Brock pulled her into the house and then closed the door, trapping her. She looked around the living room, which was somber with heavy, dark furniture. She sat on the edge of the plastic-covered sofa and waited.
“Big Momma?”
A moment later Sheridan heard a shuffling sound. And then a woman who was the antithesis of her name inched into the room, propelled by a chrome walker.
Big Momma was quite petite. The five-foot-three beauty could probably still hang out at a club or two, with her silver-black pixie haircut and green eyes that brightened her face. And Sheridan was sure the sixty-eight-year-old woman could still slip into a pair of size six jeans. All that aged Big Momma was the thin cotton, flowered housecoat of the type that Sheridan was sure only grandmothers wore. And the tattered slippers that looked as if they had seen more earthly days than her grandson.
Brock hugged his grandmother and helped her into a chair. Sheridan studied the way he handled her—with gentleness. Tenderness. And love. Kamora had told her she measured a man by the way he treated his mother. She wondered what her friend would say about Brock and his grandmother.
“How’re you, Big Momma?”
“Boy, if you don’t stop asking me…I told you I was fine when you called. I’m wonderful in the Lord. Now tell me,” she said, and poked his arm, “where’re your manners?” Big Momma looked at Sheridan and folded her hands in her lap. Her smile made Sheridan’s anxiety thaw—just a bit.
Brock grinned. “This is my friend, Sheridan Hart.”
She stepped forward when the woman reached for her. It was another of the few signs of Big Momma’s age, the weathered skin, the soft touch.
“It’s nice to meet you, Ms….”
“Everyone calls me Big Momma.” His grandmother chuckled. “At least everyone who is friend or family.” She tilted her head. “And the way my boy here talks about you, you’re a friend.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Sheridan smiled. Her apprehension continued to melt as the woman warmed her with her eyes.
“And the way my boy here talks about you,” Big Momma continued, “I suspect you’ll soon join the ranks of family.”
“Big Momma!” Brock exclaimed.
“Why you yelling like that, boy?”
“’Cause not only are you talking about me like I’m not here, but you’re talking about things that are none of your business.”
Big Momma twisted her lips. “At my age, everything is my business.” Then she grinned at Sheridan. “If we waited for these men, none of us would ever be married.” She rocked back in her chair. “So I’m just moving along the inevitable.”
Brock shook his head and then sat on the couch next to Sheridan.
“So, Sheridan,” Big Momma continued, “my boy here tells me you have two children.”
Her uneasiness returned, and an image came to her mind—Déjà and Christopher sitting in front of her, prepared for their interrogation. Sheridan scooted a few inches away from Brock.
I am too old for this. “Yes, ma’am, I have two children.”
“And how old is your oldest?”
Here it comes. “Sixteen.”
“Boy or girl?”
“A boy. Christopher.”
Big Momma leaned back and nodded. She continued staring, as if she were studying more than Sheridan’s words. When the old woman’s eyes narrowed, Sheridan could imagine Big Momma’s thoughts. “What do you want with my boy?”
What goes around…
“You got your hands full,” Big Momma said. “A sixteen-year-old boy. He’s probably smelling himself, giving you all kinds of trouble.”
“No, ma’am. He’s a good kid.”
“I’m sure he is in front of you, but you know kids these days. They’ll tell you one thing, then do another. Tell you they’re going to school, but never make it to class. Be doing all kinds of things you don’t know about.”
Big Momma’s words made Sheridan pause. She swallowed the fear that came with the memories of what they’d been through with Christopher. Big Momma shook her head. “Did my boy here tell you he has a younger brother?” She didn’t wait for Sheridan to affirm. “Brock has done wonders with his brother, and now he works with other young men. Even brought a few ’round here for me to meet.” She peered at Sheridan another moment. “I know you’re good for him. Making him smile all the time and taking his behind to church. But he can be good for you too. My boy here can help you raise your boy.”
“Big Momma,” Brock called, in a tone that was a plea for silence. “You shouldn’t be talking about this.”
“Why not? You won’t.”
“Big Momma,” Sheridan interrupted both of them. “Christopher is a normal teenager and his father is very active in his life.”
“Is his father living with you?”
None of your business. “No, ma’am, but—”
“Then it ain’t good enough.” Big Momma shook her head. “That’s part of the problem. These boys on the streets with no direction from their fathers. Many don’t even know who their fathers are.”
Brock stood. “Okay, time for us to go.” He took Sheridan’s hand.
“Why you leavin’ so soon?” Big Momma asked.
“Because if you keep talking, Sheridan may never go out with me again.”
Big Momma waved her hand. “I doubt that. Look at the two of you.” She smirked. “All that chemistry. Umph, umph, umph. Well, at least I know my boy here will be in good hands.”
You don’t even know me, Sheridan thought, but said nothing.
“And you may think I don’t know nothin’ ’bout you,” Big Momma said, letting Sheridan know she knew her thoughts. “But I know all I need to know. You love the Lord, right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And you love my grandson, right?”
Brock held up his hands. “Okay, Big Momma, that’s enough.”
