The Preachers Daughter

Chapter Two

My father didn't come home last night. For the first time in the years I've been alive, my father didn't come home. He painted this picture of what a perfect family is supposed to be. How a man is supposed to cherish his wife like a queen, and how a wife submits to her husband like a king. He preaches from the bible about infidelity, and how God frowns upon it. Yet he stayed out all night dipping and dabbing his penis into someone who isn't my mother. I know my parents tried their best to keep their issues from me, but this one was unavoidable. You would think he would've at least been here to make it for breakfast, but as I peak out of my bedroom window for the fifth time in the past twenty minutes, his car is still no where in sight. I hope whoever this woman is was worth breaking up our happy home.

I turned my flat iron off and unplugged it from the wall. My father hates when I wear weaves or any type of false hair. He says that I should be proud of my natural beauty that God gave me. It used to make me smile when he said that. Now it just puts a bad taste in my mouth. If he can do what he wants, so can I.

I grabbed my purse and jogged up the steps to the kitchen. My parents let me get the entire basement and turn it into my room back when I was fifteen. Not because my old bedroom was an issue, I just needed more space. My mother looked up from her phone when I came in and gave me a half smile. I knew whatever it was she was looking at on that screen didn't make her too happy.

"Good morning, Stinkie".

"Good morning, mother".

I was teased growing up about the way I speak. My father wanted the best for me so he put me in all the best schools, most of them being private schools. I took a lot of speech classes and was forced to read aloud more often than I liked. Kids would say I'm "talking white", which did nothing but infuriate me. There is nothing wrong with being an educated black woman. Especially in the messed up country we live in now. The teasing stopped once I grew breasts, which means I was still the topic of conversation.

"Have you talked to Poppa?", I asked my mother. I already knew the answer.

"He should be home in a few".

"Where was he all night?"

"He-he was here".

"Mother, you don't have to lie to me. I overheard you two talking. Who's the other woman?"

She stood up from her chair and came over to me. She caressed my face and kissed the top of my head.

"Certain things you just don't need to know".

Yeah, right. If she doesn't want to tell me, I'll just find out myself. 

I looked down at my phone and realized I was late picking up Anniqua, or Annie as she likes to be called. She lived not too far away from me, but since my parents spoiled me and got me a car at sixteen, I pick her up instead of her catching that busted bus. I mean, she is my best friend so, it's expected. 

I met Annie through my mom. Her mother and my mother grew up together and were the thickest thieves back in the day, so they say. My parents were having what they called "an adult game night", and my mother invited them over. Momma ushered Annie into my room, closed the door, and kept it moving like everything was okay. Thirteen year old me was longing to have friends so, I was accepting the company. Annie on the other hand, was not with it. 

"Why you talk so funny?", I remember her asking.

"I don't talk funny".

"Yeah, you sound like the white lady my momma works for".

I only shrugged, not understanding then what she meant. I had my iPod hooked up to one of my speakers and a song started playing that we both enjoyed.