Momma DID Raise A Fool

By Bridgett Renay

Diane Freeman has a long history of deceit and usually at the expense of her estranged daughters. When she announced to the world, she only had six months to live, both daughters had to contemplate a life-changing question. Was Diane trying to make her first effort at bonding with th

• Language: English
• Publisher: Legacy Bridge, Inc.
• Release date: Oct 25, 2022
• ISBN: 9780986139963

Book preview

CHAPTER

ONE

The doctors say I have six months to live.

The words echoed in Taylor Freeman’s ear as she froze midway between the dining area and the living room of her spacious contemporary home. Her knees nearly buckled and to avoid passing out, she reached for the arm of a wingback chair. Taylor steadied herself while easing her quivering body into its sturdy frame.

David Banks, a chiseled, muscular work of art, who was a long overdue diversion and now a steady fixture in her life, had left only moments before. She was forced to deal with the crisis alone. Several moments passed and she still couldn’t recover.

Taylor, are you still there? Diane Freeman asked, her voice now holding a note of panic.

She switched the phone from one ear to the other. Yes, Momma, I’m still here.

Taylor’s words were calm, signaling she wasn’t really "there" in the full sense of the word. Her other faculties faded, leaving her to focus on one thought⸺the last time she had laid eyes on a mother she could barely stand.

Diane, a petite gray-haired spinster, was about fifty-eight at the time. Her frail and withered body had been hit with ailments only med school graduates and ambulance-chasing attorneys were able to pronounce.

She had also been down on her luck financially. No surprise there. Those circumstances had forced Taylor to make a cross-country move to Atlanta—simply trying to escape the afflictions, both personal and geographical, that plagued her once beloved hometown of Los Angeles.

Back then, her older sister, Tory, tried to talk her out of it. They were cruising down 3 rd Avenue, heading for lunch at M&M’s Soul Food. Girl, I don’t even know why you’re tripping. L.A. is live as hell. And you don’t even know nobody in Atlanta.

Taylor grinned, extending an arm across the center console to turn down the radio. For one, you need to focus on your whack-ass driving because you just ran a stop sign. And two, Big Sissy, I don’t need to know anybody in Atlanta to make a fresh start. That’s what makes it so great, not knowing a single soul. I know a bunch of folks out here, and what are they doing with their lives? A frustrated Taylor sighed when no response came. Name one person who we know out here who’s living large.

Everyone was riddled with debt and despair; from the financially broke, to embattled relationships, to the downright ludicrous. The City of Angels had lost its charm and its wings.

Taylor turned and put her focus out the window. The once captivating ambience filled with joy, pride, and opportunity had diminished. Streets were now stained with dried blood and bullet casings from the uptick of crime. Roads were paved with potholes that widened each time a rusty old hooptie rolled over their surface. Sidewalks took the place of landfills where everything from used condoms to dirty mattresses were disposed. Crack had overtaken the neighborhoods the same way greed had taken hold of the politicians. Every bit of it was a distressing combination of circumstances.

I just want more out of life. Don’t you?

Instead of answering, Tory lowered the sun visor to check her reflection in the mirror. No one had a greater appreciation for the long, wavy hair cascading perfectly down her back and sculpted mahogany cheekbones, which complimented a pair of glistening brown eyes. She applied her makeup just as skillfully as any celebrity stylist would during a photo shoot. When she spoke, her full lips curved into a luscious pout.

Of course I do, she said, finally answering the question, But I don’t have to move clear across the country to find it. She paused to add another coat of honey glaze lip-gloss, then continued, Are you sure it’s L.A. you’re trying to escape, or is it someone in particular you’ve had just about enough of?

Bingo! You know, Momma had the nerve to call and scold me as if I were a five-year-old, for getting my buzz on at Aunt Leslie’s birthday party last week.

Tory blew herself a kiss before lifting the sun visor back in place. She kills me with that mess … always trying to raise us now that we’re grown, while forgetting that she had eighteen years to mold us into something better. Momma was hell bent on making our lives just as miserable as hers.

What was really killing Taylor was that alcohol had become a necessary pastime as soon as she hit puberty. The urge to numb her senses began when Diane welcomed a new man into their home. That need grew extensively when their mother took the word of some random dude, she’d only known a few months, over her own flesh and blood. Instead of protecting her vulnerable girls from a devil whose sole purpose was to destroy their innocence, their mother became angry … and violent. Diane flew into a drunken rage over the smallest transgressions, and beat them with the nearest object⸺an extension cord or the lamp attached to it. Almost as if she was jealous that her pedophile boyfriend was more sexually aroused by her daughters than he was by her. Any word of the girls being sent somewhere else was met with vehement disapproval–by him.

