Secrets Untold

by Shelia M. Goss

  “If you need me, I’m just a phone call away, okay, dear.” He leaned down and kissed me on the cheek. He pulled the covers securely around my shoulders.

  “Yes, Daddy.” That was it. I couldn’t do it. The tears flowed. I was thankful he couldn’t see them.

  I heard his footsteps as he walked away. I wondered if what I had heard the night before was true. Was Dion McNeil really my father? If so, what was I going to do?

  As soon as I heard both cars pull away from the house, I jumped out of bed. I watched my parents drive off to their separate destinations. Once I was sure they were gone, I rushed to the bathroom to release what I had been holding in for hours. The pathetic-looking girl staring back at me in the bathroom mirror made me want to jump back in bed; instead, I jumped in the shower and stayed there until the water ran cold.

  Shivering, I dried off and dressed in a pair of jeans and T-shirt. The suspense of what my mom had been looking at the night before led me to their bedroom.

  “Where could it be?” I said out loud as I looked under their bed and fumbled through my mom’s side of the dresser drawers. “Jackpot.”

  A green scrapbook overflowing with newspaper clippings lay hidden beneath her satin nightgown. The next few minutes seemed to move in slow motion as I retrieved the scrapbook and found myself turning the pages as I sat on the edge of my parents’ bed.

  Staring back at me was a man with my same eyes. I don’t know why I hadn’t recognized it before, but I was the only one in my family with slanted hazel eyes. Dion McNeil had slanted hazel eyes. Our skin complexion was identical. His smooth caramel complexion matched mine. My parents were from Louisiana, and in our family we came in all shades. It never dawned on me to wonder why both of my parents were mocha chocolate and I came out caramel.

  My dad and Dion were in a photo, each holding up an end of the Super Bowl trophy. The caption below the picture, dated two years before I was born, read, “Dallas Cowboys rookies celebrate their first Super Bowl win together.”

  I skimmed page after page of photos and writeups of Dion. One photo captured my attention longer than others. A photo of him and his family. The article talked about the reality show surrounding him, his wife, and two daughters. A lightbulb flashed in my head as I recalled watching episodes of the reality show two years ago. My mind couldn’t grasp the fact that Dion could be my father, let alone that I might have two half-sisters out there. His other daughter, Jasmine, went to my high school. She and I had a few classes together, but we were far from friends. I didn’t like her “I-think-I’m-better-than-you” attitude. I had to go off on her one day. I let Jasmine know her father wasn’t the only one who played for the Cowboys. My dad had been a star player too. He didn’t need a reality show to keep him in the limelight. After that little confrontation, we’d never seemed to care for each other. We’d been in competition with each other when it came to school activities, and neither one of us could probably think of anything nice to say about the other.

  So many questions flashed through my mind. Sort of like a repeat of the night before. How long were my parents going to keep this a secret from me? Why did they keep it a secret from me? Is it because Dion disowned me? Did he even know I existed? My head started pounding. The scrapbook slipped out of my lap and onto the floor.

  In between the loud, beating noise in my head, I bent down and picked up the loose pages and stuffed them back in the scrapbook. I hid it back in my mom’s dresser drawer. With eyes barely open, I searched my parents’ medicine cabinet and found a bottle of aspirin and downed two pills for my headache.

  I took a quick glance at myself in the dresser mirror as I left their bathroom and exited back through the bedroom toward my own. I vowed not to look at another mirror anymore on that day. The sound of my cell phone beeping caught my attention as soon as I re-entered my bedroom. I scrolled through several text messages from Danielle and Tara.

  For once, I was at a loss for words. What I was going through was too serious to put in a text? I sent them a duplicate message.

  Stomach cramps

  I tossed the phone on the bed. I lay down, only expecting to spend a few minutes or until the pounding in my head stopped.

  The sounds of my little brothers in the hallway woke me up. I couldn’t believe I had slept all day. The emotional stress and the lack of sleep from the night before had caught up with me.

