Read Online Getting to Happy by Terry McMillan - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Terry McMillan
Tags: Fiction, Family & Relationships, Contemporary Women, Friendship, African American, streetlit3, UFS2
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shocked. In fact, she’s grateful this is finally out in the open. Maybe now her daughter can feel good about who she is and stop hiding it. After she closes the door, Bernadine wonders if John knows.
At nine-thirty the following morning Bernadine drags herself out of bed, goes to the grocery store then stops by the lender to pick up a set of loan documents. Thanks to James, she’s almost broke. For the past couple of years she’s been living on the fumes from her divorce settlement, and what was left of her investments is almost depleted. Bernadine has never been in this position before. She has just enough money to cover her expenses for nine or ten months. She’s scared.
If the bank doesn’t give her a loan or she can’t come up with a major source of income between now and then, she may be forced to put her home on the market. She’s lived in this house for twenty-five years. Her kids grew up in it. Of course, she’s been thinking about downsizing since they went away to college and only come home for holidays, and not even full summers anymore. She doesn’t need all this space. But what if she were to get grandkids?
The court had granted her title to the house free of all encumbrances on top of almost a million dollars. John could afford it. He owned a software company. Still does. The settlement allowed Bernadine to quit her job as a controller at the real estate investment company where she’d worked for years. And rather than start the catering business she’d thought about having one day, she used a good share of the money to open a café: Bernadine’s Sweet Tooth. She invested the rest. But that was fifteen years ago. Before James/Jesse.
She doesn’t miss her café. For fourteen years, Sweet Tooth thrived. She’d served the finest coffees and teas and personally baked most of the soulful specialties: blackberry cobbler, peach cobbler, sweet potato pie, bread pudding, banana pudding, rice pudding, lemon meringue pie, Seven-Up and Sock-It-to-Me and Red Velvet cakes.
After James/Jesse, her attitude toward Sweet Tooth changed. The baking became monotonous. There was no more joy, no delight in running the café. It was hard work. There was also no room for variation: a sweet potato pie was a sweet potato pie. A peach cobbler had to be a peach cobbler. As much as she was grateful for all the years it was profitable, Bernadine closed the café four months ago. Business had been steadily falling off. With four years left on the lease and the rent at $3,800 a month, it no longer paid for itself. Times had changed. People were more conscientious about what they ate. She was selling sugar.
When she gets home, Bernadine is surprised to find the girls already gone. Onika has left a note: “Mom, thanks for understanding about me and Shy. You have no idea how good this makes me feel. After you left my room last night, we were both blown away by your very cool attitude about us. I love her. And she loves me. We’ll see you later. Love, O.”
What the hell is she talking about? I love her. And she loves me. Bernadine is wondering if she went into Onika’s room last night, what in the hell it was she witnessed. She honestly couldn’t remember anything except getting up this morning to go to the lender. She’d seen their backpacks and assumed they made it in okay. Yesterday evening, when she hadn’t heard from Onika by seven, she remembered taking a sleeping pill and lying down to take a nap so she’d be awake by the time they got there.
It was that fucking sleeping pill.
Now she feels shaky. Apparently she’d acknowledged to her daughter she was fine with her being a lesbian—which she is. Bernadine has suspected it for years, but didn’t want to ask Onika. She always felt if it was true, then Onika would tell her when she was ready. Now she has. And Bernadine missed it. All because of a stupid sleeping pill?
Bernadine is ashamed and afraid because all this self-medicating has turned her into a
At nine-thirty the following morning Bernadine drags herself out of bed, goes to the grocery store then stops by the lender to pick up a set of loan documents. Thanks to James, she’s almost broke. For the past couple of years she’s been living on the fumes from her divorce settlement, and what was left of her investments is almost depleted. Bernadine has never been in this position before. She has just enough money to cover her expenses for nine or ten months. She’s scared.
If the bank doesn’t give her a loan or she can’t come up with a major source of income between now and then, she may be forced to put her home on the market. She’s lived in this house for twenty-five years. Her kids grew up in it. Of course, she’s been thinking about downsizing since they went away to college and only come home for holidays, and not even full summers anymore. She doesn’t need all this space. But what if she were to get grandkids?
The court had granted her title to the house free of all encumbrances on top of almost a million dollars. John could afford it. He owned a software company. Still does. The settlement allowed Bernadine to quit her job as a controller at the real estate investment company where she’d worked for years. And rather than start the catering business she’d thought about having one day, she used a good share of the money to open a café: Bernadine’s Sweet Tooth. She invested the rest. But that was fifteen years ago. Before James/Jesse.
She doesn’t miss her café. For fourteen years, Sweet Tooth thrived. She’d served the finest coffees and teas and personally baked most of the soulful specialties: blackberry cobbler, peach cobbler, sweet potato pie, bread pudding, banana pudding, rice pudding, lemon meringue pie, Seven-Up and Sock-It-to-Me and Red Velvet cakes.
After James/Jesse, her attitude toward Sweet Tooth changed. The baking became monotonous. There was no more joy, no delight in running the café. It was hard work. There was also no room for variation: a sweet potato pie was a sweet potato pie. A peach cobbler had to be a peach cobbler. As much as she was grateful for all the years it was profitable, Bernadine closed the café four months ago. Business had been steadily falling off. With four years left on the lease and the rent at $3,800 a month, it no longer paid for itself. Times had changed. People were more conscientious about what they ate. She was selling sugar.
When she gets home, Bernadine is surprised to find the girls already gone. Onika has left a note: “Mom, thanks for understanding about me and Shy. You have no idea how good this makes me feel. After you left my room last night, we were both blown away by your very cool attitude about us. I love her. And she loves me. We’ll see you later. Love, O.”
What the hell is she talking about? I love her. And she loves me. Bernadine is wondering if she went into Onika’s room last night, what in the hell it was she witnessed. She honestly couldn’t remember anything except getting up this morning to go to the lender. She’d seen their backpacks and assumed they made it in okay. Yesterday evening, when she hadn’t heard from Onika by seven, she remembered taking a sleeping pill and lying down to take a nap so she’d be awake by the time they got there.
It was that fucking sleeping pill.
Now she feels shaky. Apparently she’d acknowledged to her daughter she was fine with her being a lesbian—which she is. Bernadine has suspected it for years, but didn’t want to ask Onika. She always felt if it was true, then Onika would tell her when she was ready. Now she has. And Bernadine missed it. All because of a stupid sleeping pill?
Bernadine is ashamed and afraid because all this self-medicating has turned her into a
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