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“Yeah, I hear you,” I said, pacin’ the kitchen floor.
“Good. So, what time should I tell your mother you’re coming?”
I sighed, closin’ my eyes. “You can tell her…” I paused, takin’ a deep breath. “You can tell her, I’m not comin’.”
“What?” she asked, actin’ like she didn’t hear me. “What did you say?”
I repeated myself, pullin’ a chair out from the kitchen table and sittin’ down. “I said, I’m not goin’.”
“And why not?”
“Because…” Humph. I wished I had a damn recorder to push play e’erytime I had to make my “fucked-up mother” speech. I sighed. “Look, Aunt Elise, no disrespect to you. That’s ya sister, not mine. That woman, mother or not, has put one man too many before me, and I’m done tryna be a daughter to someone who has never wanted to be a mother. So you can tell her I send my regards. But that’s all she’ll ever get from me. I got my own life, and I don’t ask her for shit. Whatever decisions I make, I make them knowin’ that if the shit gets me caught up, I gotta get myself outta it without her. And she needs to do the same ’cause I’m over her.”
“I don’t believe I’m hearin’ this shit come outta ya fuckin’ mouth.” I almost wanted to laugh. I knew it was only a matter of time before she dropped all that proper grammar ’n shit. “Rosa and Patrice told me you were gonna say this bullshit. I’ve never got at ya ass, Kat, but I will if you don’t make it ya business to get ya ass down to that hospital to see about ya mother.”
“Aunt Elise, listen, sweetie. I would love to go back ’n forth with you ’bout this. But my mind’s made up, and there’s nothin’ you or anyone else can say or do to change it. So, all ya threats mean nothin’ to me—”
“Now, wait one goddamn minute, Kat—”
“No,” I snapped, cuttin’ her off, “you wait. I’m not gonna argue with you ’bout this shit. I said I’m not goin’ and that’s what it is. I love you, Aunt Elise, but do me a fuckin’ favor and stay outta my relationship with my moms.”
“Kat, who the fuck you think you talkin’ to, hunh? You must don’t know who the hell I am.”
“No, I know exactly who I’m talkin’ to and who you are. Like I said, I’m not tryna disrespect you, but you callin’ my house tryna get at me. And I’m not the one,; aunt or no aunt, it makes me no never mind. I know that’s ya sister ’n all, but she brought this shit on herself. And you know it. So she gets what she gets. Like I told Aunt Rosa and Patrice, ya’ll can run up to that hospital all ya want, but I ain’t the one.”
“So let me get this right,” she said. I could tell she was clenchin’ her teeth. “You mean to tell me that you are turnin’ ya fuckin’ back on your own mother. Is that what the fuck you’re tellin’ me, huh, Kat?”
“Basically, that’s exactly what I’m tellin’ you.”
“How the fuck you gonna turn ya back on her? That’s your mother; she’s ya blood.”
“The same way she turned hers on me,” I responded. “Now, I’d love to continue this conversation, but I have more important things to do. So you take care of ya’self, Aunt Elise.”
“Kat—”
“Love you, but I gotta go,” I said, cuttin’ her off, then hangin’ up on her ass. Now, trust, if I still lived in Brooklyn them crazy bitches would already be camped outside tryna get it in with me. I shook my head. “I swear I hope they don’t try it on my time,” I said out loud.
When the phone rang again, I rolled my eyes. I knew it was her callin’ back to bring it, but when I looked at the caller ID this time, it was Naheem callin’ from prison. Oh, no, not today, nigga, I thought. You betta call that bird you got suckin’ ya dick ’cause I ain’t the one. This nigga had been blowin’ my shit up for the last three weeks tryna get at me. I started to pick up to curse his ass the hell out for constantly callin’ like he was my man or some shit. I done told the nigga it ain’t that type of party, and to stop tryna burn my damn phone lines up. Yet the muhfucka still thinks ’cause we was fuckin’ that I should accept his collects anytime he calls. Humph. Muthafuckas kill me.
Anyway, for the rest of the day I layided around, got lifted, listened to some beats, watched a few flicks, ate, and played in my pussy. Before I knew it, I was knocked the fuck out.
At like four in the afternoon, all my phones started ringin’ at the same time. First it was both cell phones, then the house line. I jumped up, all groggy ’n shit, rubbin’ my eyes. I had to look around to see where the hell I was. I reached over and grabbed the cordless off the coffee table, then looked at the caller ID. It was Naheem callin’ again. I tsked, answerin’, “Yeah?”
I got up off the sofa to get my cell phones from the bar while the automated voice went through its bullshit recordin’. Cash had left a message on the Kat line. Grant and Chanel had called on my other line.
“What’s good, ma?” Naheem finally said over the noise in the background. “Where you been? I’ve been tryna get at you for a minute.”
Who the fuck this nigga think he checkin’ for? “Nigga, you got the wrong number. I don’t answer to you. Now why the fuck you callin’ here?”
“Oh word, it’s like that?”
“Yeah, nigga, it’s like that. What the fuck! You called here earlier today, and now here you are callin’ again. What the fuck ya ass got to say to me that’s so important that you gotta call here back to back like we still fuckin’?”
“Yo, chill ma,” he said, keepin’ his voice calm. “Why you snappin’ on a nigga?”
“’Cause ya black ass keep callin’ here like you hooked on retarded or some shit, that’s why.”
“Damn, baby, I ain’t tryna beef with you. We ain’t talked in a minute—”
