Chapter 2: Everybody Leaves
Tasha stared at me as if I had slapped her.
Her mouth opened, but for several seconds, no words came out.
Gray water dripped from the hem of her dress onto the kitchen floor.
One hand clutched the fabric against her body.
The other pointed at me.
“Are you out of your mind?””
I set the empty basin on the counter.
“No.””
“You just threw DISHWATER on me!””
“I know what I threw.””
“My dress!””
“I can see it.””
“Do you have any idea what this cost?””
I looked past her at my mother.
Mama had stepped away from the sink.
She stood with both hands pressed against the counter, her face pale and her eyes wide.
I knew she was frightened.
Not of the water.
Of what would happen next.
Because Mama had spent my entire life teaching me that anger could destroy things you might spend years trying to repair.
She didn't want me to lose my future over one terrible moment.
But I couldn't stand there and pretend nothing had happened.
Tasha followed my gaze and let out an incredulous laugh.
“Oh, so this is about Denise?””
I turned back toward her.
“This is about you ordering my mother around like she works for you.””
“She offered to help!””
“She told you her back was hurting.””
“Because she's tired! Everybody gets tired!””
I felt my jaw tighten.
“Then why didn't you let her sit down?””
Tasha looked toward the doorway, where several guests had gathered after hearing the screaming.
Her expression changed instantly.
The anger remained, but something else appeared beneath it.
Embarrassment.
She glanced at the people watching us and lowered her voice.
“Marcus, we can discuss this privately.””
“No.””
Her eyes widened.
“What?””
“You heard me.””
I walked past her into the living room.
The music was still playing.
People had stopped talking, their attention fixed on the doorway.
A man holding a drink slowly lowered his cup.
The woman who had been recording a video slipped her phone into her purse.
Tasha hurried after me, water squelching beneath her heels.
“Don't you dare make a scene.””
I reached the speaker and turned off the music.
The silence that followed felt enormous.
“Everybody,” I said, looking around the room, “the party is over.””
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then someone laughed nervously.
A woman near the dining table glanced at Tasha, clearly expecting her to explain that this was some kind of misunderstanding.
Tasha stepped beside me.
“Marcus is upset. He'll calm down in a minute.””
I looked at her.
“No, I won't.””
Her smile disappeared.
“Excuse me?””
“You all need to leave.””
A guest near the window cleared his throat.
“Man, maybe we should just—”
“Yes,” I interrupted.
“You should.””
I wasn't proud of the way I said it.
I wasn't proud of throwing the water, either.
But I couldn't stand the thought of another person dropping dirty dishes beside my mother while Tasha smiled in that expensive dress.
Keisha, Tasha's best friend, approached us from the dining area.
She was one of the few people at the gathering I recognized.
“Marcus, come on,” she said quietly.
“This is getting out of hand.””
I looked at her.
“Did you know my mother was washing dishes?””
Keisha hesitated.
“I mean, Denise said she didn't mind helping.””
“That wasn't my question.””
She looked toward Tasha.
That brief glance told me more than her answer would have.
Tasha crossed her arms.
“Don't put this on Keisha. Denise offered to help, and I accepted. That's all that happened.””
“Then why did she ask you to let her rest?””
“Because she was tired!””
“And you told her to keep working.””
“Because there were things that needed to be done!””
I stared at her.
“You had nearly thirty people in my house, Tasha. You told me six.””
She opened her mouth, then closed it.
For the first time that evening, she seemed to realize that the argument wasn't going to disappear simply because she wanted it to.
Guests began gathering their belongings.
A man retrieved his jacket from the back of a chair.
Two women whispered near the front door.
Someone asked Keisha whether she needed a ride.
Nobody looked comfortable.
Good.
They shouldn't have.
Tasha turned toward me again.
“You have humiliated me in front of people who matter to my business.””
I let out a short, bitter laugh.
“People who matter?””
“Yes! These are professional contacts!””
“And my mother is what? Someone you can order around because she isn't one of your professional contacts?””
“That is not what I said.””
“It's exactly what you did.””
She shook her head.
“You're making me sound like some horrible person because I asked her to help with a few dishes.””
“A few dishes?””
I pointed toward the kitchen.
“Go look.””
She didn't move.
“Go look at what you expected her to clean.””
Her cheeks flushed.
“I can't believe you're doing this over your mother.””
Those words hit me harder than I expected.
Not because she had said something new.
Because she had finally said something that made the problem impossible to ignore.
She genuinely believed my mother's dignity was an inconvenience standing between her and a successful evening.
I lowered my voice.
“You're right. I'm doing this over my mother.””
Tasha stared at me.
I took a breath.
“Everybody leaves. Including you.””
Her face went still.
“What did you just say?””
“You heard me.””
“Marcus, this is my event.””
“This is my house.””
“Our wedding is in a few months!””
“And right now, I don't care.””
She stepped closer.
“You're seriously throwing away eight months of engagement because I asked your mother to wash some dishes?””
“No. I'm questioning eight months of engagement because you think you can treat her like that.””
Tasha looked around the room, searching for someone to take her side.
Keisha approached again.
“Girl, just go change,” she whispered.
“You can talk to him later.””
Tasha jerked her head toward her friend.
“Are you seriously taking his side?””
“I'm trying to keep this from getting worse.””
“Well, it already got worse when he destroyed my dress!””