“She don’t have to answer. I know.” Big Momma leaned back in her chair and rocked as if God had told her something. “Just look at you two. Hmph, hmph, hmph.”
Brock kissed his grandmother’s cheek. “Do you want me to help you back to bed?”
“No, I was just resting before you came. But now I’m gonna stay up and watch a little TV.” She picked up the remote.
“Well, don’t stay up too late. I’ll call you.”
Big Momma nodded. “Nice to meet you, young lady. And maybe you can do me a favor.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Can you get my boy here to cut his hair?”
“Big Momma!” Brock protested.
She continued, “Walkin’ ’round here with all that hair like a girl.”
Brock shook his head and Sheridan laughed. She took the woman’s hand again. “It was nice meeting you, Big Momma,” she said before Brock pulled her from the house.
Sheridan slid into the car and bounced back in her seat. “Thanks for introducing me to your grandmother.”
Brock rolled his eyes and turned his head. But even from the side, she could see his smile.
“Now that you’ve met my grandmother, there’s only one thing left,” he said somberly.
Sheridan’s forehead wrinkled.
He eased the car onto the freeway. “I want you to spend my birthday with me.”
“I’d love to,” she exclaimed. “So you’re finally going to be thirty.”
He nodded and his locks swayed. “Yup.” He took her hand and squeezed it.
“Let me plan something for you.”
“A party?” There was a frown in his voice.
“No, something with just the two of us.”
He glanced at her, grinned, winked, and then turned his eyes back to the road.
She slapped his leg. “Not that. But I want to do something.”
“Okay. What?”
“I don’t know yet. I’ll surprise you.”
“It doesn’t matter what we do. All I want is to spend the entire day with you.”
They settled into a comfortab
le silence that lasted until he stopped in the Starbucks parking lot. She jumped from the car, sauntered to his window, and leaned in.
“I’m looking forward to your birthday,” she whispered, and let her lips graze his.
“I can’t wait. Now get in your car, and call me when you get home, woman.”
She watched him in her rearview mirror as she backed out. Then she pulled up next to him. She motioned for him to roll down his window. “I forgot to ask. When’s your birthday?”
“Saturday.”
A car behind him honked and Brock waved. “Call me,” he said, before he pulled away from her.
Sheridan sat. This Saturday. May fifteenth. Tori’s birthday. She put her car into drive and tried to gather her thoughts.
Tori’s birthday. And her party. With her family. There was no way she could spend the day with him.
She couldn’t invite him to the party. Her children would be there. And her parents.
She’d call him and explain.
What if he wants to go?
“He’ll never want to go to a children’s party. That’s no way to spend his birthday.”
“All I want is to spend the entire day with you.” She remembered his words.
She pulled back into the parking space she’d just left and dialed Kamora’s number.
“Hey, girl,” Kamora said.
“Starbucks, in ten minutes.”
“Girl, I’m already in my pj’s.”
Sheridan raised her eyebrows. “Boy, your life has changed.”
“Don’t I know it? Can’t we just talk over the phone?”
Sheridan remembered all the times when Kamora had called, pleading for some face-to-face time. Well, it was her turn.
“Please come,” Sheridan said. “I need you.”
Kamora said, “Okay, but don’t be mad when I show up looking like I’m going to a slumber party and embarrass you. I ain’t takin’ off my nightgown.”
Fifteen minutes later Kamora strolled into the coffee shop. She was right; she’d been dressed for bed. And as promised, she hadn’t taken off what she’d been wearing. She wore her silk, low-cut, mid-thigh nightie over a pair of jeans with a short denim jacket. It may have been her sleepwear, but she looked like she was going to a party.
Kamora rolled her eyes when she spotted Sheridan at the table, but Sheridan didn’t mind. She knew Kamora was eager to hear whatever she had to say. Not much could get Sheridan pleading for some time at Starbucks.
Kamora ordered her drink, made eye contact with no one, even though she knew many eyes were on her, and then strutted to the table with her drink in hand.
“Okay, so what problem do you need me to help you solve?” Her tone was blasé, but her eyes were wide, as if she couldn’t wait to hear. “It’s about Mr. Muscles, right?”
Sheridan nodded. “His birthday is Saturday and I promised to spend the entire day with him.”
“And you want to know how you’re going to spend all that time together and not jump his bones, right?”
“No. The problem is Saturday is Tori’s birthday.”
“Oh, that’s right. Your mom called. I’ll be there.”
“That’s my point. You’ll be there. My parents will be there. My children will be there.” She paused as if Kamora would understand.
Kamora shrugged. “So Brock will go to the party with you and then you guys can do something afterward.”
Sheridan shook her head. “You’re not listening. How can I ask Brock to come with me?”
She frowned. “It’s like that? He doesn’t want to spend any time with your people?”
“No, he does. He wants to spend time with Christopher and Tori. And today he took me to meet his grandmother.”
“Whoa, when a man introduces you to his folks, it’s serious.” Kamora took a large gulp of coffee. “Okay, so, I must be tired, because I’m not getting this.”
Sheridan threw her hands into the air. “I can’t have Brock meeting my family. No one knows about him except for you.”
