Chapter Sixteen

“I thought you said you had good news,” Maizelle remarked as she gently but purposely placed her spoon on the saucer. “You do realize that your father is turning over in his grave at this very minute. He loved you dearly, Pia, but he would be so disappointed in you right now. And I have to admit that I am as well.”

Even though she could have written the script, Pia winced, crushed by her mother’s dismay and the implied disapproval of her beloved father. She’d been a daddy’s girl all his life, and the idea that he was out there in the great beyond unhappy with her hurt deeply.

“And what am I going to tell Mimi? Your eighty-three-year-old grandmother is going to be devastated. We just don’t do this kind of thing in our family.”

“Mom, calm down. I’m not giving birth tomorrow. Both you and Mimi have several months to get used to the idea,” Pia said, wishing like hell she could have a glass of champagne to take the edge off this uncomfortable moment.

“I will never get used to this idea, Pia. How am I going to explain this to my friends? To Pastor Saxton? To God?”

“You don’t owe your friends or pastor any explanation other than you’re going to be a grandmother. And if they are truly in your corner, they won’t judge you on the sins of your daughter. And as for God, I don’t know, but I think ultimately it won’t be you that has to make things right. This will be between Him and me,” Pia added drily. Her outer stance might have been defiance, but inside she was shaking. Like most children—grown or not—she loved and respected her mother, and disappointing her felt painful and humiliating.

“Don’t get smart with me. This is not how your father and I raised you, Pia Clarice Jamison.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, reaching for her mother’s hand. Just as they made contact, Becca Vossel popped into Pia’s mind. Her young friend was smack dab in the middle of trying to navigate the line between living her own truth and acknowledging her parents’ values and expectations, and here she was, nearly twenty years Becca’s senior, worrying about the same damn thing.

“Mom, I realize that for you this might seem disappointing and embarrassing, but let me try to explain it to you in a way that will hopefully make sense,” Pia said softening her tone. “After last year’s myomectomy to remove the uterine fibroids, my doctor made it very clear to me that time was running out and if I wanted to have a child, it was now or never. So I decided that I’d rather be a single mother than not be a mother at all.

“I would like nothing better than to marry some amazing man and raise a baby together like you and Daddy did, but it’s just not meant to be. I’m not in a serious relationship—in fact, I’m not even dating anyone at the moment.”

“Pia, you’re pregnant. You must be in some kind of relationship. Who is the father? Is there no chance you two could make it work?”

Damn. The one question she was hoping to avoid was now on the table, but Pia had no intention of making an already bad situation worse by revealing the entire set of facts.

“No, there’s no chance for us to be together. I used a sperm donor,” she revealed, settling on the basic truth in hopes that it would sound more acceptable to her mother’s ears.

“I’m going to have to pray on this. I just don’t understand how you could do something like this.”

“I realize that this is a difficult concept for you to wrap your head around. I’ve spent most of my adult life looking unsuccessfully for the same kind of loving relationship you and Daddy had. But I’ve given up looking. I’ve decided to let him find me. But the reality is, he may not come looking.

“But Pia, you’re already forty-one. Soon you’ll have a baby. What man is going to want you even if he does find you?”

“Hopefully, a man who truly loves me. I know what you’re saying, and maybe if it wasn’t a now-or-never proposition, I’d wait longer—wait to do it the way I’d always intended…the way you intended. So maybe we won’t plan the wedding together, but how about a christening?”

“I don’t know. This is all too much. This is not what your father and I wanted for you.”

“Just know that I love you very much and want you to be happy about your grandchild. I need you to help me get through this now and in the years to come, because there is no other woman who can give me better advice on being a great mom.”

“Being a great mom begins with doing what’s best for your child. Are you sure this is what’s best?”

“It is for me and it will be for the baby. Now, I’m sorry, but I have to go. I have to get to the studio,” Pia said.

“It’s Saturday. Did you ever consider that maybe if you weren’t always traveling and working on weekends, you could find a proper husband and move that right-hand ring over to the left?” Maizelle remarked, eyeing Pia’s new diamond band.

Pia felt herself cringe. They’d been down that road so many times before in the past ten years, she had no intention of retracing her steps. It seemed as if two minutes into Pia’s thirtieth birthday, Mai had begun the drumbeat that is the angst of every unmarried woman over twenty-nine. When are you getting married and having some grandbabies?

