march outside where I dump their contents into a trash bin one piece at a time. Then I go back inside and put every bowl, every pot, spice, and utensil back in its place of residence. When the bread pudding is done, I don’t wait long enough for it to cool, I just dig out two gigantic mounds and blow on each forkful as I gulp it down with my coffee. I’m just about to chuck the rest of it down the garbage disposal when I hear the doorbell. Unfortunately I’m in tears by the time I let Paulette and Bunny in.

  “Girl, what is wrong with you?” Paulette asks.

  “It’s not your husband again, is it?” Bunny asks.

  I shake my head no as they follow me into the kitchen.

  “I’m not cooking a damn thing,” I say.

  “Why not? What happened?”

  “Well, my son forgot I wanted to make dinner for him and on his last night being at home after a whole week of not seeing him he’s going to a basketball game because that’s more important than having dinner with his frigging obsolete mother. But you know what? It’s cool. It’s so very fucking cool.”

  “No, it’s not, Marilyn,” Paulette says. “But slow down, baby. He’s growing up. They all do. The hard part is getting used to being on the periphery when we’re not their center anymore.”

  “That’s true,” Bunny says.

  “Shut up, Bunny. You don’t have any kids so you don’t even know what the hell I’m even feeling.”

  “I beg to differ with you, sweetheart. My cats are just like kids.”

  I’m not going to waste my time responding to her silly ass. “The thing that’s bothering me the most is that my own child doesn’t seem to appreciate how much time I was prepared to spend cooking this dinner. Which means they probably haven’t ever considered how many meals I’ve actually cooked for them. Or how many loads of clothes I’ve washed. I thought about it one year. I did over two thousand loads of clothes and cooked over five hundred meals: breakfast and dinner. I wonder if they have a clue as to how much time it takes to fold a T-shirt, a towel, a sheet. How much patience it takes to roll up nine pairs of socks, which don’t match or are too dirty to wash again. They’re ungrateful and I feel like I’ve been taken for granted big time.”

  “Feel better now?” Paulette asks.

  I throw a dish towel at her. “I could be overreacting.”

  “You think?” Bunny says.

  Paulette opens and closes the refrigerator and then smooths her hands across the empty countertops. The kitchen is spotless. “I thought you said you bought out the store this morning. What did you do with everything? We figured you’d have half the stuff finished by now.”

  “I tossed it.”

  “You tossed what?” Bunny asks.

  “Everything.”

  “Not all that expensive seafood?”

  “I did.”

  “Where exactly did you toss it?”

  “Outside in the trash bin.”

  “That’s just ridiculous, Marilyn. And I’m going right out there to get it. I’ll figure out a way to cook it myself.”

  “Is that a bread pudding on the table?” Paulette asks.

  “Yes it is.”

  “I know you’re not throwing that out. Don’t even answer that. I’ll take it home if you don’t want it.”

  “Take it,” I say.

  “It’ll be all right, Marilyn. Just try to understand that when they grow up their friends and girlfriends become important to them. But it doesn’t mean he doesn’t care or appreciate what you do. Believe me.”

  “What about your son?”

  “That’s a whole different ball of wax, honey. You know what I’m saying here. Okay?”

  “Yeah, well I’ll tell you guys something. This entire household is going to be in for quite a few big surprises because they’re about to start seeing what’s important to me. And they’ll probably go into shock when they realize that most of it does not include them.”

  Chapter 19

  After I convince Paulette and Bunny that I’m not so much upset as I am disappointed and hurt and that I’m not having a nervous breakdown, they take their goodies and leave. I put my sneakers on and take that long hard walk. These hills almost kill me. When I get to Sequoia I turn down the street and search for a house that needs work. I’m not looking for Gordon. I’m looking for repairs. In fact, now would not be a good time to see him. I might throw myself at his feet or break down and confess my fears and sins and beg him to save me or something just as stupid. When I spot his place I know it’s the right one because I see the back of his car parked in the driveway. I do an immediate about-face and head back toward my house.

  I’m just about to get in the shower when the phone rings. I answer it like Tiecey: “Who’s calling and what do you want?”

  “Marilyn?” Gordon says.

  “Oh shoot! I’m sorry. I thought you might be somebody else.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Actually, I’m a little upset right now but I should not have answered the phone that way. I apologize.”

