Chapter 17 #2
“We DP, fam. No thanks needed. It’s love till the casket,” he says and I nod in agreement.
My DP brand isn’t for looks; it represents this, being able to rely on fam when I need it. Feeling a lot better about talking with my moms, I kill my drink and hit my blunt again. Kassir starts a new game and we play 2K. By the time I leave his crib at six, I’m straight.
My mom spent her day in a chair getting her hair braided. According to Quay, our mom wants to look different when she starts classes in June. So she’s trying out new hairstyles now to see what sticks. When I’m in my ride, I text to see if she’s ready and she responds fast.
Mom: 10 minutes. They are dipping my braids now.
Me: bet. On my way.
After sending my text, I start my ride and head to the braid shop, BeauTee.
She’s actually standing outside when I pull up.
I barely recognize her with the long ass braids hanging over her shoulders.
I can’t lie; she looks good, young even, but I don’t know how I feel about her looking like this. She looks too much like Quay now.
“Tell me the truth. You like them?” she asks, smiling hard as hell when I walk over to her.
“You look so pretty, Ma.”
“Yeah, but do you like the braids?”
“They look good.”
“Thank you. Now help me up,” she says while reaching for my hand.
I take it and we step over to my ride. I hold her hand steady as she gets in.
“Whew,” she sighs when she sits. “I’ve been sitting too long.
My butt hurts.” I just shake my head as I walk back to my side.
When I get in, she has my visor down and she’s examining her new look.
“I like these. They make me look young. I think I look like a college student. Don’t I? ”
“You do. You actually look too much like Quay now,” I admit as I drive off.
“She looks like me,” she corrects.
The conversation in the car is typical after any blow up or issue with her husband.
She reverts to the one person we both love, Quay.
She talks about Quay’s grades in school, her basketball camp this summer, and her birthday in September.
I just go along with it but once we are at our semi-private table, we have to talk about the subject she’s avoiding.
As soon as we are inside of Taste of Italy, thanks to my seven o’clock reservation, we are taken right to our small booth in the back corner. She slides in and I trek to the restroom. When I make it back to the table, there are two waters on it and their signature bread that she loves.
“Don’t get mad. I started without you,” she says as she dips a piece of bread into the olive oil based dipping sauce.
“You good, Ma.”
“Are you hungry? I’m starving. I’ve been in that salon for six hours and I didn’t pack anything to eat. No snacks, nothing. I think I want the trio but with extra portions of lasagna,” she says and my damn chest gets tight.
The fuck! She’s ordering for him.
Lasagna is his favorite, not hers. She loves the shrimp pasta here and the bread, not the damn lasagna. The time to start our conversation is now so I don’t waste another minute.
“Ma, I brought you to dinner so we can talk. This is one of your favorite spots. So why are you ordering for him?”
“Tyriq,” she sighs. “I like pasta with marinara and lasagna too. They give you so much food; so why waste it? He’s going to eat my leftovers anyway.”
“Not if you get what you like. He’s allergic to shrimp. He won’t touch your leftovers. For once, damn, forget the nigga. He forgot about us and you a lot. Shit, he still does,” I spit and her entire face scrunches. She closes her menu, slowly places it on the table, then leans her elbow on it.
“Tyriq Desmond Hill,” she begins, saying my whole name and she knows I hate that shit. “I don’t care how old you are, how successful you are, or what you do for me and your sister, you will not sit in here and curse at me.”
“I’m not cursing at—”
“You will not interrupt me either. Let me finish what I was saying,” she huffs.
“Yes, you invited me to dinner and when a person invites you, you typically let them order what they want. Yes, I am ordering the trio with double lasagna. So what? I’ve been in a shop getting my hair braided all day.
I’m tired and don’t want to have to cook dinner for my husband, your father.
I want to eat, climb, in the tub, and in my bed, not get in my kitchen and prepare a meal. ”
“You don’t have to cook him, sh…anything,” I say, quickly correcting my words before I curse again.
“But I do. He is my husband and I’m his wife. I love him, all of him. That’s why I married him,” she says and I just shake my head to keep from saying shit. “I love him and I love my children with all my heart. There’s nothing I won’t do for you or Quay. Nothing and you know that.”
“Except leave him,” I utter, unable to keep quiet.
I love my mom and respect her to the utmost. Although that nigga was always in the apartment when we were growing up, he wasn’t a parent. She was both. She did it all. She was momma and fucking daddy. He didn’t do shit.
“Because I will never leave him,” she says with her whole chest. “Marriage for me is forever. Better or worse, thick or thin, sickness and health. Those weren’t just words for me.
They were vows, promises to love my husband.
That’s what a real wife does. She supports her man through it all and loves him through it all. ”
“Yeah. For a real man. The problem is that’s not what he is. No real man lets his wife take care of everything. No real man watches his wife struggle and work till her knees are sore and no real man says fuck his kids or treats them like shit. You deserve better so much better, Ma,” I finally say.
As if utterly defeated, she drops her head on the table on top of her arms. She shakes her head from side to side then lifts it.
When she does, her eyes are filled with tears, real tears.
My chest tightens because she’s hurting.