  “Keep it down,” I yelled, as I pulled the covers over my head.

  My mom’s presence could be felt in the room even before she spoke. Her signature floral fragrance filled the air and seeped under the covers to my nostrils. I turned over and peeped from under the covers.

  “You aren’t feeling better?” she asked, a concerned look on her face.

  I yawned and sat up in bed. “I’m okay. Just tired.”

  “Take it easy. I called your school and your teachers e-mailed your assignments to you.”

  Wow! Thanks, Mom. “I’ll do it later.”

  My mom ran her hands through the side of my hair. “You sure you’re okay. Your eyes look puffy.”

  I avoided eye contact. “I’m better. No need to worry about me.”

  “I can’t help but do so. You’re my baby girl.”

  As she talked, all I could think about was the conversation I’d overheard the night before. A conversation I now regretted ever hearing. I guess that’s why folks say it’s best not to eavesdrop. I could feel a headache returning. I cut her off by saying, “Mom, I better get to working on those assignments. It’ll be night before you know it.”

  “You do that. I need to get dinner ready for tonight.” She patted the bed and stood up and left me alone.

  I was glad she shut the door. Hopefully, that would keep my two little brothers out of my way. I slid out of the bed and into the desk behind my computer. As they’d promised my mom, some of my teachers had e-mailed me my assignments. Now my head would be pounding for another reason.

  One assignment required me to research which presidents were born in the state of Virginia. I didn’t have my history book so I clicked on the search engine. Instead of typing in presidents, I typed in the name Dion McNeil.

  There were so many hits on his name. I was about to click on some of the links when Jay burst through my door.

  “Porsha, Mama wants to see you in her room now,” and he stressed the word now.

  “You better get out of my room,” I responded.

  “Mom, Porsha’s cussing,” Jay yelled, as he walked out my room.

  “You need to stop lying.”

  I turned off my computer screen, wondering why my mom wanted to see me.

  4

  I didn’t have to wonder long why my mom had summoned me to her room. As soon as I saw her tear-stained face, I knew something was wrong. She barely raised her head when she spoke. She patted the space beside her on the bed. “Come. Have a seat.”

  I rushed to the side of the bed. I could now see she was holding a newspaper article of Dion McNeil. Guilt swept across my face when I realized it must have fallen earlier when I was snooping. I thought I had gathered all the papers up and placed them back in the scrapbook, but obviously I hadn’t.

  We both sat there in silence. Neither one of us knew how to approach the conversation. The sound of the ticking clock seemed to vibrate through the room. I took a quick glance at the clock. My father would be home soon if the time was correct.

  My mom reached out and grabbed my hand. “Have you been in my room?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

  I could approach the situation two ways: lie or tell the truth. If I lied, things could go on as they were. If I told the truth, then maybe, just maybe I could get the answers to the thousands of questions running through my head. Speaking of heads, the pounding noise that had subsided now returned.

  “Porsha, I’m talking to you,” her voice got louder as she spoke.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Can you tell me why you were going through my stuff?” she asked, this time i
n a level voice.

  “I—I wanted to find out if what I heard was true,” I stuttered.

  “Jay, pushed me.” Jason ran in the room with a huge scrape on his knee.

  “I’ve told you boys about fighting. I’m going to let your father deal with you two when he gets home.”

  “It hurts,” Jason whined.

  “Come on. Let me put some peroxide on it.” She stood up off the bed. “Porsha, we’re not through, so don’t go anywhere,” she said to me, as she led Jason into her bathroom to clean the scrape.

  When she was done, she kissed Jason on the cheek. “Now, be a good boy and go finish your homework.”

  “Yes, Mama,” Jason said, as he batted his big beautiful black eyelashes.

  Instead of returning to the bed, my mom took a seat on her chaise facing the window, in the corner of her bedroom. She looked out the window instead of in my direction. Her voice carried across the room. “I knew this day would come. I was just hoping it wouldn’t be like this.”

