“You can stay until you start getting on my nerves,” Mama says, smiling.

“Thanks, Granny. Can I get you anything?”

“Yeah, a beer,” she says, then abruptly, “No. There will be no more beer or booze in this house after today. I’m tired of drinking. You got that?”

“Yes,” she says.

“You can make me some tea. That should about do it.”

“Ma, what about my stuff?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll send whatever you need.”

“She gon’ need some spending money, I can tell you that much, ’cause I’m getting ready to start eating Jenny Craig. And I ain’t gon’ be doing too much cooking around here.”

“I don’t mind eating Jenny Craig, Granny.”

“Marie Callender’s is what you need.”

“I’ll leave you a check, Mama.”

“I can’t use no check. The IRS know too much of my business as it is. Just send me a money order when you get home.”

“Ma, can you send some of my books?”

“Look, don’t go getting too excited, Shanice. This is not permanent by any stretch of the imagination.”

“Any amount of time away from him is fine with me.”

Mama just picks up the remote control and starts punching. She doesn’t want to think she heard what she knows she heard, and I don’t want to acknowledge it. “Well, you gon’ call him or not?”

“I will when I feel like it, Mama, but right now I don’t really have anything to say to him.”

Just then the phone rings and I jump off the bed at least five or ten inches. “You get it,” Mama says. “It’s Tarzan, and right now I’m feeling the same toward him that you claim to be feeling toward old George.”

But by the time I pick up the line, Paris has beaten me to the punch in the kitchen. I dread what she might say to Daddy. I just listen. “This is Paris, Daddy; what can we do for you?”

“I was thanking about trying to take y’all out to get something to eat before you all leave.”

“That’s sweet, but I’m almost finished with dinner; maybe next time.”

“Well, y’all don’t want to spend a hour or two at the casinos?”

“I’m not big on gambling.”

“I’m not much up for it either,” I hear myself say.

“Is Lewis there?”

“He went home already,” I say.

“Why don’t we meet for a drink, Daddy?” Paris asks.

I’m shocked to hear her say this, which I know means she’s got something up her sleeve. And I don’t know if I want to be there for it.

“I ain’t doing much drinking these days, but we can sit at the bar, if that’s what you wanna do.”

“How about eight, then? I’ll meet you right out front of your place of employment. It’s Harrah’s, right?”

“Yes it is. I work in security,” he says proudly. “That sounds good, baby. Janelle, you coming, too?”

“I’m too tired, Daddy, and, plus, I have to get up early and drive home.”