Page 40 of A Scoring Chance

Font Size:

Page 40 of A Scoring Chance

Before my parents were married, Dad was an up-and-coming chef in Detroit. Self-taught by his own grandmother, he worked his way up the ranks in a small soul food restaurant, but then my mom got pregnant with Imani. He gave up on his dream and took a safe job that he knew would bring home a steady paycheck and benefits. I can’t blame him for doing so, but I can blame him for trying to force me down the same path. I’m not married, nor do I have children of my own. Why should I take the safe path instead of shooting for the moon?

“That was rude. Apologize to your father. Now.” My mother’s tone leaves no room for interpretation, but I won’t budge. I could apologize, but I mean every word I said.

“Why don’t we all have a seat and talk this over as a family?” Imani strolls into the room, Darius following closely on her heels.

I lean down and pick him up, needing some sort of distraction, and nothing distracts my parents better than their adorable six-year-old grandson. “Hey, little man. How was school today?”

He shrugs his shoulders before burying his nose in my neck. “What is it, little man? Auntie Mona can’t fix it if she doesn’t know what’s wrong.”

“He got into an altercation with one of the other boys at school.” Imani narrows her eyes at her son, daring him to say anything in rebuttal.

“Did he deserve it?” I whisper, hoping he was the only one who heard me, but with no such luck. Imani answers instead. “One hundred and ten percent. That little sh–bad boy deserved a lot more than the punch in the nose he got, but we’re supposed to use our words, not our fists when we have a problem, right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, turning to look directly at his mother. “But sometimes you need to teach someone a lesson for saying mean things about the people you love.”

“It was Thomas, wasn’t it?” Darius shakes his head affirmatively, and my jaw clenches shut. Thomas is a prime example of parents needing to watch what they say around their children because they will, in fact, turn around and start spewing said nonsense to anyone who’ll listen.

Although Imani believed she had a good relationship with Thomas’s mother, she was in fact talking mad shit behind Imani’s back. Apparently Imani, and only Imani, is going to cause the downfall of morals in the town of Redwood Falls by not being part of a good Christian marriage, not to mention allegedly living off the good, God-fearing taxpayers’ money to subsidize her drug habit and whatever other bullshit Thomas’s mother and her friend could spew.

Now we all know this is complete bullshit. Imani is a paralegal at a snotty law firm in Portland. She rents a house only a few blocks away, wanting to be closer to Ma and Dad since Darius was born. The only thing the woman is right about is that Imani is a single mother. Darius’s dad is a piece ofshit who doesn’t deserve either of them, but I usually keep my opinion about this to myself.

“This might be all my fault,” I say sheepishly, placing Darius’s feet on the floor. “Why don’t you go to my room and watch some cartoons while Momma, Nanny, Papa, and Auntie Mona talk?”

“Is that all right, Momma?” Darius looks up at his mom, waiting for her to give her approval.

“Sure thing, pumpkin.” Darius takes off out of the kitchen and down the hall toward my room.

I wait for him to disappear around the corner before turning back to my parents and older sister. “I told Darius that we need to stand up for the ones we love because no one else would.” Imani narrows her eyes at me, ready to lay into me, but I continue. “I didn’t tell him to punch the kid, but I can’t say I disapprove of his methods. Bullies need to be taught a lesson, and sometimes words aren’t enough.”

“While I can’t say I disagree with you, we can’t go around punching every racist asshole in the face for the dumb shit they say.” Imani pulls me in for a one-armed hug before taking a seat at the kitchen table next to Dad.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Ramona Jacqueline King,” Ma chastises from her place on the other side of the room. “Whatever you might think for yourself, it’s up to your sister how she raises her son, not you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I respond, my eyes narrowing as I take in the scene in front of me. “Why do I feel like you aren’t here to tell us what happened at school with little man, Imani?”

“Because I’m not. What happened with Darius at school was just an unexpected bonus.” Imani leans back in the chair, her hands braced on either side of her gorgeous afro.

There was no way this was happening. I get it from my parents, but not Imani. Never Imani. “Not you, too, Sissy.”

“Oh, don’t start. You haven’t called me that since you were ten years old.”

“It’s because I haven’t needed to use your loyalty against our parents since I was ten years old.”

“Come on, don’t be like that. We all want what is best for you.” Ma places her hand on mine, giving it a small squeeze.

“How about a compromise? Instead of going all the way to New York, why not attend one of the community colleges here in Portland? You can take your time and figure out what you really want to do with your life, and if you still want to go to culinary school after you get an associate’s degree, we’ll support you 100 percent.”

“Okay, so let me get this straight. The only way I can get your support is if I do exactly what you ask me to do. Sounds pretty transactional, doesn’t it?”

“Ramona.” Dad sighs. “It’s not like that at all.”

“So everything you’ve said to me growing up about always supporting me and wanting me to be happy? What was that? A bunch of fucking bullshit is what it was!” I screech, pushing back from the chair and heading right for the door.

“Ramona Jacqueline King, get your scrawny behind back here. We aren’t done speaking to you yet,” Dad commands, leaving no room for argument. Too bad for him I don’t give a shit right now.

“No thanks, Dad.” I grab my bag from the hook, wrenching the door open.


Articles you may like