“And Christopher.” Kamora grinned.
Sheridan sighed. “Well, Tori met him too, but nobody knows that we…slept together.”
“Except Christopher.” Her grin spread. “Look, I don’t get the problem. It’s about time your family met Brock. You’re always together; he’s introducing you to his family. What are you ashamed of?” Kamora paused. “Oh, ’cause he’s a baby.”
That’s one thing. “No.”
“So explain it to me so I can go home,” Kamora whined.
Sheridan knew why Kamora didn’t understand; she didn’t get it herself. She knew what was in her heart; she just couldn’t put words to it.
“Well, here’s my opinion,” Kamora said, standing. “If you’re ashamed of Brock, then stop seeing him.” She patted Sheridan’s shoulder. “Look, I got a big date today. With my king-sized bed and seven-hundred-thread-count sheets. Call me if you wanna talk some more. But I’m out.”
Sheridan watched her friend walk into the night, leaving her alone with the confused thoughts that continued to whirl through her mind.
For some reason she didn’t want to call from home.
“Hey, baby,” Brock said, as soon as he answered the phone. “I’ve been waiting for you to call.”
“I’m sorry. I met Kamora for coffee.”
“At Starbucks? You need to buy stock in the place.” He laughed, but there was nothing within her to join him.
“I have something to tell you.” She took a breath. “I forgot that Saturday is Tori’s birthday.”
“Really, we share the same day? How great is that?”
“We planned a party for her…on Saturday.”
“Oh. Well, that’s okay, sweetheart.” She breathed. “I don’t mind going to Tori’s party. I can’t wait to spend some time with her and Christopher.”
His words took her relief away. “I don’t want you to spend your birthday at a children’s party,” she said, as casually as she could through a thumping heart.
“I don’t mind.”
“There’ll just be kids there.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“And you’ll be bored.”
He paused. “Sheridan, are you listening to me?”
She said nothing.
“Okay,” he spoke slowly. “You don’t want me at Tori’s party.”
“I just think it would be better…” She didn’t have an excuse real enough to finish the sentence.
“No problem.”
This time they were both silent. Finally he said, “I’ll speak to you later.” He clicked off the phone before she could say good-bye. Before she could say she was sorry. Before she could figure out what was wrong with his going to Tori’s party.
His words no longer meant anything.
Sheridan flipped through pages of Quentin’s love notes, searching for inspiring pieces that could fill a catalogue, but every line felt empty, meaningless, as if the man who wrote them had no depth.
Was it always like this?
It made her pause. What a person did to another was a great indication of who they were. Sheridan stared at her phone for only a moment before she dialed. It rang and rang, and just before she shifted the handset to hang up, he answered.
She could hear the sleep in his voice.
“Brock, it’s me.”
“Is something wrong?”
“No. I’m fine.”
She heard his sigh of relief. And then with his next words, she heard his anger. “Okay, so it’s three in the morning. What’s up?”
His tone was low on the rage meter, but she knew he was still furious. And his fury had nothing to do with the time.
“I want you to come with me to Tori’s party.”
He sighed. “Why do you want me to come now?”
“Because I’ve had a chance to think about it. I can’t even sleep.”
“I don’t want to be an afterthought in your life, Sheridan.”
“That’s not what thi
s is about, Brock. It’s just scary. When I arrive at that party with you, things are going to change.”
He may have been asleep when she called, but he was alert now. “Why do you think I’m going to change?”
“Not you, not me. But the ‘us’ will change. Because everyone will know we’re a couple.”
“That bothers you?”
“Not when it’s just me and you.” She sighed. “I don’t want the pressure of the questions that will come. My parents will start asking about you, and my brother will want to know more about you, and my children will expect to see you.”
“And that’s scary?” His concern was back.
“It’s the unknown. It’s the fact that if we decide this is not what we want to do, I have to lose someone in public again.”
His silence told her he was wondering again about her and Quentin.
“And,” she continued, “it’s been so wonderful, just the two of us.”
His deep sigh made her wish she hadn’t made this call. Wish she’d kept it all to herself, stayed with her first thoughts and not invited him to the party. She closed her eyes, suddenly very sleepy.
“I understand.”
Her eyes popped open.
“But Sheridan,” he continued, “look at it this way. Life is a risk. When we met, you were convinced you would never go out with a dreadlock-wearing, UPS-delivering twenty-nine-year-old.”
“Your job never bothered me.” She knew she’d made him smile. She said, “You were convinced we couldn’t have a relationship without sex.”
“Well, I’m still working on that. But I don’t want you to be scared. I’m not. We can’t see the future, but also”—he paused for just a moment—“don’t hold your past against me.”
Is that what I’m doing?
He continued, “If I’m willing to go for it, will you do the same?”
I don’t know. “Yes.”
“Great.”
“Will you come with me to Tori’s party?”
“Oh, yeah. I had planned on it. I was just waiting for you to realize it.”
She laughed. “You were taking a chance. I only had a few days to change my mind.”
“No problem. I knew my baby was brilliant.”
My baby. It was a warm smile that came before her yawn. “And I know you’re sleepy,” she said.
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