Read Online The Interruption of Everything by Terry McMillan - Free Book Online

I’ll notice that he’s done either. However, in the morning while I’m putting dishes into the dishwasher—including the scratched spoon—he’ll tell me how good dinner was and thank me for being so thoughtful.
    “Anyway, you know how these guys can be,” he’s saying. “I might have to have a drink or two with them, but I’ll call when I’m on my way if it’s not too late. Promise.”
    “It’s no problem, really.”
    “And how’s Mom doing this morning?”
    “What? I can’t hear you. You’re breaking up!”
    “I said, how’s Mom? ”
    I press END twice, which turns the phone off. I don’t want to use up any of my minutes talking about Arthurine right now and Lord knows I don’t want to think about going home and facing her. Sometimes she’s telepathic and today she’ll probably look right through my skin, directly into my belly and see that I’m pregnant. I wouldn’t put it past her. Who knows, maybe I’ll get lucky and she’ll be in a six-hour coma or completely absorbed watching reruns of Home Improvement when I walk in.
    My luck must have run out because Miss Holy Thang is sitting in the family room with the TV off. She’s nodding like a junkie, those aviator-size glasses having slid to the tip of her nose, apparently from reading what looks like a real book. This is a first. The door chime must’ve had a delayed reaction because she just now snaps the paperback shut and slides it away from my view. “Hello there, Arthurine,” I say.
    “Evening to you,” she says, trying to appear alert. She is dressed for church on a Monday but hasn’t been anywhere today except for two trips to the mall. The first was about seven this morning when a bus picks up her and about thirty other senior citizens and takes them to the mall to walk before the stores open. She gets back about ten, leaving just enough time to shower and be ready for the shopping van that comes back around noon. They mostly have lunch, window-shop, buy lots of trinkets, or see a PG-13 movie.
    “How’re you feeling this evening?” This is a loaded question that I know I should not have asked.
    “Fair to middlin, but this morning the voice of God said, ‘The child is not dead but asleep. Little girl, I say to you get up!’ Where’ve you been all day? You weren’t at work.”
    I feel like saying, “None of your business, Miss Newly Resurrected. And since when did you start checking up on me?” But I don’t, because it would be rude and disrespectful. “I had errands to do.”
    “I know that, Marilyn. But where exactly did you go?”
    I want to say, “None of your damn business!” but of course I don’t, for the same reasons. I grind my molars and say as softly as I can, “I also had my annual female checkup this afternoon.”
    “What’d the doctor say?”
    “She didn’t say anything, Arthurine. I just had a Pap smear, that’s all.”
    “Yeah. And did she find anything up there?” She’s being cute and I suppose she thinks what she just said was funny because she’s laughing. I decide to humor her.
    “Just a baby,” I say.
    “A what?”
    “I’m just kidding, Arthurine.”
    She kicks off the navy blue pumps she is not supposed to be wearing and walks over here to the kitchen where she leans on the counter like an anchorwoman. “You ain’t kidding with me, chile. I’ll bet you ’bout two months and counting.”
    “What are you talking about, Arthurine? I’m serious. I was just joking.”
    “Well, the joke sure ain’t on me. Remember, Jesus wasn’t planned either. And in case you didn’t know it, I wasn’t born yesterday. Anytime you can’t stand to smell a little Clorox or unleaded gasoline, among other things—and don’t think I haven’t noticed—and all of a sudden you eating up all the starchy food in the house, especially the bananas that you know I like to put in my shredded wheat and the smoothie you keep promising to teach me how to make…you got something growing inside you all