While I hate to see her like this, I had to say what I said.
It’s the truth and it’s been eating at me for years; I couldn’t hold it in.
Feeling like shit though for making my mom cry like this, I inch closer to her and take my cloth napkin and wipe her now tear-stricken face. She places her hand over mine and keeps it there as I wipe. Our server walks over and I hold my other hand up and mouth, “Fifteen minutes.”
This is not the time.
“My heart is breaking. It breaks every day because I can’t have my family together under one roof. No mother should have to deal with that. You two are so much alike.”
“I’m nothing like that nigga.”
“You may not think so but you are. You are both stubborn, both standing your ground, and both breaking my heart. Tyriq, I’m serious.
My heart shatters a little more every time I’m torn between you two.
” She grabs the napkin, wipes her face, then places it on the table.
She grabs my hand and looks up into my eyes.
“I’m sorry I missed your championship game.
Your father was sick and I had to take care of him.
You know I would have been there,” she says, pleading with me for understanding.
Unfortunately, I have none, not right now at least. When I don’t say anything, she squeezes my hand tighter then sighs heavily as hell.
“What do I have to do to keep from choosing between my husband and son?”
“I don’t want you to choose between me and him. I want you to choose between you and him. Pick you for once.”
“I’m married. It’s me and him forever. Picking me picks him. It may not make any sense to you but it does to me. Marriage is forever, period. How do I keep my husband and not lose my son?” she says and her eyes start to fill again with tears.
“You won’t lose me, Ma,” I say. My mind drifts back to Kassir’s words and to Teaira and our baby.
I don’t have anything that even looks like a resolution but I need to at least say something.
“I can’t lie. I’ll never see why you love him or stay with him but I guess I don’t have to.
That’s your house; he doesn’t ever have to leave if you don’t want him to but I can’t see me being there,” I say and she sighs.
“That doesn’t mean I’m not here for you and Quay.
I am and we can see each other. Wherever I am, you are always welcome, without a doubt.
He just isn’t ,and deep down, I know he shouldn’t be.
I’m a real man not because of him but in spite of him.
Like real shit, I do the opposite of everything he did.
That’s how I became who I am. Unlike him, I will always take care of mine and I’ll never treat my children like he treated me. ”
“Raising kids is hard. When you become a parent, you’ll understand that some decisions don’t come easy at all.”
“But I’ll always love mine.”
“You know I love you,” she says, totally dismissing my innuendo.
Deep down, she knows I’m talking about her husband but she seems blind to our reality and maybe that’s what she needs to cope and live in her bubble with him.
I don’t know. But one thing is clear as fuck, no matter what I, or anyone, says, she’s riding for him.
I don’t understand it and don’t accept it.
I just have to navigate around it to have peace with my mom and have her in my child’s life.
“I know, Ma and I love you too. And I hate to make you cry. We are good, okay? I need you, especially now.”
“What’s wrong? You’re still graduating, right?” she asks nervously.
She has always made it clear, Draft or not, I have to earn my degree. Education is so important to her and she wants both of her kids to be college graduates.
“Yes. I have one more final and even if I make a sixty on it, I’ll pass with a C. I’m graduating, Ma. I’m going to frame it and give it to you for your wall,” I say and she smiles.
“Good,” she sighs, relieved. “Then, what’s wrong? The draft?”
“No. Nothing is wrong. It’s actually good news,” I assure her.
I reach my hand into my pocket and pull out her copy of the ultrasound picture. I place it on the table in front of her. After staring down at it for what feels like hours, she looks up at me smiling with more tears in her eyes, happy ones this time.
“Is this real?” she asks and I nod. Her hand covers her mouth. “My God! I’m going to be a grandmother.”
“When? When is the due date?”
“November twenty-fifth.”
She lifts the picture and stares at it intently. “Is this mine to keep?” she asks.
“Yeah. That’s yours.”
“I just…can’t…believe this. A baby. We need this. Are you happy about this?”
“Very happy.”
“Well, I have to ask. Who’s the mother? Do I know her? Did you meet her in school? Does she go to CFU?” she fires off.
“Her name is Teaira. Nah, you don’t know her. She went to CFU but she graduated and is a nurse at Highland.”
“Can I meet her?” she asks.
“Yeah. She really wants to meet you and Quay. We’ll figure something out. I’ll be staying with her when I move out of Arena House.”
The server returns again, and when I start to wave her off, my mom stops me. She picks her menu back up then motions for me to do the same. Even though I know what I want to eat, I pick it up to please her.
“I think I need a drink,” she says with a laugh. “We’re celebrating. I’ll have a frozen lemon drop and the spicy shrimp pasta,” she says, then looks at me.
She’s trying and I appreciate it but I don’t want her to have to go home and cook for him either.
So after I order my grilled steak and lobster pasta, I hand the server both menus, then say, “And to -o, we’ll have the trio with lasagna and two servings of chicken fettuccine Alfredo with extra breadsticks.
Don’t bring it out until we get the check, please.
” The alfredo and breadsticks are for Quay.
At my words, my mom grabs my hand again then utters, “Thank you, baby.”