Diane encouraged both daughters to embrace every vice known to mankind, from the overconsumption of alcohol to promiscuity. Though no longer a slave to either one, Taylor believed that by the time she reached her late twenties, the animosity and mistrust toward every man who came within reach would have subsided. Yet, bleak memories, along with Diane’s harsh criticisms from the past, constantly echoed in her mind like the bells of Notre Dame did in Paris.

I can’t wait for you to get the hell out of my house. You ain’t go never amount to nothin’. I curse the day you were born.

You know what? Taylor snapped, trying to swallow the bitter taste of those words that had come right before her fourteenth birthday. Just keep driving and try not to kill us.

Well, M&M’s does claim their food is to die for, she teased. Wouldn’t that be a trip?

Taylor chuckled while signaling for Tory to give her the high five. Hell to the no.

She turned the radio back up and listened to Mary J. Blige while contemplating her escape.

With so many reasons to leave her mother to fend for herself—the hazardous smoggy air, along with an unsympathetic Tory—L.A. was no place to allow the woman who gave her life to spend her last days alone. Taylor had no choice but to force Diane to leave the only city she’d ever known and live out the rest of her time in the tiny town of Riverdale, Georgia, a fifteen-minute drive from Atlanta. Taylor had lived there only a few years but had finally landed a job at the power-house law firm of Brown & Brooks, settled into a cozy suburban neighborhood, and made it her home.

The most prominent city in the Peach State had quickly become the new Black Mecca. Everything from the increase of professional opportunities and the selection of grown-ass, accomplished men, to the four-weather seasons that replenished the lush landscape every quarter of the year, was complimentary to Taylor’s new identity.

Nowhere did her lifestyle resemble that of a caregiver to a woman who would be costly and volatile. However, Taylor felt a sense of obligation to relieve the family of the burden Diane had suddenly become … well, truthfully, she’d always been. Taylor resigned herself to being the good daughter.

Tory had warned her against making such a drastic move. I bet you all the cheese in cheddarland, it won’t last more than three months.

Even with the distance of several states between them, Taylor could always tell over the phone when Tory paused to take a hit off a joint, not to mention when it was accompanied by an unmistakable inhale.

Cheddar-land … really, Tory?

Tory’s tone mellowed as she said. No, seriously, look at the life you’ve built for yourself—a good job and a nice house up in the A-T-L as a woman from the hood. The only thing you’re missing is a loyal man, but you ain’t gon’ find one who’s willing to put up with a mean old lady living under your roof.

She waited, evidently thinking Taylor would have a comeback, but one wasn’t forthcoming. Her sister was spitting truth. Are you really willing to risk everything to care for someone who’s never shown us any love?

Taylor sipped Moscato from a crystal glass that cost more than an entire set of glassware they owned while growing up, then leaned into the couch. I’m sure once Momma experiences the change of scenery, she’ll come to embrace life in Atlanta, just like I have. It may even help with some of her health issues.

Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

One thought reoccurred each day while Diane lived under her roof. What if she dies on my watch?

When Taylor came home from a productive day at work, she always expected to see her mother sprawled across the kitchen floor. Possibly dropping dead of a heart attack while making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Or perhaps slumped over the bath tub—a slip and fall that had caused a fatal head wound. Stress had become a familiar friend.

One day in particular, after making her way through the garage entrance, something seemed a little off. Taylor stepped into a house so still, it could only mean one thing.

She crossed the kitchen threshold, quietly slipped out of her high heels, and tip-toed around her own home like a teenager sneaking into the house during the wee hours of the morning. Not a peep. The usual hum of the A/C unit was missing, and Taylor’s heart slammed to a wild beat inside her chest.

Hello. Momma, are you here? she yelled. Taylor wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or sad at the next thought that crept in.

Could this be the day?

She inched her way up the stairs holding her breath, being careful not to land on that one step that creaked each time pressure was applied. With each move, her heart pounded. And still, no sound to be heard. Then a faint cough amplified and carried its way through the closed door. Diane would live to see at least another day. She couldn’t help but notice the tightening of muscles between her shoulders in a familiar knot of disappointment.

Taylor’s lips curled and her eyes rolled heavenward while she mustered a friendly "Hello" after opening the door.

With everything her mother had done from the moment she cleared the airport, Tory’s warning replayed in her head. Get that woman out of your house before you snap.

Diane returned the gesture with an icy glare that normally greeted Taylor either in the kitchen, where it could be witnessed the moment she stepped into her home, or one of the other common areas of the house. This forced Taylor to take refuge in her bedroom, as if she wasn’t the one paying the cost to be the boss.

In a dry monotone, Diane announced, You’re out of paprika.

No, we’re not. Taylor closed her eyes, counting to five to curb her anger. I bought a huge bottle last week. It’s in the pantry.

Well, if you weren’t always trying to hide stuff from me … Diane thought her words were muffled, but Taylor grasped every syllable.

I don’t even cook with paprika. The only reason I buy it is because I’m trying to make your ass more comfortable. But do you appreciate it?