“Your Foxy Mom

“(P.S. I forgot. I bet money that if Nathan show up at my funeral, it’ll be cause his shit ain’t raggedy no more and he gon’ try to weasel his way back into you and his son’s life. If and when he do, slap him for me and tell him to keep stepping. He had his chance to be a daddy and he blew it. So fuck him and the horse he ride in on. Unless of course Dingus feel like being bothered with him. What else? Oh yeah. If Lewis ever get his driver’s license back, let him have my car, but tell him don’t take my little felt dog whose head shakes back and forth out the back window. I like that dog. Oh. And one more thing. It wouldn’t kill you to join a health club or start jogging. I know you think you cute, but you ain’t that cute. You was looking like you was in your first trimester the last time I saw you and your ass was on its way somewhere else. All three of you girls ain’t nothing but younger versions of me, except I was sexier and better looking, but you didn’t hear that from me, now did you?)”

Now Paris the one who done lost it. Everybody have. Including me, again. I’m surprised when Charlotte walk over to Paris, grab both her hands and pull her to her feet, give her a big hug, then push her away and hauls off and slap the taste outta her, but Paris look like she was waiting for it, ’cause then she turn right around and slap the living daylights right back outta Charlotte, and then they put they arms around each other again and cry till they lips is trembling and they turn into smiles, and then the other kids join in, and the next thang I know, everybody laughing like somebody just told a good joke. I join all four of ’em.

My babies. My kids. My grown-up children.

I hear Chanterella crying through the door.

“Come on in, Brenda, since you’re family now, too!” Paris yell out.

But that door don’t open.

“I want to ask whose house will Thanksgiving be at next year, but I won’t, because I’m trying not to be pushy and controlling, which is why I’ll just sit here and chill and wait for somebody else to ask.”

She look around the room and don’t nobody say nothing, ’cause everybody acting like they don’t hear her.

“Okay, I’m taking one step at a time trying to change my evil ways, but I guess I’ll just have to start again tomorrow. . . .”

“No you won’t,” I say. “Have a seat, Paris. And relax.”

“Right on, Daddy!” Janelle say.

Paris sits on down and crosses her legs like them people do who meditate.

“For your mama’s sake, and mine, which of y’all kids will have Thanksgiving dinner at they house next year?”

Charlotte say: “Well, me and Al is, are, thinking about building a house big enough for all y’all, but we positive the foundation won’t be dug by next November, and, plus, it’s too damn—I mean, it’s just too doggone cold in Chicago.”