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“No, the park,” I tell her, pulling my hair up into a ponytail. I turn the music down, then walk over and pick up my cell. The flashing red light alerts me that I have new messages or missed calls. “You should run with me,” I say as I scroll through my phone. I have four text messages.
“No thanks, boo. I’ll save my running for the treadmill downstairs.” We have a customized state-of-the-art gym in our basement that we use regularly; still it’s nice to get out and run in the breeze.
“Mmmph. Suit yourself. It’s a gorgeous day out. You never know who we might run into while we’re out running in the park. Oh, Irwin sent me a text. He’ll be in town this Saturday. He wants to know if we’re still on.”
“Of course,” she says, patting between her legs. “Momma could use a good feeding. Tell him to make sure he pops a Viagra and a Cialis mix so he’s extra hard and ready to knock this pussy out the frame.”
I laugh, texting him to let him know we’re still on. “Girl, you’re a damn mess. You’re trying to send that man to the ER. You know that shit would have his dick about to explode. Shit, it might break off.”
She laughs. “Yeah, hopefully, right into my pussy.”
I laugh with her. “Girl, your ass is crazy. Have you talked to Paris today? I tried calling her and sent her a text earlier, but haven’t heard back from her.”
“No, I haven’t spoken to her. Hmmm. Come to think of it, she’s been M-I-A lately. Whenever I call or text her, she takes forever to get back to me. That’s not like her.”
I’ve noticed it, too, but don’t mention it. “Maybe it’s been hectic down at the boutique.”
“Yeah, but the store closes at six. Sometimes I’ll send her text around seven or eight and it takes her almost an hour or more to respond back.”
I shrug. She means well, but sometimes Persia forgets we don’t have to answer to her. That she’s not our mother. “Paris is a big girl. I’m sure she has her reasons for not responding back as quickly as you’d like. Fact is, she’s a grown woman.”
She frowns. “Well, shoot me for caring,” she says, sounding offended. “I realize she’s grown. And she doesn’t have to answer to me. Still, I worry. We’re all we’ve got. We have to always look out for each other.”
“And we do. But you don’t have to always think the worst when one of us doesn’t text or call you right back. I don’t mean to sound messy, but we have lives outside of you.”
She huffs, putting her hands up on her hips. “Oh, and I don’t?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Well, sounds like you’re implying it. I’ve never said or thought the two of you didn’t have a life outside of me. All I’m saying is, I worry; that’s it. And having the decency to let someone know you’re not coming home is about common courtesy.”
And trying to control us, I think, knowing she’ll never admit it. I decide I’ve had enough of this conversation. “Paris and I recognize how much you worry about us. And we appreciate you for that, sis.” I walk over and give her a hug. She hugs me back. “I don’t wanna fight with you. But I’ll beat your ass if need be.”
She laughs. “Yeah, right. You wish.”
“Well, let me get out of here so I can get to the park. These beads are already working my pussy muscles overtime and I haven’t even started my run yet.” She laughs, reaching between her legs and pulling at the opening of her shorts. She shows me the string dangling from her slit. I frown, grabbing my iPod. “Ugh! Hooker, TMI.”
She laughs. “Oh, but it wasn’t too much information for you to tell me about the be
ads in your pussy.”
“But I didn’t show you my snatch, did I? Big difference, nasty ass.” She follows me out the room, then down the stairs.
“Whatever. It’s not like you haven’t seen it many times before.”
I grab my keys, then walk into the kitchen and grab a bottle of Dasani out of the ’fridge. “Yeah, don’t remind me. That ugly thing gives me nightmares. I swear I think it has teeth.”
She laughs, playfully swatting at me. “Yeah, right. You wish. I have a pretty pussy, boo. Don’t hate.”
“Lies,” I say, laughing as I head toward the door. “I’ll see your freaky ass later.”
“Takes a freak to know one, boo,” she says, closing the door behind me. I wave her on, dismissively, disarming my car. I slide in, start the engine, then drive off.
An hour and a half later, I’m heading home when my music fades and my cell rings through the speakers. It’s Emerson. I grin as I answer. “Hello.”
“Hey, beautiful. How you?”
“I’m good. What’s up with you?”
