by Delia Steele
“We all knew that, just like I knew you wouldn’t read the physical letter I sent you until you were ready. And without you saying a word, I know it wasn’t the day it arrived. Whenever you chose to read it was when it was meant to be read.”
Despite the deepness of this conversation, she is smiling when I look over at her. Something’s up. I saw her on the phone when we stopped to fill up with gas earlier, but she hasn’t mentioned Clay or Rome. In fact, she isn’t talking much at all. I don’t question her, though; I just watch the signs roll by, already missing the water at my fingertips. I laugh when I see the warning signs for Atlanta and its wonderful breathing air. Then my thoughts trail off to the CDC being located in Atlanta, which flips me to thinking about The Walking Dead, then zombies, and then I am thinking about Dr. Campbell and missing the sanctuary of her office, remembering the day I wanted to eat her face off because I wanted a drink.
VODKA!
Now I am thinking about vodka. I can have it now if I want it. All I have to do is get Rory to pull over. “Hey, can you stop? I need to pee.” Rory nods and pulls in at the next stop. “Be right back.” I hop out and run inside the store. Never looking for the bathroom, I round the counter and head straight for the cooler with the neon light over the door. I reach for the handle, a beer just a yank away. It’s not vodka, but it’s close enough. As my hand grips the door handle, I stop. I stare at the frosted-over bottles. They look good, but I can’t move. I just stand and stare. I must stand there for a while because it’s Rory’s voice that pulls me from my trance.
“Mando, I’m right here. You don’t need that. Look at me.” I don’t turn. I just watch the door as it frosts over from being open just a bit. Rory’s voice caused me to pull it back just a smidgeon.
“HEY! You’re not some white trash bitch hound! You don’t need that shit!” She screams at me. When I look at her, breaking my connection with the door, I smile.
“You’re right, but, bitch, I could never be white trash! My ass is BROWN!” I giggle. “And if you insist on talking like me, at least get right with it! Try trashy-ass boner captain or something. It sounds cooler than that shit you spouted.” I turn to walk out of the store. “I didn’t need it, but I wanted to make sure I was OK to walk past it. I wasn’t going to touch it. And even if I had, hooker, I wouldn’t have drank it. I got this!” We drape our arms over each other’s shoulders and bounce all the way back to the truck.
“I got a tattoo, by the way,” I tell her. “Well, actually, I got two in the same spot.” I pull my pants down just enough to show her. “It was a broken diamond. Now, it’s a rare black diamond. And not broken at all.” She smiles, and we climb in the truck, headed for home.
I notice she passes her house and keeps going.
“Where are we headed?” I ask her. She pulls over and stops the truck before responding.
“I need to say this before we get where we’re headed.” She waits and watches for my reaction. I won’t lie—I am freaking out just a bit.
“OK?” I say, more as a question than an agreement.
“Mando, I know you feel like your life is hard, and you feel like I couldn’t understand, but all you had to do was tell me. I don’t care how old we are or how much I have on my plate; I will always have time for you. ALWAYS! I know our struggles are different, but I am willing to bet my last born that we have felt the same inside. Your life was hard to you. I get that. Mine was hard, too. Different from yours, but hard just the same. I felt unloved and not good enough, and I am willing to bet that’s exactly what you were feeling. Different but same. And the difference doesn’t make you fake. You are and have always been the most real and true-to-form person I have ever known. I have always envied that about you. Your whole ‘fuck the world’ attitude… It set you free to me. Where I always felt so trapped. Given, I never knew your dad was, like, the cartel or some crazy shiz. I mean…wow! To me, Mando, you are a diamond—rough maybe, but treasured and tough. Now that you are free from the stuff that’s been holding you back, I have no doubt you will shine brighter than the brightest star. Your shine will match your sparkle. You’re too Mandotastic not to sparkle and shine. I just want you to know, I love you, sister.”
We sit there on the side of that dark road, right outside of Atlanta, and hug each other tighter than I thought was possible. Tears pour from us both.
“Never again. I swear it, Rore. Never again.” Sobs rack her body, causing us both to tremble and shake, and I let myself release the last pent up belligerence I have in me. I meant it. Never again will I allow myself to feel hate or anger towards those who only want to love me and cherish me. I will return their love and devotion ten-fold.