  If she expected me to make this easy for her, she could forget it. The feelings of betrayal surfaced, and I wanted answers. I needed answers. I blurted out, “When were you going to tell me Dion McNeil was my father?” There I said it. It was out in the open. No more pretenses.

  “I wasn’t,” my mom admitted.

  “You were wrong for keeping this from me.”

  She turned and faced me. “Me and your dad did what we thought was best.”

  “For who? You.”

  “Porsha, there’s a lot of stuff you don’t know.”

  I laughed, but it wasn’t a happy laugh. “And if it was up to you, I would still be in the dark.”

  “Dear, please don’t be angry with me.”

  I couldn’t believe this. How did she think I should feel? Before I could gather my thoughts together and respond, I heard her ask, “How did you find out?”

  “I overheard you and Dad—well, the man I thought was my dad—arguing last night.”

  My mom was now standing near me. “Trey is still your dad.”

  “No, he isn’t. You lied to me. He lied to me. How could you?”

  “Oh, baby.” My mother used one of her hands and wiped the tears that I hadn’t realized were sliding down my face.

  My mom cradled my face in her chest, and I cried like I had never cried before. The kind of cry where tears and snot are mixed together. She rocked me back and forth. I heard Jay call out our mama’s name a few times.

  “Not now, Jay.”

  She must have given him one of her “I-mean-business” looks because he didn’t argue; instead, I heard his footsteps go in the opposite direction of the room.

  My mom brushed my hair with her hands and kept saying, “I’m sorry,” over and over.

  I heard her words and I wanted to believe them, but something inside of me couldn’t immediately accept her apology. My mind flashed back over the last fifteen years of my life. The memories I had shared with my dad were at the forefront. I recalled the father-and-daughter events we attended together. My dad was a victim in all of this just like I was.

  I pulled myself out of my mom’s grasp and wiped my face with the tissue she handed me.

  My dad’s voice could be heard in the hallway. My mom said, “Let me talk to your dad first, and then we can continue this discussion after dinner.”

  Just like that. She dismissed me. Food was the last thing on my mind. I stood up. “I’ll pass on dinner.” I rushed out the door and bumped into my dad.

  “Hold up, baby girl. You feeling better?”

  I hugged him tighter than I normally would. “I love you, Daddy.” Daddy. Would he still want me to call him that when he finds out I know the truth?

  “I love you too,” he said, giving me a tight hug.

  He released me, and I continued to my room. I shut the door. With my back up against the wall, I slid down it until I hit the floor. How would I get past the fact that Trey was not my biological father? My cell phone rang, interrupting my thoughts. I answered it.

  “Girl, where have you been?” Danielle said. “I’ve been calling and texting you all evening.”

  “I’m dealing with some family drama right now. I’ll have to call you back.” I didn’t give Danielle time to respond. I pressed the end button on my BlackBerry.

  Danielle would get an A for persistence because she called back several times. Each time, I pressed the “ignore” button. When the house phone rang, I was sure it was her, so I didn’t bother to answer.

  Jason yelled from the other end of my door, “Dani’s on the phone. She said it’s urgent.”

  “Tell her I’ll call her back.”

  A few seconds later, Jason responded, “She said, you better.”

  I knew I wouldn’t be able to ignore my friends forever, but I needed some “me” time. I closed my eyes, wishing I could erase the last twenty-four hours.

  5

  I got off the floor and went and sat behind my computer. I turned the screen on. There were several instant messages from Danielle and Tara blinking on my screen. I ignored them all; instead, I clicked on some of the links I had pulled up in the search engine about Dion McNeil.

  Wikipedia displayed stats from his NFL career. In fact, his entire professional portfolio filled the page. He’d recently received an award for hosting a show on the Sports Center station. A picture of him with his award and two daughters stared me in the face. I took a closer look at Brenda and Jasmine to see if we resembled each other in any way. Brenda had hazel eyes like me, but Jasmine didn’t.