I couldn't argue with that.
The dress was expensive.
The water was filthy.
And I had chosen to throw it at her in front of a room full of people.
There was no excuse for pretending I had handled things well.
But an apology for the dress wouldn't erase what I had watched her do to my mother.
“I shouldn't have thrown the water,” I said.
“That was wrong.””
Tasha's expression shifted.
For one hopeful second, I thought she might acknowledge her part.
Instead, she seized the opening.
“Exactly! You were wrong. So apologize properly, and we can move on.””
I looked at her.
“I'm sorry I threw the water.””
She waited.
I continued.
“But I'm not sorry I stopped you from treating my mother that way.””
Her mouth tightened.
“You are unbelievable.””
“Maybe.””
“You'll regret this.””
“Maybe that, too.””
She spun away from me and stormed toward the kitchen.
I followed, worried she might start another argument with Mama.
Instead, I found my mother standing beside the sink, slowly removing her dish towel.
Tasha stopped in front of her.
“Denise, I hope you're happy.””
Mama looked up.
“What?””
“You've turned Marcus against me.””
My mother blinked.
Then she laid the towel on the counter.
“No, baby. I didn't turn him against you.””
She spoke softly.
“I just didn't know you would treat me this way.””
Tasha scoffed.
“I never treated you badly. You volunteered to help.””
“I did.””
“Then what's the problem?””
Mama held her gaze.
“I said I'd help,” she replied, “but I ain't say I worked here.””
The words landed harder than a shout.
Tasha's face reddened.
For the first time that night, she had no immediate answer.
Mama reached for her purse.
I stepped toward her.
“Let me take you home.””
Tasha threw up her hands.
“Unbelievable. Everybody is acting like I'm some kind of villain.””
Mama didn't respond.
She simply slipped the purse strap over her shoulder and walked toward the front door.
I followed her, leaving Tasha standing in the kitchen.
Behind us, the remaining guests filed out.
Some offered awkward goodbyes.
Others avoided eye contact.
Keisha paused beside Tasha and said something too quietly for me to hear before leaving.
When the last guest finally stepped outside, Tasha called my name.
I stopped at the doorway.
“You're really going to leave me here?””
I looked back.
“You can stay tonight if you need to pack your things. But I'm taking my mother home.””
“You're choosing her over me.””
I felt something heavy settle in my chest.
“No, Tasha. I'm choosing not to ignore what I just saw.””
Then I walked out.
The drive to Mama's house was quiet.
She sat in the passenger seat with her purse on her lap, looking out the window.
I kept both hands on the steering wheel.
After a few minutes, I finally spoke.
“I'm sorry.””
She turned toward me.
“For what, baby?””
“For letting things get to this point.””
Mama studied my face.
“You didn't make her do what she did.””
“I should've noticed sooner.””
She sighed.
“Maybe you should've asked more questions. But don't blame yourself for somebody else's choices.””
I swallowed.
“How long has this been going on?””
She was silent long enough that I glanced over.
“Since when?””
“Since Tasha started asking you to help with her events.””
Mama rubbed her hands together.
“Months, Marcus.””
The word seemed to change the temperature inside the car.
“Months?””
“She'd call and ask me to help prepare food. Sometimes she needed things cleaned before people arrived. Other times, she said she'd be too busy to clean up afterward.””
“And you did it?””
“I wanted to support the woman you were going to marry.””
I tightened my grip on the wheel.
“Why didn't you tell me?””
“Because I didn't want to cause trouble between you two.””
She looked down at her hands.
“And because I thought she'd eventually stop asking so much.””
I felt sick.
All those Saturdays when Mama had said she was tired.
All those times she'd mentioned having errands to run or needing to get home early.
I had accepted her explanations without asking what was really happening.
“Did she pay you?””
Mama looked at me sharply.
“No.””
“Not once?””
“Marcus, I wasn't helping her for money.””
I shook my head.
“That doesn't make it right.””
“No,” she agreed.
“It doesn't.””
We drove the rest of the way in silence.
When I pulled into her driveway, I got out and walked around to open her door.
She smiled faintly.
“You don't have to do all that.””
“I know.””
I helped her inside and waited until she had settled comfortably before returning to my truck.
As I was about to leave, she called me back.
“Marcus?””
I turned.
She stood near the doorway, one hand resting against the frame.
Her expression was different now.
Not angry.
Not embarrassed.
Worried.
“There's something else you need to check.””
I walked closer.
“What is it?””
Mama glanced toward the street, as if making sure nobody was nearby.
Then she looked directly into my eyes.
“Before you marry that woman, you need to check your wedding savings.””
My stomach tightened.
“What about them?””
She shook her head.
“I don't want to accuse anybody without knowing the truth.””
“Mama, what are you talking about?””
She reached for my hand.
“Just look at the account, baby. Look at every transaction.””
I stared at her.
“Did Tasha tell you something?””
“No.””
“Did you see something?””
Mama hesitated.
Then she said the words I would replay in my mind for the rest of the night.
“Twenty thousand dollars is a lot of money for a dress.””
I stood frozen in her doorway.
Then she squeezed my hand.
“Go home and check.””
May you like
I drove away with those words following me all the way back to my house.
And for the first time in eight months, I wondered whether the woman I planned to marry had been hiding something much bigger than an expensive dress.
