THIRTY-EIGHT
“Ouch,” I wince as Mama G slaps the back of my neck with the icy bag of peas.
She clicks her tongue and sits in the armchair. “It’s after six in the morning. Thought you’d outgrown this behavior.”
“I’m sorry. I knew you’d be up and needed your kindness.”
She hisses. “Told you not to get in some mess. Now you’re fighting over a woman.”
I scowl. “How do you know it’s because of Davia?”
“Boy, please. I see right through you.”
Groaning, I lie on the sofa and rest the cold bag on my face. “The look she gave me made me feel like shit. I shouldn’t have unleashed on ol’ boy. It scared her.”
“You love Davia,” she discerns. “You’ve never been serious about anyone, so I can tell you love her.”
“I didn’t intend to ruin her relationship,” I rasp. “It just happened. I couldn’t fight the feeling, and I’m not ashamed.”
“Son, I doubt that relationship was a happy one. That girl looked at you like you’re the last drop of water on earth. Let her sort out her situation so she can be with you without a heavy heart.”
“I’m afraid she’ll go back to him. I lost myself. I haven’t fought anyone since selling dope on the streets. It felt like I was back in that moment, fighting to protect my territory—protect what’s mine.”
“Give it time,” Mama G suggests, pushing up from the chair. “I’m making breakfast before Iree comes down to leave for work.”
“I’m surprised she isn’t up shitting on me. She’s mad at Davia and me.”
“Is that why she was crying Tuesday night when she returned?” Mama G wonders, looking to the stairs.
“Crying?” I repeat while sitting up.
She refocuses on me and waves it off. “She’s going through something. She’ll tell you when she’s ready.”
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I ease it out as Mama G walks off. “Troy, why are you calling so early?”
“Man, there’s an issue at the club.”