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“Oh, so I see you on some fu
nny-style shit, now. But it’s all good.”
“Ain’t nuthin’ funny-style ’bout not bein’ beat for you. So what the fuck you want? ” Moms glares at me. I put my hands up, and mouth, “My bad, Ma.” She gets up and starts puttin’ the food away.
“Oh, so you ain’t beat for me now.”
“Isn’t that what I just said?”
“You real fucked up; you know that, right?” she says, smackin’ in my ear.
“And you a real bird, so what’s ya point?”
“Fuck you, nigga!”
“Choke on my nut,” I say, snappin’ the phone shut. Fuckin’ smut!
Moms turns to look at me. “You must really want me to slap the shit outta you.”
I wanna laugh, knowin’ she’s only poppin’ shit. “My bad, Ma.”
She narrows her eyes and twists her lips, but says nuthin’. She goes back to flittin’ ’round the kitchen, finishes puttin’ e’erything in the ’fridge, then sits back down. She allows me to finish eatin’ in peace. Patiently waits for me to gulp down the last bit of my juice before she starts in on me. She folds her hands on top of the table.
“Alex, listen. You’re playing a very dangerous game messing over these women the way you do. No matter how fucked up you think a woman is, she still has feelings. And when you play with a woman’s emotions…”
“C’mon, Ma, keep it gee. Is it my fault that they play themselves?”
“No, but it’s your fault for taking advantage of ’em. No matter what a woman thinks of herself, you are still responsible for how you treat ’em.”
Oh, well. If it’s not me draggin’ ’em, then it’ll be some other muhfucka. So it might as well be me. I shrug, glancin’ down at my watch. It’s almost nine. I get up from my seat, then walk over and kiss Moms on her forehead. “I love you, Ma. But, whether it’s right or wrong, I’ma do what I do no matter what you think about it. I’ma be outta town for a minute, but I’ll hit you up when I get back.”
She gets up, takes my empty plate and places it in the sink. “And I love you, too. But that doesn’t mean I’ma stop doing what I do. And that’s being your mother, worrying about you, confronting you on your irresponsible choices, and cussing ya ass out when need be.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I say, smilin’. “But just remember, they’re my choices. And I like it when you cuss.” I walk up and grab her in a big bear hug, then pick her up. “I don’t want no problems, Ma.”
She laughs. “Boy, put me down.” I do. She gives me a hug, then looks up at me. “I don’t wanna see anything happen to you that coulda been prevented by being honest.”
I kiss her on the forehead. “Ma, I am bein’ honest wit’ these chicks.” I grin, shruggin’. “Well, okay, ’bout most things. Still whatever heartache or drama they feel, it’s shit they brought on themselves, real talk.”
She shakes her head, followin’ me toward the front door. “I love you.”
I flash her my mega-watt smile, givin’ her another hug and kiss. “I love you, too, Ma.”
She closes the door behind me as I walk to my car, shakin’ my head and smilin’. I disarm the alarm, then slide behind the wheel, crankin’ the engine and sparkin’ a blunt, makin’ my way toward the parkway, headin’ south to my spot.
9
I’m tired as fuck! My muthafuckin’ flight to ATL was delayed two hours. Then they kept a muhfucka cooped up and bunched up on that biotch for almost forty minutes before finally takin’ the fuck off. A nigga needed a damn blunt bad, still do—straight to the dome. Lucky for me, I don’t fuck wit’ alcohol, otherwise, a muhfucka woulda got right. The one good thing outta the whole fucked-up flight is that I was posted up next to this bad-ass bitch from Stone Mountain. Whew…man, listen. Chick is a real beauty. Model-fine type wit’ long, sexy legs, nice bubble ass, lil’ waist and slanted gray eyes. Then she got the nerve to have a sexy-ass mole over her lip, and a muthafuckin’ Gabrielle Union smile. Man, listen. You know I had to put my thing down on her fine ass. And yeah, a nigga got the digits.
So, here I am walkin’ and talkin’, just straight kickin’ it wit’ her fine-ass. I’m diggin’ her vibe, and I can tell she’s diggin’ mine. And on some real shit, I almost forget the bitch I got waitin’ on me. I sigh when we get off the tram and make our way to baggage claim. I make a promise to get at this cutie before I bounce; not even on some fuck-type shit—well, not unless she’s tryna step outta them drawers, but on some straight chill shit.
“Make sure you do that,” she says, smilin’. She shifts her brown Dolce & Gabbana handbag from one arm to the other.
“No doubt,” I say, lickin’ my lips. “I’m definitely tryna holla.”
“You got the number. Use it or lose it.”
I laugh. “I can show you better than I can tell you.”
