“That sounds like a good mama right there.”
“Not really,” he muttered. His mother was strung out on drugs. He had to grow up and learn how to fend for himself, but she had her moments where she taught him a thing or two. How to make a grilled cheese was one of them. “Ya moms taught you how to cook?”
Tameka didn’t really look like the type of woman to spend time in the kitchen, but he had to ask.
Teonny chuckled. “She didn’t, actually. I taught myself. I made it a point to teach . . .”
When she stopped speaking, Prosper looked up at her. He saw sadness fill her eyes and concern filled his in response.
“Teach who?”
“Angel,” she said so softly he almost missed it.
A tear traveled down her face, and Prosper stopped what he was doing once again and gathered her back into his arms. He didn’t speak. He let her cry while he silently wondered who he had to kill to make things better for her. Seeing her cry wasn’tsomething he ever wanted to see, so if he had to lay a nigga down to make it all better for her, he gladly would.
“Sorry,” she said when she finally pulled away. “I haven’t talked about her in a really long time.”
“Who’s Angel?” he asked softly as he watched her intently.
She expelled a deep sigh as she looked at the counter. He reached out and rubbed her back soothingly.
“My daughter.”
Prosper’s eyes grew wide. Three whole years, and he never knew Teonny was a mother.
“Why you ain’t ever told me you got a kid? I like kids,” he joked, trying to lighten the mood. Something told him trying to make light of the situation wasn’t going to work. There was clearly more to her story, and he wanted to know every bit of it.
“Hada kid,” she whispered. “Angel died five years ago. Same night my ex-husband died.”
Her words seemed to hit him square in the chest. Suddenly, she seemed to make so much sense. That had to be the reason she was so closed off and unwilling to let anyone in. He felt like an ass for being so pushy for so long. She was grieving, and he flirted relentlessly with her. Yeah, he felt like a complete ass.
“Damn.” It was all he could say.
Saying sorry didn’t feel right.
Asking her to tell him more felt invasive.
Changing the subject felt insensitive.
She laughed like nothing in the world was funny. “Yeah, it was a long time ago.” She wiped her tears, but Prosper grabbed her hands.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” she asked, her words coming out in a shaky breath.
“Don’t push that shit to the side. I used to do the same thing when my mama died, but I learned how dangerous that could be. Those emotions I kept inside made me angry as hell.”
“I don’t really get angry.”
He shrugged. “You probably getsomething.”
She looked just past his head and zoned out. He allowed her to for several seconds before he asked, “You want to talk about it?”
Her eyes found his again, and she blinked softly. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she murmured, ignoring his question.
That surprised him. This moment was about her. He only spoke of his mother’s death so he could relate to her. Not to make this about him.
“Don’t be. She was never really a mother. She was on drugs my entire life. Her death still hit me hard, I guess for what should have been, but don’t be sorry for that shit. I’m sorry foryourloss.”
