The street we stand in is located in a less desirable part of town. Homeless people hover near doorways, broken glass paves the street. Letting go of Morgan, I take a step toward the run-down brown building in front of me.
I knock on the door and wait.
An older lady answers, carrying a toddler in her arms.
Perhaps, I knocked on the wrong door.
“Can I help you, ma’am?”
“I… I’m looking for Adriel.”
“Adriel is in school. He’ll be home in twenty minutes.”
Jesus! Fuck! How old is he.
“School?”
“Yes, UCLA,” she says proudly. “My boy is studying family law. Final year. It’s been a long time coming. Please, come in and wait. He won’t be long.”
I follow her inside the small apartment and sit on the sofa inside her cozy living room. The apartment is clean, though the walls are run down, but they’re covered with pictures of who, I assume, are their family. The aroma of something spicy lingers in the air. My mouth begins to water though I sit quietly, watching the lady place the child on the floor with some toys.
“Are you a friend of Adriel’s?” she asks, turning on a pot kettle.
“Uh, no… not really.”
“Oh, you look familiar. Would you like some coffee or tea, dear?
“Um… sure, okay. Just tea.” I smile, not wanting to appear rude in front of his mother. It’s been forever since I drank hot tea but I welcomed the change.
Moments later, she brings me a mug and sits on the recliner beside me.
“My boy is a hard worker. Do you know he has four jobs? He never sleeps. Me and his papa are damn proud of him.”
She continued to talk about his dad, how he worked as a bus driver, and a funny antic about how they met. I couldn’t help but laugh with her. Forty-five years is a long time to be married to one man, yet she speaks so lovingly about him that in many ways, you can tell these strangers are soul mates.
She speaks fondly about her daughter, delving into the tragic death of her husband which left her widowed with a newborn baby. The baby, now a toddler, is playing quietly with her toys near us.
The creak of the front door startles me, a ray of sunshine creeping in as a voice calls out, “Mama, I’m home.”
The adrenalin revs its roaring engine, bursting through the seams as his gaze shifts toward me. With a concerned, yet equally stunned expression, he places his bag down on the floor, leaning toward the child and kissing her forehead befor
e walking to his mother and kissing her cheek.
“How about I take Aaliyah for her walk?” Mama rises from her chair, grabbing a hat before scooping up the child and disappearing out the door.
Alone, in the confinement of his living room, my tongue twists with nerves, unable to speak a single word.
“Not exactly a place I expected to run into you again,” he deadpans, flicking through his mail, which he tosses on the table before sitting in Mama’s chair.
“How are you?”
“Since you fired me?” he questions, rudely. “I’m making ends meet. Tuition is getting paid. So is rent.”
“You’re studying law?”
“Why are you here, Scarlett? You made it very clear to me that it was a pity fuck for firing me,” he notes with dark amusement.
“Can we talk, please?” I beg, on the verge of breaking down into tears.