Queen Bee Goes Home Again Read Online Free PDF

he said I should avoid sugar.” Which was true. But the truer truth was, I couldn’t afford new clothes, so I had to lay down some strict dietary boundaries right away, before my mother could use her favorite weapon—guilt—to fatten me right up with her Southern cooking. Then I’d have no chance of ever finding a decent man.
    Not that there were many good men loose out there, as far as I could tell. The good ones were either still married to the wives of their youth, or snapped up so fast I didn’t even know they’d been divorced or widowed.
    The truth was, sex had been great, but I wasn’t sure I was willing to put up with what I’d have to do to get it anymore. And as I’d learned from my one disastrous effort at a casual fling with Grant Owens ten years ago, I was anything but casual about sex.
    I’d tried to find someone online, but there were no takers within driving distance, even though my digital photo showed that I still had good skin, a pretty face, and a good figure (when I wore foundation garments).
    In my experience over the past ten years, commitment had gone the way of the dodo. So both times I’d pursued a relationship with darling Christian men, they’d dropped me like a hot lug nut when they realized I wouldn’t sleep with them outside of marriage.
    I mean, after a decade of single and celibate, I figured I was a virgin again by the statute of limitations.
    But noooo. They just wanted me to sleep with them, and when I wouldn’t, poof! They were gone.
    Christian men!
    As my Granny Beth always said, “If all Christianity had going for it was the people who belonged to it, it wouldn’t have lasted five minutes. Fortunately, it offers us more than ourselves.”
    My mother smiled. “You look so thin, sweetie. Are you all right? I really think you could stand to gain a little.”
    So much for boundaries.
    My new thinner self was the reward for working seventy hours a week on two meals a day, but I didn’t tell Miss Mamie the truth, because she’d smother me for sure and insist I eat something fried, on the spot. I noted the wide basket on the counter heaped up and lumpy under a bunch of Mama’s starched tea towels. Fried chicken!
    For generations, Miss Mamie had been ignoring sanitation standards by keeping the chicken she’d fried just before lunch covered on a platter at the counter till dinner, but so far, nobody had gotten sick.
    Yet.
    It was a chance I gladly took for the perfection of her fried chicken.
    â€œThanks for the tea,” I deflected, “but I need to get started unpacking.” I got up. “I’m going to turn on the air conditioners in the apartment and unload.”
    Mama seemed to shrink a little, and for the first time in history, didn’t offer to help. “Mmmm.” Suddenly she looked very old and alone.
    â€œWhy don’t you get some rest?” I suggested, worried. Was she sick? “I’m sure Tommy will be home soon to help.” Not.
    Miss Mamie didn’t protest. “I think I will try to take a little nap.” Her verve evaporated. “I’m not much for stairs anymore, especially when I’m carrying things. Ten flights a day is my maximum, and I’m almost there.”
    â€œYou don’t need to worry about my stuff, in the first place,” I said. I’d always thought of my mother as immortal and indomitable, but I could see now that she was neither. My parents had drawn strength from their constant bickering, and Miss Mamie had always looked and acted twenty years younger than she was.
    Maybe not having my father around to fight with accounted for her weariness. At the Home, Daddy had Uncle Bedford to keep his juices flowing, but Mama had been left in sudden silence, and it had definitely taken its toll.
    It hit me that she needed to take care of someone and always had. “Mama, do you miss Daddy?”
    She looked to me with