Chapter Seventeen
I am confused when we pulled up at Clay’s. The lights are on and his vehicle is here, but it seems quiet.
“I don’t even get to unpack first before I have to face him? This is going to be tough. Take me home first, please,” I beg Rory as she puts the truck in Park.
“You are home, Mando. This is your home, and trust me, Clay wants you here.” She watches me, my reaction. I am about to FRAK out on something. My stomach feels sick.
“I can’t do this yet,” I say and run my hands down my jeans. As my palm passes over my pocket, I feel the sobriety token inside. I pull it out and flip it repeatedly. Dr. Campbell… Our biggest mistakes… I remember her speech. Everything I have done has led me back here. I cram the token back in my pocket and open the door.
“You’re right. Let’s get this over with.”
I open the door, and the first thing I notice is balloons. They’re everywhere! On the floor, floating around, and tied to everything they could possibly be tied to. The room is completely empty except for the hundreds of balloons. Then, my eyes land on Clay standing in the middle of the room, a nervous look on his face. There’s nothing capable of stopping me. The need to touch him conquers my entire body. It conquers everything. Seeing him standing there—so unsure—fuels me. I run with all the power in my body towards the only man in this world to ever rock my soul. I run for the light at the end of my tunnel. I AM HOME!
When I hit him, it sounds like two trains colliding. I jump and wrap my body around his, and he accepts me. We crash to the ground, hugging each other, kissing, and rambling crazy, incoherent words.
“I am so sorry for everything I did to you. I let my bitch flag fly high, and I’m so sorry, Clay. I can’t begin to express how much I love you. You waited for me. I am so grateful for you and for my mistakes that have landed me here with you. My mistakes have opened my eyes to everything I couldn’t see before. My mind keeps replaying these memories, and every memory it has on repeat is of you. You are my favorite memory, my favorite tomorrow, and my favorite forever. My heart couldn’t erase the last seven years of you. You are my pop, my burst, my rainbow. Clay, you’re the prize at the end of the longest race I’ve ever run. I don’t need a drink. I have you—my moonshine. And no, not the 100-proof kind—the light-at-the-end-of-my-darkened-tunnel kind. The hardest thing I ever did was walk away from you ninety days ago, but I hope this means you knew I wasn’t walking away from you but from what I had become. I had to fix me. For me, for you, for us. I had to find myself. I couldn’t love you right until I could love myself. I picked the wrong crowd, the wrong direction. I was lost. I learned quickly that standing alone wasn’t going to get it and that with them wasn’t where I wanted to be. Then I realized I don’t have to be in either of those places. I have you guys, and I needed to be better, not for you, but with you. The right direction. I realized I have you, and all this time, you have been trying to have me. I get it now. Marry me, Clay. Say you’ll be my husband. Marry me?”
Yes, I am rambling, and yes, I did just ask him to be my husband—which is a little backwards—but I want to be his wife, and I refuse to wait around anymore. If I want something, I’m going to get it. The right way, now.
Clay pushes me back to look into my eyes.
“That’s not how this is sup
posed to work, but seeing as we’ve never been by the book, I accept. Yes, Amandolette, I will marry you.”
We crash into another embrace, and I hear sniveling. We look up and realize Rory is still standing there smiling. And so is every other person I love. I scan each face. I see a very sexy Rome, smiling at me with RJ in his arms. I see Rio and Denver, grinning and giggling in my direction. I see Thax, and—oh, my panty squirt—he is looking like a hot little piece of meat these days! I see my mama and Gran, both sporting content smiles of their own. Then I see Toby off to the side, smiling. He has a twin on each hip and a very bouncy Saige standing at his feet.
“Welcome home!” she screams, running for me. When she hits me and Clay, she plows us onto our backs and falls right on top of us.
“You aren’t sick anymore, right?” she asks me.
“Nope, I will never ever be that sick again. I had the best doctor in the world, and I have miniature nurses here to help me now. I’m going to be fine.” She whimpers and hugs me tight.
“Good! I was scared you would die.” I hug her back, and I want to tell her I was never going to die, but the truth is—I could have. I was closer than I ever want to admit.