Instead of replying to a remark she’d heard too many times before, Pia reached over and hugged her mother. And for the first time since she had been caught shoplifting a Jackson Five T-shirt on a dare, severe disappointment buffered her body, insulating Pia from the warmth of her mother’s love.

“I love you,” she said, a tear threatening to fall.

“I know you do, Pia.”

Her mother’s lack of return affection cut the same way it had decades ago when she was standing in the department store’s security office. And just like that shunned thirteen-year-old, grown-up Pia was feeling ashamed and alone and left wondering if her actions had been worth it.

Pia and Darlene sat in the edit bay with the editor, sorting out the order of appearances for Hector’s “shout out reel.” Months ago, Dee had arranged with Pia to have various singers, rappers, and celebrities record short messages to be sent to Iraq as a surprise for his twenty-seventh birthday.

“So should we end with Ashanti singing ‘Happy Birthday’?” Dee asked, sorting through the cut list. Pia, sitting with her head in her hands, trying to ride another wave of nausea, could only reply with a low moan.

“Why don’t we start with Ashanti and close with you. That way you’ll be the last thing on his mind when it’s over,” the editor suggested.

Pia lifted and gestured her agreement with one hand before resuming her ailing position. She really was feeling horrible—not only nauseated but dejected and dog tired as well.

“Are you okay?” Darlene asked.

“Mommy pains—in all meanings of the word,” Pia whispered, trying not to share her business with the rest of the production crew.

“Can I get you something?”

“No, I’ll be fine. I’ll just munch on some more rice cakes and sip on my ginger tea and try to remember that my mother would never disown her only child, even if she thinks I’m a terrible daughter.”

“It could be worse. My mom plans to exact her revenge on me by moving in when she gets old and refusing to wear clothes.”

“Don’t make me laugh. The shaking makes the nausea worse.”

“So Darlene, if you’re ready, we can tape your close,” the editor interrupted.

He and Dee slipped into the next room, leaving Pia to rewind the mental video of this morning’s brunch. While it had gone pretty much as she’d expected and Maizelle’s disappointment weighed heavy on her, most surprising was the battle waging inside. Traditional, righteous, good girl was warring with independent, modern, ain’t-nobody’s-business-if-I-do girl for rights to her peace of soul.

Pia Clarice Jamison had been trained to be a good girl in a household where traditional family values were touted and instilled long before the idea of “family values” was a political lightning rod.

For the second time today, Becca Vossel popped into her head. When you took away the race and adoption issues, their upbringings weren’t all that different. Both were brought up in God-fearing middle-class households where dignity, respect, and a daughter’s reputation were paramount issues. Pia’s late father, Charlie, was a man who respected women but also expected those same women to respect themselves. The avoidance of parental disapproval became Pia’s internal police force and moral guidance system.

Pia, determined to respect both her wants and her parents’ rules, unconsciously took on a passive-aggressive approach to her teen years. Pia had spared Maizelle and Charlie the stress of any true teenage rebellion and she’d experienced enough life on her terms to feel as though she hadn’t missed a thing.

Despite Maizelle’s doctrine, Pia marched to her own truth and lost her virginity to her first love the summer before going off to college. Pia had been pleased that her initial sexual experience had taken place in the context of a loving (though not marital) relationship, and she had been responsible enough to get herself on the pill, which was how Maizelle had discovered she was sexually active. Her mother had been upset and “disappointed” that she hadn’t waited until marriage, but eighteen-year-old Pia, in love and intoxicated with innocent lust, had stood her ground. But later, in college, when love moved on, Pia was left dealing with the contradictory pull of her physical urges and her parents’ morals. Fifteen years of tiptoeing through those sexually and emotionally explosive mine fields had left Pia confused and eventually celibate. And now, at forty-one, sex, love, reputation, and parental approval were still causing her conflict and muddying her self-image as a sexual being.

“Hector is going to love this,” Darlene exclaimed, interrupting Pia’s thoughts as she burst back into the room. “Thank you, chica, for making this happen.”

“No problem. We’ll send a bunch of CDs along for him and the rest of the unit.”

“I miss him so much. I hate that I can’t be with him on his birthday or Christmas or our anniversary,” Dee revealed in an uncharacteristic moment of vulnerability.

“One year goes by fast,” Pia said, trying to comfort her friend. “And you’ll to be so busy playing Tia Dee that before you know it Hector will be walking through the door, safe and sound, and you two will be making a baby of your own.”

“I hope so. But until then, don’t get any crazy ideas. Don’t think you’re going to be dropping little Pomegranate on Tia Dee all the time…” Darlene said, reverting back to her usual cheeky self.