  “No need to. There’s nothing wrong with expressing a little anger, especially when you’re feeling it. Is there anything I can do?”

  Why did he have to ask me that? “No, but thanks.”

  “I thought I saw you walking up the hill a little while ago, was that you?”

  “If she was huffing and puffing then that was probably me.”

  “Why didn’t you stop by?”

  “I wasn’t sure which house was yours.”

  “I told you, it’s the one that looks like it should be torn down.”

  “Another time.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah. It’s just a lot of things going on at once and I’m feeling unappreciated and it just doesn’t feel very good.”

  “So what are you going to do about it?”

  “I give.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means I’m changing my course.”

  “Would your marriage be on or off this course?”

  “Off.”

  “Wow. And you’re absolutely sure about this?”

  “I think so.”

  “Well, I’m really sorry to hear this, Marilyn. On one hand. But not the other. Would you like to have dinner with me to talk about what you’re going through?”

  “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea right now, Gordon.”

  “I didn’t mean today. And I just meant dinner.”

  “Then I might take you up on it.”

  “How’s Leon dealing with this?”

  “It was his idea.”

  “Oh. Wow. He seemed like such a cool brother.”

  “Cool is putting it mildly. How about more like an ice cube.”

  “Sometimes men go through some weird stuff when we’re in our forties. So whatever it is might not even be under his control.”

  “I beg to differ with you. Anyway, he’s not the only one in his forties around here nor does he have a cap on being emotionally frazzled or overly sensitive. Half the time I feel like there’s live entertainment going on inside my head. Oh, never mind. I shouldn’t even be saying this.”

  “I’m not going to the tabloids, Marilyn. Remember me? We used to have this honesty thing going on. I don’t want to take advantage of you because of your situation. I just know what this feels like, so you go on and get in the shower and call me when you need an ear.”

  “How d’you know I was about to take a shower?”

  “Because I can hear the water in the background and I can tell you’re not wet. You take care of yourself.”

  I hang up. And he’s wrong about one thing. I am dripping wet.

  I have to get out of this house, so I drive to Sabrina’s apartment in Berkeley without bothering to call. If she’s home, she’s home. I haven’t been over here in
so long I forgot how difficult parking is. Luckily, I’m not in the truck and I’m just barely able to squeeze into a tight spot. But no sooner do I put the money in the meter and walk up to her building, than I remember that they don’t even live here anymore. They moved to a bigger place right after the first of the year. Shit! Shit! Shit!

  It’s much harder getting out of this parking space than it was getting in and I pray that I don’t do any damage when I tap the fender of that Yukon in front of me. I can see that it’s still smooth after I’m out. To be on the safe side, when I get to the corner I pull into a bus stop and call her. She answers. “Sabrina, this is your stupid mother calling to tell you that I was thinking of stopping by to say hi but went to your old apartment and I was wondering if you can tell me how to get to the new place.”

  She’s cracking up. “Hi, Mom. Hate to break it to you, but we just moved across the street. Your son and his Southern belle just left here for the city. I heard you were making this big dinner and I wanna know why we weren’t invited?”

  “I did invite you, huzzie. Don’t give me that.”

  “You didn’t, Mom. I had no idea until Spencer told me.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. But it’s cool. We’re coming anyway.”

  “I’m not cooking now.”

  “Why not?”

  “Let me park this car again and I’ll be right up, okay?”

  “Okay. Nevil’s at the library so you can use our spot in the lot—you can’t miss it—space AA. See you in a sec.”

  I do this and press the AA button and am buzzed in. I think this used to be a school or something. Whatever it was is gone but what they put in its place has been completely restored so that it still has that prewar feeling. I can smell the incense or oils before she opens the door. Her head is wrapped like Erikah Badu’s, and she’s wearing something flowing, as usual, and of course it’s an earth tone. Her belly is getting round. I feel it when she kisses me on the cheek. “Hi, Mom. Welcome to our palatial sanctuary.”

  And that it is. The apartment is huge. The ceilings are high and the windows are, too. This had to have been a school. The hardwood floors are smooth and dark. Plants are almost everywhere you turn. Everything is low to the floor: Futon. Tables. Lamps. Pillows I made. Handwoven rugs are in well-chosen places. “Sit,” she says. “Can I make you some tea?”