“Sorry Ashley couldn’t be here. She had a thing. Some reality show interview or something.” I look up at Toby and smile.
“Yeah, Ashley is something. Ole toe jam-faced butt vapor. She looks like a reality show. Lifestyles of the Tasteless and Skanky: The True Story of a Gold-Digging Bitch.” Toby bursts out laughing, but I see the sadness in his eyes. I’m not going to dwell on his pain, though. He is allowing it.
The party continues. Everyone wants a hug, which is hard with Saige and Clay keeping me in a vice grip. But we manage.
Life is good when you stop making it out to be something it’s not and learn to live as yourself. I was so worried about pointing fingers at people for judging me; I never realized how judgmental I had turned out to be. But no more judging. #justliving
Chapter Eighteen
(5 months later)
“Everything OK?” I look up and see Rory watching me.
“Yeah, just thinking.” I blink a few times to clear my mind. It’s RJ’s first birthday, and I am sullen up in the corner. I get ill when everyone asks me repeatedly if I’m OK. It reminds me of the first days of rehab. Just makes me cranky.
“I just… Mama won’t stop about my dress. I don’t get why my wedding is any of her business. If I want to wear a penis hat down the aisle, I can!” I say, watching the balloons bounce as the kids kick them, running and screaming in delight.
“Don’t let him put that in his mouth!” Rory hollers at Rio as RJ tries to eat his balloon. Then she turns her attention back to me. “Well, she’s just doing what moms do, Mando. But it is your day, so if you want to wear a penis on your head, you can.” I snicker at her because she would die if I showed up with a penis on me just like my mother would.
“Lucky for you both, I have no desire to be a dickhead, but I do want to wear a tux. I mean, I asked, and he said ‘yes’. I should get to wear a tuxedo. It’s not like I am making him wear a dress.” Rory’s mouth falls open, and I laugh at her. She is like my mama. She just doesn’t get it.
“So, when’s your pops get out?” I roll my eyes.
“The genital wart gets out in another seven months. Then he has his house arrest thing for like two years or something. I try to tune it out when she rattles on about him. He is cancerous to me.” I run my tongue around the edge of my non-alcoholic Jello shot. It’s a little pirate orange slice pirate boat with a flag sitting on top of blue Jello. Cutest shit I’ve seen all day.
“He’s your dad, Mando. Sometime you’ll have to let it go.” I finish the Jello and look at Rory.
“No, I don’t. I forgave him so I could move on. I will forget it ever happened for my mom’s sake. But I do not have to—nor will I—ever let it go. Not at the chance of losing myself again. Nope. At some point, some things can’t be the same. He ruined that. I live here now, and my mom will live with him. They can live their lives, and I will live mine. We work best this way. I doubt it’s ever the same for us.”
Nothing else to be said on the matter, we sit and watch the kids play. They run outside screaming, and we amble around, picking up gift wrap and cleaning up plates. Then this song comes on, and we both stop, looking at each other. She smiles, and so do I. We drop everything and start rubbing up and down each other like we are on stripper polls, moving our hands up our bodies and laughing. We feel it at the same time. Clay and Rome are watching us with the Devil in their eyes.
“Want to?” I ask her, and she says, “HELL YEAH!” We turn our heads sideways and lean in close, letting our hair fall over our faces. To them, we look like we are kissing; to us, we are touching noses and smiling into each other’s faces. Rory is my favorite girl ever. She gets me. And when the part starts, we scream “BANG…BANG” and jump back. Banging our chests, we scream, “GORILLA!” We wrap each other in a hug and start laughing. “Bruno bitches for life!” The guys are still watching, but it’s contentment we see now. Knowing we are all OK. Knowing this is our life. We live the rarest of lives—each from a different walk, but all on the same path. I wouldn’t change my life. Not even for the ALLNAT diamond. What I have found in this group is the biggest, the best ever. Diamonds aren’t the only things that last forever. #priceless
Epilogue
“Do you like my dress?” I turn to see Gran standing behind me with absolutely nothing on.
“Gran, you’re naked!” I look anywhere but at her.
“You didn’t answer my question, Amandolette. Mr. Leroy loves this dress,” she says, smiling.
