“Till my knees would fill with fluid I would pray. You know, one time the doctor said he was going to have to give me an artificial kneecap from all the praying I was doing? Sure did. Told me to stop praying. But I kept on praying. As God is my witness, I prayed. A prosthetic kneecap was a small sacrifice for my children.”

I was still doing fine. But then she started singing Shirley Caesar’s “No Charge.”

“For the nine months I carried you…”

“Meoowww.”

“Growing inside of me…”

“Meoowww.”

“No charge.”

By now even Muggly began singing along. Still I stayed strong.

After three more verses, two more choruses, one refrain, and a key change, I could stand it no more. I had reached my breaking point. Bracing myself for an hour of holiday-draining conversation, I asked the question she had worked so hard for. “So Momma, how are you doing?”

“Who me?” Oh shoot. Make that two hours. Even Muggly ran out the room. Anytime she answers with the “Who me?” it’s serious.

“Yes Momma, you. How are you doing?”

“Oh, I’m doing fine. Everybody’s excited about next week. The whole family is flying in, you know. Sheree is happy. Her fiancé is excited. Everybody’s in a wonderful mood. You know how much marriage means to the whole family…well, almost the whole family.” She paused, clearing her throat again, having thrown yet another dagger into my heart.

“Yeah, everybody’s excited. Everybody except…except…”—after a deep sigh—“Except Mitchell. Yeah, I’ve never seen him like this. After all these years.”

All what years? They just got married!

“I can’t say I’ve ever seen him like this,” she continued. “Never seen him so down.”

Mitchell? I wasn’t expecting a conversation about Mitchell. For all her issues, which are many, I sincerely hoped she wasn’t headed for yet another divorce. I hated to ask the next most obvious question, but it’s my mother, I am duty bound. Faking concern, fixing my face, I asked, “Is something wrong with you two?”

“Oh no. Everything is fine between us. It’s not me that’s the problem…”

I was relieved. Maybe this wasn’t as serious as I thought. Maybe it was just business or health or something that was easily solved.

“Is there something wrong with Mitchell?”

“No.”

“Then what is the problem?”

“It’s not what. It’s who.”

“Oh, well then who?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“You.” Picture my head, once again, making a 360-degree turn.

“Me? Momma, what the hell are you talking about?”

“Don’t you cuss at me.”

“I’m sorry, but how could I be the problem? I haven’t even been around Mitchell long enough for there to be a problem. At least not with me.”

“That’s just it.”

“What’s just it?”

“Mitchell thinks you don’t love him.”

“Momma, I don’t love him. I barely even know him.”