“Why? ’Cause you on the pill?”

“No!”

“Oh, he wore a condom, then?”

“No, he didn’t wear a condom.”

“And you ain’t pregnant? I’m really confused. If ya’ll did it in the back study, and you ain’t on the pill, and he didn’t have on a condom, how come you ain’t pregnant?”

“Who said we did it in the back study?”

“Jetmagazine!”

Suddenly I felt like I was Abbott and Gail was Costello and we were in the middle of playing Who’s On First. Talking to Gail was always a workout and I was already much too tired for clever banter.

“Gail, listen to me very closely. I am not pregnant. Not because I’m not on the pill. Not because Curtis didn’t wear a condom. I’m not pregnant because we didn’t have sex. The only thing we did in the pastor’s study was talk about what he wanted in a wife and why it unfortunately couldn’t be me.”

“Oh. Why didn’t you just say so in the first place instead of getting me all worked up? And why couldn’t it be you? Because of the other three women he had already gotten pregnant?”

“Gail, Curtis didn’t get anybody pregnant. It wouldn’t work out because Curtis doesn’t want to marry me. Curtis wants to marry Mahalia Jackson.”

“Mahalia Jackson? Ain’t she dead?”

“Yes. Mahalia Jackson is dead.”

“Then why would he want to marry her?”

“Not literally Mahalia Jackson.”

“But that’s what you said. You said he wanted to marry Mahalia Jackson.”

“Gail, please, okay?! I meant someone like Mahalia Jackson. And as great a catch as he is, and as tempted as I am to move to Atlanta to get far away from my mother, I am not Mahalia and have never had the desire to be Mahalia.”

“So, that’s all he wanted? For you to be like Mahalia?”

“Yeah.”

“Montana, answer me this, have you ever met Mahalia Jackson?”

“No.”

“Then you don’t know what Mahalia Jackson was really like, do you? Like, I know she was a famous gospel singer and all, but who knows, shoot, after she got finished singing about the Upper Room, she mighta locked the doors, turned off the lights, and turned into a straight freak! Right up in the Upper Room.”

“Girl, you are tripping.”

“No girl,you are tripping. Shoot, if that’s all he wanted I coulda worked that one myself. I would’ve given him Mahalia on Sunday and Lil’ Kim Monday through Saturday. By the time I finished with Curtis, he’d a preached the shortest sermon ever—first Sunday woulda been ‘Stop sinning, amen!’ Next Sunday, ‘Trust God, amen.’ Next Sunday, ‘Jesus saves, amen.’ Next Sunday woulda just been ‘Amen.’ Whoo girl, I think I need a cigarette!”

Together we laughed as I momentarily lost focus on the severity of my situation.