HISSYFIT

Charmaine Blair literally dragged herself from the garage to the back door, struggling to hold on to the boxes of cookout leftovers in both arms.

“I need some help out here!”

Who was home to answer? Travis couldn’t possibly have beaten her home; the last time she saw him, he was still schmoozing his way from table to table. Their children had left the cookout hours ago, but that did not necessarily mean that they would be home. They were rarely around when she needed their extra hands.

Charmaine peered through the glass to see her eldest daughter bopping around the house with a pair of headphones glued to her ears.

“Tara!” She leaned against the door and kicked it with her heel as if she were trying to start a motorcycle. “Tara! TARA MICHELE BLAIR!”

The door gave way suddenly, and Charmaine fell backwards onto the kitchen floor in a shower of potato chips, chicken wings, and macaroni salad.

“Why didn’t you use your key?” Tara asked loudly, assuming her mother was as deaf as she.

Charmaine threw her an icy stare. “Take those things off and help me clean up this mess!”

Tara disconnected herself and drew back about five sheets from the roll of paper towels above the sink and handed them down to her mother.

“That is not what I meant,” Charmaine snapped.

“No time, Mom. Kandra and Bliss are waiting for me at the Mall. They’re throwing a huge housewarming party, and they want me to help out. I’ll be staying over till Monday.”

“What? Sweetie, those girls are in college now, and that Bliss is fast…”

Tara rolled her eyes the way every seventeen year-old girl rolls her eyes when she perceives that her mother has said something too "country", too old-fashioned, or just plain crazy.

“Daddy already said it was okay.” Tara blurted it out as if to shut down the argument. “Reesie and Troy are staying at Grandma’s for the weekend, and I am running late. See ya!”

The back door slammed shut, and Charmaine was left alone, on all fours, to wipe up the sludge of chips, barbecue sauce, and mayonnaise on what was a freshly mopped floor.

Just like Travis to clear out the only help I have around here!

She piled the soiled paper towels beside her and continued to scrub with fresh ones.

There’s only one reason he’d want the children out of the house for the whole weekend, and I am not in the mood for that today, buddy!

The good thing about being alone in the house was that there was no one fussing, shouting “Mom!” or banging on the bathroom door while Charmaine was up to her neck in hot water and soap bubbles, rinsing away what was left of the cookout sludge. She was still in the tub when Travis’ car pulled up into the driveway. Charmaine closed her eyes and listened to him opening up the oven, then the refrigerator, and then the cupboards one by one.

Tough luck if you came home hungry.

She expected him to come upstairs, fling the bathroom door open, smile that charismatic smile, and smooth-talk his way into her good graces.

I don’t care how good you look when you come through that door, Reverend Blair; I have a headache, and I’m sticking to it!

But Travis never came into the bathroom. He did not even come up the stairs.

Charmaine sucked her teeth and got out of the tub. She patted herself dry and rubbed her body down with vanilla-rose lotion, Travis’ favorite scent to smell on her. Then she threw on a tattered cotton nightshirt that Travis thought she had thrown away. She even blow-dried her hair to a honey-blonde halo and clipped in a couple of curlers in it before going downstairs.

Nookie repellent.

Travis was on the couch watching television and balancing a plate of greasy spare ribs on his lap, eating them one by one on their brand-new, unprotected sofa, dropping crumbs on her Persian rug, in the middle of the room that no one was allowed to bring food into.

Oh no, you didn’t!

It took all of Charmaine’s self-control—and a few mumbled prayers—to remember that she was trying to get on his nerves.

She went into the living room without saying a word and plopped down beside him, feigning interest in the commercials. Travis took a look at Charmaine in her getup, then another, and planted his eyes on the television set for what seemed like hours between them.

“So…” he said at last, “how many chickens did my little Voodoo Queen sacrifice today?”

It was as if a *snap* had gone off in Charmaine's head.

"What did you just say?" she asked, narrowing her eyes and cocking her head to one side.

Travis froze, so galvanized by Charmaine's tone of voice that he could not look at her, much less answer the question. It would not have mattered if he had, because the shot had already been heard round the world or, at the very least, round the neighborhood.

“How DARE you!” Charmaine screamed. “How dare you call me that?”

Travis blinked obliviously. His wife’s Louisiana Creole heritage was a sore subject with his side of the family, but the two of them had always countered that hostility by making light of it. Charmaine's reaction made Travis forget that he still had food in his mouth.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Let me tell you something, mister!” Charmaine sprang to her feet and pointed her index finger at Travis' nose. “By the time you got up at noon, your 'little Voodoo Queen' had already been up for six hours, churning out bowls of potato salad, marinating your ribs, and prepping your stupid chicken wings!”

On the word ‘stupid’, Charmaine picked up one of the throw pillows and started pummeling Travis with all her might. He had no problem wrestling it away from her, but that did not stop her empty hands from smacking and pounding on him. Instinctively, Travis managed to catch Charmaine's wrists and firmly push her away from him.

“Honey, you really need to calm down.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Charmaine looked wildly around the room for something else to throw. The books on the shelf above the television were practically waving hello at her.

“Don't you 'honey' me!" she screamed, firing paperbacks at him like tennis balls. "Did you know that we ran out of food twice? Twice, Travis! Jesus didn’t feed that crowd…I did! And it took a lot more than loaves and fishes to do it! That’s the thankless job your ‘little Voodoo Queen’ did today!”

“Char,” Travis said, ducking missiles, “you’re working yourself up over nothing!”

“Don’t you use that condescending preacher voice on me!” Charmaine snarled at him. “While you spent your whole day bouncing babies and grinning like a demented game-show host, I was stuck dealing with a hundred ungrateful heathens and all their complaints!”

Hardback novels flew off the shelves, hurtling Travis backwards onto the couch. On his back, the poor man could not shield his body quickly enough. The best that he could do was dodge the books as they came at him, but he got clobbered more than once. And when they connected, they hurt.

“At least you get paid to deal with them!” Charmaine rattled on, finding the old set of encyclopedias. “I don’t get reward one for coming home with swollen feet and burnt fingers and an aching back and a full day’s supply of aggravation!”

With all the books off the shelf, Charmaine’s hands took hold of the Damascene-patterned ceramic vase on the mantelpiece. Travis eased off the couch as if his wife had just picked up a loaded gun.

“Char,” he said slowly, “you do not want to do that. That was an anniversary present from Mama.”

Now she really had his attention, even though he was still trying to handle her the way he handled the children, the house, and his parishioners. And bringing “Mother Frieda” into the mix was not a good move, either.

“You leave that mama of yours out of this, you jelly-backed son of a--”

BASH!

Charmaine flung the vase across the room with all her might. If Travis had not ducked, it would have cracked him square on the forehead instead of smashing to bits against the wall behind him.

The silence was different this time, no longer because Travis was wondering why his wife had lost her mind but now because he was three seconds away from losing his own. His eyes stabbed back at hers, and his nostrils flared so widely that Charmaine could have sworn that she saw smoke coming out of them.

She expected him to reach out and try to restrain her again, to give her just enough of an excuse to scratch, kick, and bite at him the way she really wanted. To his credit, Travis said nothing, retreating upstairs to their bedroom without looking back once.