  I read their ages again. Hold the presses. Brenda is several years older than Jasmine. Jasmine is only a year younger than me. That means Dion was sleeping with their mother and my mother at the same time. Oh my goodness, my biological father was a player.

  “Porsha, can we talk?” my mom’s voice asked from the other end of my door.

  “Coming.” I clicked the off button on the computer screen. I took my time walking to the door. I opened up the door expecting to see both of my parents, but my mom was the only one standing on the other end.

  “Your dad’s downstairs. He thought it would be best if we held this conversation in the den.”

  I rolled my eyes and walked past her. She did teach me if I didn’t have something nice to say, it was best to keep my mouth shut. I was only doing what I was taught. Right now, my mom really didn’t want me to tell her how I was feeling. She wouldn’t like what I thought about her at this point.

  Seeing the pain on my dad’s face softened my stance a little. He sat on the sofa with a look of despair on his face. He could barely look me in the face. His eyes were on my mother, who was walking in the room behind me. I took a seat in a chair across from the sofa.

  Mom sat next to Dad. She reached for his hand, and I watched their fingers interlock. My dad said, “Angie tells me you found out about your biological father. I want you to know that it doesn’t change a thing.”

  I really wanted to believe him but couldn’t. Now that I knew, things were bound to change.

  My mom said, “We want you to ask us any questions you may have.”

  My dad looked in my eyes. “We promise we’ll answer them as honestly as we can.”

  “Are you sure, Dad? Or should I start calling you Trey?”

  “Porsha, that’s not called for,” my mother snapped.

  My dad removed his hand. “Angie, let her vent. She has every right.”

  “She will not disrespect you. You’re her father, and she needs to come to terms with it now.”

  I rolled my eyes and leaned back in my chair. “Are you two through? Because I just got an appetite.” Under normal circumstances, I never would have talked to my mom like that, but she needed me to forgive her, not the other way around. I crossed my arms in front of me.

  My dad pled, “Porsha, you’ll always be my baby girl, so regardless of what happens from this point on, don’t you ever forget it.”

  My heart turned to mush as he spoke. “I hav
e all these questions but don’t know where to begin.” I normally looked at my mom for assurance, but couldn’t bring myself to look her in the eyes.

  My dad took over the conversation. “Why don’t I tell you how this came about, and Angie can fill in the gaps.”

  “Fine,” I responded.

  My mom was a coward. Why wasn’t she the one explaining this fiasco, instead of him? The more and more I thought about it, I realized my dad was a saint to take on another man’s child as his own.

  My mom shifted in her seat. My dad cleared his throat.

  She said, “I’ll get you something to drink.”

  “Thanks, dear,” he responded, as he cleared his throat again. He faced me as she left the room. “You know this is hurting her just as much as it’s hurting you,” he said.

  “I doubt it.” My eyes darted to the floor.

  “I’m going to admit this before she comes back. Dion is not my favorite person in the world. You see, believe it or not, him and I used to be best friends. Until, well, until I found out he was sleeping with my woman.”

  My mom walked back in. “Trey, you could have left that part out.”

  He took the bottled water from her hand and opened it. “If we’re going to tell her the story, she should know the whole story.”

  “I guess I better be the one to tell her then,” my mom said, as she sat beside him and crossed her legs. “What Trey said is true. They were best friends, but when Dion and I hooked up, Trey and I were separated.”

  My mouth hung open. “So you slept with your husband’s best friend? Mom!”

  “No, dear. We weren’t even married then. We were engaged, and your father was confused about whether or not he wanted to settle down. My heart was hurting. Dion had been a good friend and consoled me.”

  My dad spat out the water in his mouth. “Hold up. Dion was doing a little bit more than consoling.”

  She uncrossed her legs. “Fine. He took advantage of my emotional state, and we ended up sleeping together.”