“Well, maybe next time, iron it?” I can’t even say it with a straight face.
“Whatever, Amandolette. You’re the biggest hater I’ve ever known.” I watch her grab her dress bag and head into the adjoining room where the others are dressing. She opens the door, not caring who sees her saggy butt cheeks flapping, and turns back to me. “And tuck your tit in, child! It’s puffing out the top of your dress like toothpaste trying to escape the tube.” She giggles and pulls the door shut. I groan out under my breath.
“Church, Gran. Church!”
Looking in the mirror at my reflection, I frown. I look stunning. Except for one stray curl that won’t stay out of my face. I push it back again, tucking it into place. I look down and run my sweaty palms across the stunning mermaid-style gown in all its shimmering beauty. Too bad I can’t smile. “This isn’t what I wanted. I don’t want to start my life with Clay in a lie.” Looking around with sadness in my eyes, I start undoing the buttons. I can’t do this, no matter whom it hurts. I find myself whispering, “What would Rory do?” It’s better than what I would do, I know! I’m so glad I’m able to think about that twat without despising her. A small smile creeps onto my lips, thinking about her waiting on me at the front, right next to my guy—my Mandoconda. But the smile fades as I realize I’d love a drink right now. My nerves are killing me. I look at myself one last time and am surprised when my smile suddenly reappears, an idea forming and taking over my body. My smile widens as I hear the snaps go, one at a time. Pop, Pop, Pop! The dress falls to the floor in a puddle of iridescent liquid around my feet and I step out, kicking it to the side. It’s a beautiful dress, but it isn’t the dress I want. My mother felt the need to purchase it. Apparently, every mother thinks this is their right. No…what I wanted wasn’t even a dress. I take one slow step at a time, over to the black dress bag hanging on the vintage ivory armoire, and unzip it slowly. The smile on my face stretches further as I see the glisten of crystals peeking through. I know my mother will have a cardiac infarction, but I have to do this my way. One thing I learned in rehab: It’s OK to be myself. I should never allow unwarranted pressure to build. Just be who I am.
Without further thought, I rip the zipper down with force and pull out the best thing since sliced bread. My tuxedo! My customized, pink Swarovski-covered tuxedo. I hug the material close
and know without a doubt, it’s the right choice. I quickly remove the white heels, the stockings, and the white lace corset; and in three minutes flat, I have gone from angel to vixen.
Back in front of the mirror, I have a devilish grin on my face as I run my hands over the electric pink, skin-hugging, boy-cut shorts. I tug the white, collared, V-neck tank top down into place, making sure to perk my tits up , and then slip the duck-tailed tux coat over my shoulders. The tuxedo is the same color pink as the bow tie Clay has on, and I beam as I work my fingers, twisting my own bow tie into place. I turn to the makeup table and pick up the small top hat, securing it slightly atilt on top of the mound of black curls piled on my head. My own personal crown of accomplishment. It’s even cuter than the hat I had to go with the white dress. And that damn rogue curl won’t come out now! I take one last look at myself, pleased with what I see. I reach down, slip the matching pink pumps with five-inch spiked heels on my small feet, and make my way out towards the alter.
As I get closer, I can hear the music and the few people invited chattering as they wait for the bridal march. I can’t help sliding the curtain back and taking a peek out. My wedding is slightly larger than Rory’s was and much more exuberant. Where I am thunderous, she is hushed. I see Rory standing at the front on my left, and next to her, Ashley stands with her stomach already plump with child again. “Fuck me! Those two are like nasty little rabbits, and he don’t even like that flaccid reject.” I squeal out, slap my hand over my mouth, and cringe, remembering I’m in a church.
On the left side of the alter is my guy, My Mandoconda, My Clayton King. He looks dashing in his white tuxedo and pink bowtie. Next to him stands a mouth-watering sex pot…I mean Rome. Rome stands next to him. I wipe the drool from my mouth as I look over at Thax, who is almost on Rome’s hip. And last, but no longer least, is our resident idiot, Toby. God love him, the boy has tried so hard to right so many wrongs. And he is undeniably dashing. He truly has worked hard to deserve his place amongst us, and hell, I have a professional football player in my wedding party! HELL YES! Ugh… church again. My bad!