“Momma,” I chide her again. “Chevelle is the reason Michie didn’t send my depressed, attitude having ass out on the curb a few years ago. So, I’ll pick up some hours from him—”
“Why?” she asks, picking up a wooden spoon. Our conversation wraps around. “Honey, name aside, that girl sounds like she has a great business plan. Rich husband. Chevelle’s family is the reason you can come around this tired-ass neighborhood. Oh! Let me tell you what happened last night.”
Guilt flashes over my face. Brody called late last night. After pressing the away button, he weaseled himself into my fantasies. The combination of the doppelganger Brody from my imagination and my bullet vibrator had me biting down on a pillow.
“You heard it?” She gasps. “The next-door neighbors called the police on some hooligan trying to get into their house. Not my neighborhood. No. It’s time to move!”
“Did, ahem,” I exhale, “they catch the guy?”
“No. And let me tell you something else.” She turns off the stove and removes the skillet from the burner, placing it onto another. “I caught a glimpse of him.”
“Was he Black?” I ask. My mom has this habit of watching the news and being exceedingly disappointed if the assailant is African American.
“I didn’t see that. He was wearing a hoodie. Filled it out, too, better than any of those young, high school delinquents. He was grown. A grown man, trying to steal from retired folk.”
Momma waves a hand, huffing. “Got my high blood pressure up thinking about it.”
She flits around the kitchen, making my plate, pouring Donald Duck oj, and going back for toast because I need toast. I’d never asked for it, but Dad made bread a necessity with every meal.
“If you’re working for Chevelle, you should be able to rest more, visit more. Why would you need to work for this Michie person?”
While she has a habit of asking questions, she does, on occasion, remain chatting, thus leaving me free not to answer. My mom reclaims her chair, places my hands into the palms of hers. “Justice, when you mentioned returning to California, that hurt me to my heart. I thought you’d come home for good. But I understand, you’ve built yourself a life.”
“I’m so sorry, Momma.”
“All I need from you, honey, is a promise you’ll take time for yourself. No working two and three jobs. Your dad’s stroke was a result of working nonstop. Are you capable of taking care of yourself in LA?”
Finally, there’s a lull in her chatter.
“Yes, Mom, I’ve been there for three years.”
“If Chevelle’s blessings are spilling over into your blessings, slow down, and look at God.”
I glance down at her hands, enveloping mine. “Your 401k.”
“Baby, Marcus depleted it, bu—”
“Momma, it’s my fault,” I cut in. “You and dad have no life savings because of me.”
“The Mackenzies made Marcus return every cent, Justice.” My mother’s eyebrows stitch together. She gestures to the pony wall. “Look in that pile right there, baby, beneath the bills.”
I’m muttering in confusion and shock.
“Mommy’s gonna always have bills. There’s a cashier’s check for us. I was going to tell you about it sooner, but you made the trip. Our 401k may have closed, but we’re blessed. Take your portion from all the hard work you’ve done over the years and buy yourself something.”
I blink a few times. I shuffle through the stack of mail and find a check written in my parents’ name. My eyes glide to the payee section. That’s the part that floors me.