“And since you were sleeping so peacefully,” she continued, “I thought I’d make use of the time and straighten up around your apartment. As usual it was a mess. Dust and papers everywhere, but not anymore. Then after that, I went into the kitchen and you know you had your plates in the wrong cabinet, so I moved them for you. And your silverware had spots on them so I hand washed all of the pieces, towel dried them, and put them away. They were in the wrong place too, but not anymore. And your pots, I moved them too. You know, the way a woman keeps her kitchen says a lot about the way she’ll keep her man. That is, of course, if she had a man.”

“Meoowww!”

It was just like Momma to sling mud around the same apartment she claimed she had just cleaned.

“But look on the bright side,” she continued. “At least you’ve got a kitchen. That’s a start. Anyway, I left a note on the counter so you can find everything when you get ready.”

My first thought was to stab her with the spoon from my bowl of melted coffee-flavored Häagen-Dazs ice cream. The second thought was to find where she had moved my pots, and then hoist one upside the back of her crooked wig. But instead I counted to ten and, like Terry McMillan, I exhaled. I wasn’t going to let her get into my already crowded emotional space.

“Thank you, Momma. That was so nice of you.”

“You’re welcome!” she answered gleefully. Uh oh, there’s a twitch in her lip. That twitch usually meant there was a frown beneath that smile. Something was on her mind and it was only a matter of time before she would force me to inquire. But not today, Momma. Today I refuse to be drawn into your web of drama.

“So how are you today, Montana?” This was a trick. Ask me how I’m doing so I’ll be forced to ask her the same.

“I’m fine.”

“That’s good. That’s good. That’s good…” After at least ten more “That’s good”s, she realized she had hit a dead end. I was not playing her game.

“God knows I always want my children to do fine. Every mother wants her children to do fine. Not just do fine, but be fine. That’s a mother’s prayer, that their children are fine. Regardless of what state a mother is in, she just prays to God that her children are fine.”

Oh, so now she’s thrown God in the conversation. Heavy artillery. But, I’m still not falling for it.