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The whole time he was talkin’ to me he was slurrin’ his words ’n shit ’cause his ass was lit the fuck up. I watched him unscrew the cap offa his bottle of E & J whiskey as he kept babblin’ on ’bout bitches and how fucked up they were. He downed his drink, poured himself another round, then put his glass up to his lips and tossed his head back, gulpin’ down the dark elixir. Then he poured another. He stared at his glass, then at me; his large hand clutchin’ his drink as if his life depended on it. And in some way, I guess it did.
As soon as we heard jinglin’ of keys at the backdoor that lead into the kitchen, we both waited and watched as the door opened. On some real shit, Moms was a real looker back then—shapely, smooth cocoa-brown-skinned, big doe-like eyes, and deep dimples. And Pops was a real jealous-type cat; probably ’cause his ass was out doin’ him. The minute she stepped through the door, Pops started his shit. I held my breath.
“Where the hell you been?”
She set her pocketbook on the counter, then removed her coat. “Out,” she calmly replied, not looking at him. She glanced over at me. “Alex, go to your room.”
“No, you sit right there,” Pops warned, pointin’ at me. I stayed put, didn’t blink a muthafuckin’ eye. Moms shot me this evil-ass look, but I wasn’t beat to have my ass beat by Pops. I lowered my eyes. “He needs to see firsthand what a bitch is.”
She blinked, blinked again. Her nose flared, but she kept her composure. On some real shit, I don’t know how she was able to keep it together after bein’ referred to as a bitch in front of me, but she did. “Well, since I’m such a bitch,” she said, walkin’ over to where we were sittin’. “Then this is from the bitch across town you’ve got sucking your gotdamn dick”—she slapped his face— “And this is from the bitch around the corner you’ve been fucking…” She slapped him again.
Pops jumped up from the table, almost losing his balance while grabbing her arm. “Woman, you’re fuckin’ crazy. Ain’t nobody cheatin’ on you. Now, where the fuck you been?”
She yanked her arm from his grip, pushin’ him backward. He tumbled over the chair, fallin’ to the floor.
“You’re full of shit!” Moms snapped, snatchin’ his drink from off the table and tossin’ it in his face. “And this is from me. The bitch you keep lying to and fucking over.” She looked over at me, before stormin’ outta the room, and said, “Learn to keep your dick in your pants, or you’re going to end up being just like your cheating, lying-ass father.”
The ironic thing is her ass was doin’ the same thing. So, go figure. And this is probably why a nigga like me ain’t beat for fallin’ for a broad. Muthafuckin’ bitches cheat just as much as niggas. They just slick ’nough to not get caught. I take another deep pull of my blunt, then blow out a cloud of confused smoke, before puttin’ the shit out. I glance back up at the house, shakin’ my head. It’s not ’til I peep the light flick on in Moms’ bedroom, that it hits me. “Oh, shit,” I snap. “These two are fuckin’.”
I get outta my whip—yeah, a nigga gots his own shit. What, ya asses thought I was one of them bum-ass niggas that borrowed chicks’ rides ’cause I didn’t have my own wheels? Nah, I ain’t that nigga. I just don’t let e’ery bitch I’m smashin’ know how I’m doin’ it. When I’m on the prowl, I either ride another broad’s ride to get my creep on, or I push a hoopty, feel me? After Racquel— some ho I was fuckin’ from Pasaaic—keyed up my shit, smeared dog shit on my windshield, and flattened all four of my muthafuckin’ tires two summers ago, a nigga like me isn’t gonna let another broad get the opportunity to put in work on my shit again; I put that on e’erything I love.
Shit. I had to file a complaint on her nutty ass, word up. Lucky for her, I was lookin’ to get some hot shit any-damn-way, so she did me a favor. Otherwise, a nigga woulda probably choked her ass out. Yo, hol’ up! Not that I would ever push a ho’s biscuit in (unless she puts her hands on me—first), but I damn sure woulda choked her to sleep. And now wit’ that Jazmine Sullivan chick poppin’ shit ’bout bustin’ windows ’n shit, I really ain’t beat. Fuck that. These silly hoes can fuck each other’s cars up if they want. But they ain’t fuckin’ wit’ mine.
What the fuck! Tamera texts me again. Why you fuckin’ iggin’ me nigga? I sigh, decide to text back. Suck my dick! I slip my phone back in its holder, then shut and lock my door, makin’ my way up the stairs to Moms’ house. I ring the doorbell, since my key privileges are still revoked. Moms still doesn’t trust me to not bring hoes up in her spot when she’s not home. That shit cracks me the hell up. But, hey, it’s her spot, her rules.
I reach for the bell again, but the door opens up before I can press down on it. I smirk. I’m standin’ face to face with Pops. His eyes widen. I can tell gettin’ busted wasn’t on tonight’s agenda. But it’s all good. “What’s poppin’, playboy?” I ask jokin’ly.
He lets out a nervous-ass chuckle. “Oh, hey…uh, what are you doin’ here?” he asks, fumblin’ wit’ his keys, and steppin’ back so I can come in.
“Raynard, who’s that at the door?” Moms asks. She’s in the dinin’ room area.
“It’s ya son,” I say, grinnin’. I wink at Pops, brushin’ past him.
Moms comes into the livin’ room, tryna cover herself. She’s wearin’ a flimsy-ass robe, probably buck-ass naked underneath. Her hair is all over her head. Yeah, they been gettin’ it in, fuckin’ hard, I think, smilin’.
“Oh, hey, baby. Glad to see you.” She runs her hand through her tangled hair.
I smirk. “I bet you are,” I tease, lookin’ over at Pops, then at her.
She rolls her eyes. Pops grins. “Your father stopped by to bring me something.”
I tilt my head. Give her one of those “come again” looks. “Unhhuh, I’m sure he did. Sumthin’ hard and dark, right?” Pops shakes his head, chucklin’. I walk over and give her a hug. I sniff her, then the air.
“Oh, boy, stop,” she says, swattin’ at me.
Pops opens the door. “Alice, I’ma get going. Alex, I’ll talk to you later.”
“Aiight, playa,” I joke. “I’ll holla.”
“Get home safe,” Moms says, watchin’ him walk out the door. She smiles at him. He smiles back, then shuts the door behind him.
I plop down on the sofa. “Damn, Ma, you ’n Pops really up in here gettin’ it in, hunh?”
She laughs, flickin’ her hand at me. “Oh, please.”
“Oh please nuthin’,” I mock, grinnin’. “Ya’ll up here gettin’ buck wild ’n nasty. You got Pops wide open, Ma. So, spill it. How long Pops been fuc…uh, makin’ it clap?”
She raises her arched brow at me. “Makin’ it clap? What in the world? Your father hasn’t been making shit clap over here.”