“Pomegrante? Where the hell did that come from?”

“Because right now it’s a little seed, and it’s also muy Hollywood.”

“Darlene, you are certifiably nuts,” Pia pronounced.

The stroll to her apartment helped to quell Pia’s morning sickness. Maybe it was the fresh air, but by the time she walked through the front door, she was feeling better.

“Hi, Paolo,” Pia said, throwing her doorman a saucy grin as she strutted toward her mailbox. Since the workshop and rejoining the sensually and sexually active, Pia definitely felt more like a total woman again. And practicing her flirting as Joey had suggested had become a fun part of her day.

Once inside her apartment, Pia went about her usual routine of turning on her water fountain, lighting the candlescape in the fireplace, and flipping on her current favorite CD, Putayamo Presents: Asian Lounge. It was a homecoming routine she’d adopted years ago in the first few months of working in the hectic and very loud music video business. After a long day of dealing with booty-shaking music and the fragile egos of the artists who create it, the soothing sounds of water and soul-satisfying rhythms was a salve on her weary spirit.

Her last task was changing her daily inspiration card. Dee had given her the Inspire and Affirm box for her birthday last year, and selecting daily words to live by had become part of her evening ritual so that each morning she could wake up with fresh positivity. Considering today’s baby and mama drama, Pia chose a quote from Louisa May Alcott to display: “I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning to sail my own ship.”

Now if I can just avoid running the damn thing aground, I’ll be okay, Pia thought with a twisted smile.

Usually she’d sip a glass of champagne or a good merlot to take the edge off a tough day, but that part of the ritual was over—at least for a while. She’d have to settle for more herbal tea, Pia decided as she strolled through her sand-colored living room and into the kitchen.

Pia stopped by the eat-in counter to read her mail. She rummaged through the bills and junk mail disguised as “important, time-sensitive” documents before picking up a small manila envelope with the words PHOTOS: DO NOT BEND scribbled several times across the front and back. A quick check of the return address made her smile. It was from Florence Chase.

She filled her mug with water from the hot water dispenser on her sink, dunked a chamomile tea bag inside, and sat down. Pia opened the package to find a letter wrapped around another envelope filled with photos. Pia picked up the photographs and quickly flipped through, smiling at the memories they invoked.

She put the pictures aside and opened the letter, eager to find out how things were going in Texas.

Hi there, sugar. Sorry to be getting these to you so late, but things have been really busy since I got back to Dallas. First off, Joey inspired me to redecorate my boudoir in a much more sensual way. Before Dan came home, I got rid of all my bedroom furniture and created a suite that was more be-fitting a hot mama like myself (smile). I got new sheets, Egyptian cotton, 800 thread count, which is about 738 more threads than we’re used to. And can I tell you, you can rightly feel the difference. I tried sleeping in the altogether and they did feel really nice on my skin. I even sprayed the pillows with some of that Chanel 19. I have to admit, honey, I like this sensual stuff. Joey was right. It does make you feel real good and real girly.

Dan’s been home more than two weeks now. Things are moving a little slow. It’s like we’re trying to get to know each other again. Honestly, I feel like we’re like roommates—sharing a space but not really a life. Maybe we’ve been like this for a while and I just haven’t noticed. I’ve been wearing my perfume but haven’t taken the underwear and the nighties out yet. I know the woman from the lingerie shop said not to wear them just for him, but I haven’t really felt like wearing them for me either.

Haven’t been doing any flirting. I tried practicing in the mirror, though to be honest, I feel a little bit stupid doing all that eye talk jazz. Dan’s birthday is next month, so I thought maybe I’d try some of that red hot night stuff. We’ve got to break the ice sometime, right?

Enclosed are pictures from the workshop. We all look pretty darn good wearing those sheet dresses you whipped together, and I framed the one from the night you fixed me up (same night I met Clay). And no, I haven’t mentioned Clay to Dan and I won’t. I like having him as my secret memory. It’s silly, but it makes me feel good knowing that he thought I was attractive enough to want to kiss. Sugar, at my age (and weight class), that’s a Vatican-sanctioned miracle!

How’s the daddy hunt going? So have you met anyone who’s put the swing back into those hips of yours? Hope you’re givin’ those New York fellas hell.

Call me sometime so we can properly catch up.

Love, Flo

P.S. Have you heard from Becca? Somehow, I don’t think Chicago will ever be the same!