In Her Shadow (Paused)

Thats My Mama

The first ring of the doorbell was polite.

The second was impatient.

By the third, it had turned into a full-on assault, accompanied by Tina Knowles unmistakable Houston drawl blasting through the intercom like the voice of God on Judgment Day.

"BEYONCÉ GISELLE KNOWLES, I KNOW YOU HEAR ME! OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT NOW OR I'M CALLING YOUR DADDY AND TELLING HIM YOU OUT HERE LIVING IN SIN!"

Beyoncé jumped out of bed so fast she got tangled in the thousand-thread-count sheets and face-planted straight onto the hardwood floor with a loud, undignified THUD.

Dana sat up, hair looking like she'd been electrocuted, blinking at the ceiling. "Did your mama just say 'living in sin' through my Ring camera?"

Beyoncé, still on the floor, one leg stuck in the sheet like a straitjacket, hissed, "YES, and she's about to say a lot worse if we don't move!"

The intercom crackled again. Solange this time, pure glee in her voice "We got mimosas, croissants, and a list of questions about strap technique! Let us in, sis!"

Dana was already scrambling for clothes, hopping into linen pants while simultaneously trying to button a shirt. Beyoncé finally freed herself from the sheet, grabbed the first thing she saw which was Dana's Howard hoodie and yanked it over her head in one motion. She bolted for the stairs, missed the first step, and slid the rest of the way down on her butt like a human sled.

By the time Dana made it downstairs, Beyoncé was yanking the front door open, chest heaving, hoodie inside out and backwards, tag flapping under her chin like a surrender flag.

Tina stood on the doorstep in full church-lady armor; cream skirt suit, pearls, sunglasses so big they qualified as a weapon, arms crossed like she was about to read the riot act to the entire congregation.

Behind her was Solange in a "Big Dyke Energy" crop top, Angie in head-to-toe orange looking like a traffic cone with a grin, Kelly clutching a bottle of Don Julio like a human shield, and Jada of course already recording on her phone, whispering, "Y'all, Mama Tina flew in on a broom and the tag is still in Beyoncé's neck. This is the best day of my life."

Tina removed her sunglasses slowly, took one look at Beyoncé's inside-out hoodie, and said, deadpan, "Baby, your shirt is on wrong and backwards. You grown enough to have a whole girlfriend but can't dress yourself?"

Solange barked out a laugh so loud a bird flew off the roof. Angie doubled over. Kelly wheezed. Jada zoomed the camera in on the tag and narrated, "Period, the tag said 'Property of Dana Owen's ,' the irony is SENDING me."

Beyoncé looked down, realized the tag was literally scratching her throat, and let out the most dramatic groan known to man. "KELLY MICHELLE ROWLAND, I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!"

Kelly threw her hands up. "She threatened to whoop me, Bey! She said, and I quote, 'I will fly to Chicago and drag you by your edges if you don't tell me where my child is!' I panicked!"

Dana finally appeared behind Beyoncé, somehow looking like she'd stepped out of a magazine despite the chaos in linen pants, white shirt half-buttoned, hair in a low bun, calm as hell. She offered her hand to Tina like this was a board meeting.
"Ms. Tina, welcome to my home—"

Tina walked right past the hand, grabbed Dana by the shoulders, and looked her dead in the eye. "Kitchen. Now."

The temperature in the foyer dropped twenty degrees.

Solange whispered, "Oh she's cooked," and followed the procession like she had front row tickets to the apocalypse.

The living room turned into a circus in thirty seconds flat.